Radioactive

[Harvey Greenfield]

Prompt List

• Palm
  
• Knight
  
• Funhouse
  
• Dark
  
• Obsession
  
• Fortitude
  
• Shy
  
• Love
  
• Window
  
• Relaxation

[Harvey Greenfield]

just a short window of time

"Is that a duck?!  Did you just hit a duck?!" he demanded, but only because it was so damn weird.  They were driving down a winding mountain road somewhere in Europe, and he wasn't privy to the country, but he'd have bet it was somewhere that didn't have ducks just randomly flying around.  For one thing, it was pretty cold, and he was pretty sure that, last he heard, ducks migrated.  He got an unpleasant look in the rearview mirror that he couldn't see through the blindfold on his face, but a second later, there were a few more impacts and very obviously unhappy quacks.  "Ducks.  Right."

He groaned, bending in half and putting his head between his knees down by his handcuffed wrists and battered hands (they couldn't actually break them because they needed him to use them, but that didn't mean they had to give him protective tools beyond the most necessary).  The guy beside him also leaned down, which he wasn't thrilled about, seemingly to check and make sure he wasn't going to puke, but the voice in his ear...wasn't the one he was used to hearing out of that bastard. 

"I've a wager with John over whether you'll spew all over yourself, be a dear and don't," the man whispered, voice smooth and cultured instead of the rough voice and harsh English he was accustomed to, and he nodded slightly while they both ducked.  A second later, there was another impact that sounded almost like something heavy had hit the roof, then a sound of tearing metal and the whole goddamn roof was gone.  A few piffs later, Liam knew that his unpleasant companions were dead, and James was pulling him upright in the bitter wind, talking quickly over it and there was a...harness?  Oh, shit.

"Able to dress yourself, my friend?" James asked, yanking the blindfold away as he tried to get them both strapped up, and Liam did what he could with cuffed, abused hands until James yanked a pair of small cutters from his pocket to snip the chain, but the look he gave the now-familiar face made it clear that the joke wasn't appreciated.  John was crouched in the ruined front seat trying to keep the car on the road as the wind picked up with a helicopter's SOI SOI SOI SOI SOI SOI SOI SOI coming in over them.  Liam glanced up, lips parting automatically as his tired brain still worked full-speed to put it all together, and when he smirked at James, the cut on his lip cracked open again.  He didn't care. 

"I thought you were afraid of flying!" he shouted over the noise as three weighted lines dropped.

"Terrified, darling," James returned, and if there was one thing Liam had never understood, it was how that man's voice could travel without sounding like he was screaming in situations like this.  The Brit leaned in, making sure his line was secure, then triple-checking his own and pulling Liam close to hang onto him.  He managed a nervous smile, dropped a big wet kiss against the side of his head and muttered, "The things I do for you."

Suddenly, they were airborne.

Their lines were shorter than John's, both to keep them all from smacking into each other, and to give him the moment after their departure necessary to steer the vehicle off of the cliff and into the ravine to the side of the road.  Liam watched after a shout at no longer being inside the car when Kes pulled the chopper up, and he couldn't help the satisfied holler at watching John jump out of the falling remains of his transport to get pulled up like the rest of them.  James was muttering something about him not changing and crazy Americans while he held onto his wire with a gloved hand and his rescued friend, and Liam basically mirrored him out of habit.  The difference was that the wire was cold and rough against his hands, but he didn't care.  This?  This was familiar, and in a way he hadn't known he was missing.

Being pulled into the chopper with James, John was just a moment or so behind; Declan closed the door behind John and the smooth bastard unhooked himself like nothing had happened at all, whereas James made it a point to check Liam over for a second and then crossed himself and shot Kes a look.  She looked almost indignant, but it only lasted long enough to yell at him.  "Don't look at me like that, crybaby, my flying's been perfect!"

Then, she pulled a move more comfortable for a fighter jet and James grabbed for a handhold while Liam shouted encouragement.  She straightened it out and shot a wink over her shoulder, which Liam didn't miss, and Declan squeezed his shoulder, trying to get a look at him.  "You okay, kid?"

"Got all my fingers, no missing kidneys," he remarked while showing off all ten beautiful fingers (that had been a close call a few times, so he was kind of amazed that he still had them all), but that didn't really say much.  He was messed up, but he wasn't going to talk about it now.  Right now?  It was all excitement, all a job well-fucking done.  He reached out and fist-bumped John, then clapped James on the shoulder, glad for the adrenaline.  By the time they landed, he was going to want to pass the hell out.

"Oh, I didn't puke!  Who wins?" he asked, glancing between them all while Declan laughed, and James raised his hand somewhat, still maintaining his grip on the handrail.  "Who wins if James does yak?"

"Since I'm the only one not sitting back there with him?  I'd say me," Kes shot back at them, laughing all over again and pulling another 'fun' move.  God, he'd missed them.

[Harvey Greenfield]

palm reader

Being the chemical genius that he was, Harvey was one of those hunters that had a guild he belonged to, but was shuffled around to assist with other hunters fairly regularly.  Or, other hunters were shuffled in his direction, which happened more often, but that still made whatever they were working on an operation for their guild.  Harvey didn't care, he enjoyed what he did, whether it was something to do with poisons, explosives, acids, machines of some sort...he was the mad scientist of Crimson, and while that had become a joke that almost always seemed like a joke when he was sitting behind his desk (which was really a table strewn with everything he was working on at whatever time) in a Metallica t-shirt and a pair of ratty jeans, there was the occasional moment that only a few witnesses ever saw that encouraged the name.  Usually, it was something he said in the thick of a project, or it was in a design that he took just a little too much enjoyment out of.  Regardless, he always offered results, however hare-brained the idea may have seemed at the start.

That ability of his to be offered up as help to whatever guild and group of hunters needed the hand meant that he got to meet a lot of hunters, and Harvey's personality just made him the kind of guy that, once you'd been around him for an hour or so, you just really liked him.  He was one of those guys that pretty quickly turned into the glue in a social situation, so it didn't really take much of a genius to understand that he was a great invite to parties and that he threw a hell of a bash himself.  Point being, he knew people, especially within the guilds, so it only made sense that he would have worked with Raven at some point, and somehow, her younger sister ended up at one of the parties.

That was how a drunk Harvey, a beer in one hand and his other hand being examined by the little gypsy, had met Rook. 

Had he not been so totally hammered, he might have hesitated to let a girl who seemed to have some kind of legitimate power read into anything that might expose his past, but at that exact moment, he just thought it looked wicked cool.  Of course, that was one of Harvey's biggest problems, especially while drinking - he got caught up in how interesting something was, and sometimes failed to consider past that.  In this case, he was watching her do her thing, and for some people, that might have been somewhat lame, but it was a damn science experiment for Harvey.  He could see all of the connections, and he was ridiculously prone to spacing out and staring at shit nobody else could see while he was annihilated; that, or he'd put those connections together in a physical sense, and that usually meant something epic or something that was trouble (last time he'd done it, he'd put together a veritable Rubes machine across the living room that poured a perfectly measured shot and then been named smartest and most useless drunk in the room).  With Rook, he could see the lines she was looking at like they were traced in something that caught the light, and though he couldn't read them himself, he could see what he could only explain as looking the same as little neurons firing around her head, though it was more in front of her eyes and less from inside of her skull.  He could not see inside her head, as much as he might have found that fascinating at the moment.  He could definitely tell, however, that she was actually doing something magical and not just guessing. 

He'd put it together in just a second, but she mulled over whatever it was she was seeing while he continued to watch the 'show' like it was some kind of personal fireworks display.  That could have been awkward if everyone around him wasn't trashed, since he probably looked like he was staring at her face in awe to someone who couldn't see what he did.  She glanced up at him and he blinked back into focus, smiling and interested in what she had to say about whatever he'd just been looking at, and she gave him an odd look. 

"You're more than you say you are," she pointed out, and at this stage in the game, it was probably a good time to remember that she was also pretty damn drunk.

"Well, I hate to brag, but..." he started, grinning and looking pleased with himself, but he wasn't that far gone.  He wondered how much she meant, and now the potential trouble with psychics was something he remembered.

"No, I don't mean....shut up," she told him, smacking his shoulder and then looking back down at his hand, though the fireworks were minimal this time.  "Something's coming.  A big black bird, really big, then everything's cold.  They want the seed from your head, so they can grow it into a huge tree that'll choke the world in poison.  Don't give it to them."

"Ooookay.  Hey, I thought you were supposed to like, tell me not to eat too much fried food and hang onto my wife, or something," he pointed out, making light of something that was actually kind of...creepy.  She rolled her eyes and took his beer out of his hand, pleased with herself when she realized that it was almost full.  "Hey!"

"What?  Gypsies barter!" she returned, taking another swig, laughing and calling out to Claire as she got up.  She glanced back for just a second and her eyes looked too alert to be as drunk as he knew she was, dark and powerful, but then she smiled again and it was gone.  He just stared after her, wondering, before Shannon walked up and kneed him in the back.

"The fuck is your beer?  You're not pussying out already, I hope."

"What?  Hell no, I'm not pussying out.  Ready for something harder, I think."

"Yeah?  Sounds like someone wants to be a champion tonight."

"Someone's gotta put you in your place."

"Wooow, you must be feelin' fuckin' ballsy tonight.  Alright, Seabiscuit, you're on."

"Follow me, sweetheart, we'll play a game," he promised, but he still glanced over to where Rook was standing with her friends, the moment seemingly forgotten.  When Midnight attacked, he didn't give it any thought until after the dust had settled, and then he figured he'd dodged some bullet that had been coming his way, and probably only barely.  He was less prepared when, a few weeks later, that large, black bird proved itself to be a helicopter, and that cold place?  He wasn't sure, but it was somewhere in Europe, or maybe Russia, and they sure as hell wanted something out of his head.  The trick was refusing them and surviving.

[Harvey Greenfield]

but you have to learn fortitude

"Dooon't stop belieeeeeevin', hold onto that feeeeeeliiiing, streetlights, peopleeeeeeeee!  Don't stop belieeeevin', hoooold ooon!"

"If you do not shut your fucking mouth, I cut out your tongue.  You understand this, American?" the current guard asked, and though Harvey shut up while the guy was talking, he didn't plan to stay that way.

"Don't think that's a good idea, Ivan.  Can't explain to your boss' friends how to use the toys I build them without a tongue," he pointed out, though he probably shouldn't have.  Last time, his hands had been threatened and he'd said he needed those to do the work they wanted; Ivan had hit him so hard in the face that his left eye had been swollen shut for a week and the bruising across that side of his face had only just started to go down. 

"You learn to write manuals, then, with hands I can't break," Ivan retorted, and Harvey stared for a moment, considering.  Ivan had a point, and not one Harvey liked.

"Uh, okay, different song?  Any requests?"

Honestly, he should have just shut up completely, but being locked in a cell, chained to a chair or anything else that had him trapped in a single small area for too long made him stir-crazy.  If he wasn't moving forward, he wasn't moving fast enough.  He had this problem with sitting still, which was actually why he'd 'retired' to the guilds; he couldn't stand the idea of actually being retired, so he couldn't go off to some tropical island or whatever.  He had to keep moving.  That his captors were basically pimping him out to the highest bidder amongst mercenary and terrorist groups for small help with arms, chemicals and the like kept him busy, even if he didn't like helping those people out.  He just made sure that the work he did wasn't too good, lest it cause some serious trouble.  Even so, he couldn't do too badly, or they'd beat his ass and lock him in a cell with little to eat or drink for another month; he was looking to avoid that, if it could be helped. 

The real trick had been trying to lay subtle clues in the things he worked on, assuming they'd be used in places where military or guilds might encounter them.  He didn't want it to be too obvious, or the group he'd made it for would notice, but it had to be enough that people who might be looking for him would see it.  Why he was still trying was anyone's best guess, considering how long it had been.  One year and ten months, and he still wanted to believe that someone out there thought he was alive.  Declan had to know, it was just a matter of time.

That meant he had to survive in the meantime, and it wasn't looking good when the reason he'd been tied to the chair was made clear.  His captors came in, one man taking the center of his attention by standing directly in front of him, just out of reach.  Harvey looked up, both curious and worried about the personal visit; usually, it was just armed guards who delivered him to a location, one who spoke good English explaining who was in charge of his work, and then he got to listen to what that particular person wanted.  Despite his desire to be active and loud, he was quiet as he regarded this man, waiting to see what the hell was going on, though glancing to the table that had been wheeled in and placed just behind and to the man's left didn't help him maintain his calm.  Even without being able to see exactly what was on it, he was getting some seriously fucked up connections working in his brain, and all of them looked bad for him.

"Mr. Greenfield, you look better than I last saw you."

"Yeah, I think I'm growing on Ivan.  He doesn't hit me as often lately."

"Impressive.  He has a low tolerance for talk, which you seem to do a lot of."

"Uh, yeah, noticed."

"You're wondering why I'm here."

"Bingo."

"We want you to make us something, a nerve agent."

"If I do, will you let me go?"

"Of course not, but we won't break both your legs."

"I need my legs to move around a lab."  Old argument, and he was betting it would end the same way it always did...yep.  He was tied to the chair, so he couldn't do much to avoid Ivan's blow, this time to the right side of his face.  Awesome, that was going to leave a mark. 

"Then we'll find other ways of hurting you.  You don't need all of your toes, for example, and there are very painful ways to disfigure that handsome face that won't damage your ability to see or speak.  Same goes for the rest of you, we'll find ways.  Unless, of course, you do as we ask," he offered, picking up a utensil from that cart and approaching as Ivan took to holding him in what was basically a headlock meant to keep his face still.  Uh, yeah, no.  Not cool.

"Whoa, hey, hey, I didn't say I wasn't doing it!  Details, give me details!  Nerve agent, what kind?  How much, how do you want it distributed, I need all that before you go slicey-slicey."

The man smiled at that and Harvey returned with a nervous, adrenaline-fueled and hopeful smile in return, but he didn't trust this guy.  He had good reason not to, since he got the details, and then the bastard cut into him, anyway.  The benefit of agreeing early was that he left his face alone, but still drove home the point that he had no problem doing it.  Harvey got said point loud and clear.

That didn't mean he was sold on the plan, though it started simple enough.  They were smart, not telling him everything, and he didn't doubt that there were things he didn't know.  Even so, he put it together easily enough; they had him making a sample so that they could test it, which was why they didn't need much.  He made it, got to watch it work on some guy who looked like he was a homeless local, and was then congratulated on the man's messy death.  Then came the order for a lot more of it, and the information on delivery that he'd needed.  They wanted a bomb filled with this nerve agent, and honestly?  Harvey had made bombs for some of their people, he'd made small doses of chemical weapons that he knew they'd use in their little battles between each other, but none of it was this big.  This was James Bond big, and he wasn't interested in the role of 'captive scientist' in a Bond movie.  First of all, they always ended up dead after their work was completed because they weren't the hot Bond girls (and some of them died in more recent movies) and they weren't needed in the story anymore, and their work always involved either a lot of people dying or a lot of people almost dying.  Whatever way you cut it, it sucked, and while there might have been some James Bond types out there, Harvey wasn't betting on it.

He stalled for time in requiring a bigger lab space to work out of for something that massive, and it took a little while, but he got it.  Then came the work itself, which he also stalled on as much as he possibly could, some part of his brain hoping that if he took enough time, someone would finally have gotten the clues and little hints he'd left and figure out where he was.  By the time he'd finished the project, spurred on by rather painful 'reminders' that fucking with them on time and the project itself was not conducive to his survival, he was certain that he was going to die after this.  Somewhere along the line, he made peace with it, but it was somewhat depressing, considering how long he'd held out. 

As they manhandled him through the bitter cold and snow to the car, he thought for a second that he caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of a connection that had never been there before, of Ivan potentially killing all of the others, but it disappeared quickly as the two of them piled into the backseat.  He might have made a comment, except that he wasn't so sure that antagonizing Ivan right then was the best idea.  They had a long, boring car ride ahead of them, and he wasn't sure when the call would come in about the work he'd just done.

Terrorists tended to dislike it when their nerve agents worked more like mild laughing gas and their bombs 'blew up' in the form of a little flag that said, 'BOOM!'  Decisions made, he figured he must have mistaken connections involving Ivan killing him in creative ways instead of the others, but then, he didn't know that this car ride wasn't going to be so boring, or that Ivan was already dead in a nearby river.  Details.