10-20-2013, 06:49 PM
Reed turned on her heel and left Trano alone with the heat of her flash lingering. Shawn was hard at work, and drifting between Russian and Chinese with every other call. All his work was hidden by simple rerouting codes that hackers would trace the signal across the world. His lanky torso was humped over a table crammed with holo-screens and equipment. Some of it required so much power, hard lines had to be run direct from the power box outside.
She prayed Shawn would come up with some kind of explanation. Meanwhile, she knew that Custody agents would be looking for her AND Trano.
The apartment was small. The kitchen, table, and living area was all one big room. There were only two other doors. One went to the bathroom, and Reed disappeared through the other. She flipped on the light in the bedroom as the corner of her mind that saw Abrams laying on the floor shut itself off in exchange.
She had her own phone call to make, and the steady pacing of her heels back and forth across the old floors said she was anxious while making it. Finally, the steady sound of her voice ended with an affirmation of orders, though she gave an identification number, there was no way to tell which side she was contacting, and she placed her own Wallet aside.
The furniture looked like it was in as good a shape in here as it was out there. In front of the silvery pool of a mirror, she pulled the lens warrior from one eye and blinked with relief. The lenses were thick and painful to wear, but she never really realized how much so until taking one out.
Finally, she turned in a slow circle, feeling powerless and played. From the other room, she could tell Shawn was still working hard. She wasn't hungry at all. She could go for a shower, but would rather stand out in the rain than bathe in a tub shared with Shawn. The guy was a pig. Which meant there wasn't much else to do. She sat on the edge of the bed, feet crossed at the ankle.
"Trano," she called him in. As he appeared in the door, Shawn turned and flailed one arm upward that they be quiet. Reed shrugged and lowered her voice, "shut the door behind you."
Her gaze narrowed considerably, studying him with a rather academic air. "Why does the Ascendancy give a shit about you?"
Trano waved the question off. "Probably because half the U.S. hangs on my every word, and a lot of those words are 'Nikolai Brandon is an asshole.'"
Full of himself, wasn't he? Media stars always thought they were the center of the universe. "You really going to run for President?"
He shrugged. "We'll see. I'm not exactly a traditional candidate."
Reed lifted a brow and shot off a quick response. "Why's that? Because you're not a fat old man who can't find his cock in the blubber?" He was far from that.
Trano answered with enough a serious tone that Reed almost believed his sincerity. "No wife. Never held public office. Don't go to church every Sunday. Only thing I've got is a stint in the military and the love of the people."
He leaned back against the dresser where Reed had plucked the contact lens. "I'd rather not be the real life Charlie Kane."
She stared flatly at that final reference, amused that he thought he was so clever. Honestly, she had no idea who Charlie Kane was.
"So you don't think you can win?"
"Just weighing my options, Reed. I can do a lot of good where I am. Failed presidential bids aren't great for credibility,"
he replied.
She shook her head with disappointment. "Trano," she got up and crossed to him, "Brandon doesn't want you to run. He wants you broken" she tapped him hard on the chest, deadly serious, "And here you are saying you don't think you're going to win because you're not a married Sunday School teacher?" She flushed in shock of what she was hearing, daring him to set her straight.
She prayed Shawn would come up with some kind of explanation. Meanwhile, she knew that Custody agents would be looking for her AND Trano.
The apartment was small. The kitchen, table, and living area was all one big room. There were only two other doors. One went to the bathroom, and Reed disappeared through the other. She flipped on the light in the bedroom as the corner of her mind that saw Abrams laying on the floor shut itself off in exchange.
She had her own phone call to make, and the steady pacing of her heels back and forth across the old floors said she was anxious while making it. Finally, the steady sound of her voice ended with an affirmation of orders, though she gave an identification number, there was no way to tell which side she was contacting, and she placed her own Wallet aside.
The furniture looked like it was in as good a shape in here as it was out there. In front of the silvery pool of a mirror, she pulled the lens warrior from one eye and blinked with relief. The lenses were thick and painful to wear, but she never really realized how much so until taking one out.
Finally, she turned in a slow circle, feeling powerless and played. From the other room, she could tell Shawn was still working hard. She wasn't hungry at all. She could go for a shower, but would rather stand out in the rain than bathe in a tub shared with Shawn. The guy was a pig. Which meant there wasn't much else to do. She sat on the edge of the bed, feet crossed at the ankle.
"Trano," she called him in. As he appeared in the door, Shawn turned and flailed one arm upward that they be quiet. Reed shrugged and lowered her voice, "shut the door behind you."
Her gaze narrowed considerably, studying him with a rather academic air. "Why does the Ascendancy give a shit about you?"
Trano waved the question off. "Probably because half the U.S. hangs on my every word, and a lot of those words are 'Nikolai Brandon is an asshole.'"
Full of himself, wasn't he? Media stars always thought they were the center of the universe. "You really going to run for President?"
He shrugged. "We'll see. I'm not exactly a traditional candidate."
Reed lifted a brow and shot off a quick response. "Why's that? Because you're not a fat old man who can't find his cock in the blubber?" He was far from that.
Trano answered with enough a serious tone that Reed almost believed his sincerity. "No wife. Never held public office. Don't go to church every Sunday. Only thing I've got is a stint in the military and the love of the people."
He leaned back against the dresser where Reed had plucked the contact lens. "I'd rather not be the real life Charlie Kane."
She stared flatly at that final reference, amused that he thought he was so clever. Honestly, she had no idea who Charlie Kane was.
"So you don't think you can win?"
"Just weighing my options, Reed. I can do a lot of good where I am. Failed presidential bids aren't great for credibility,"
he replied.
She shook her head with disappointment. "Trano," she got up and crossed to him, "Brandon doesn't want you to run. He wants you broken" she tapped him hard on the chest, deadly serious, "And here you are saying you don't think you're going to win because you're not a married Sunday School teacher?" She flushed in shock of what she was hearing, daring him to set her straight.