A Bar In Amsterdam | Finale (Backdated)

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Warren and Monet sneak around backstage at the club they've been told their target can be found, and they're pulled up by the stage manager.

Kurt had teleported them all into the club where they had been told Sandy was meeting a contact. How this was to be happening, no one was sure. Which is why Monet and Warren were taking a look around backstage, men and women bustling around getting ready for the next act. Thankfully no one had noticed they didn't belong here - and considering they stood out for looking particularly normal, that was a feat.

  "I'm not convinced she's back here," Warren murmured to Monet.

  "Neither am I," she said and then grabbed a passing techie's arm. "Hey, you seen this woman?" Monet asked, shoving an image she'd grabbed from Warren into the man's mind. And, okay, maybe she should have been more selective and chosen one with an orgasm face but, whateves.

  "N-no," the man stuttered out, before narrowing his eyes at the pair of them. "Who are you two? The public isn't allowed back here."

  "We're new," Warren said smoothly, with a glance to Monet. "The woman we're looking for told us to meet her here, that she's a regular."

  The techie eyed them both. "You don't look like no dancers. Joe!" It was the stage manager he had yelled for, and the shout also got the attention of security.

  "Shit," Monet muttered, shifting her hold on the techie's arm to hit skin and taking a moment to rifle through his memories. At least he was at work and thinking about dancers so they were near the top, rather than buried under the football and concerns about tomorrow's dinner and the carpet in the bedroom and they growing far that he'd forgotten something important. And there were the names of two dancers he hadn't seen yet today. "Anton and Sophie are sick. Food poisoning. They know it's a pain when they can't make a call, what with the throwing up and the not knowing which end to point at the loo first, so they called us. So you're not inconvenienced." She looked into Joe's eyes and slammed a bad case of 'believe me' behind the words.

  Monet knew she couldn't keep this up long but hell, as long as the people in charge were covered, they'd be okay, right?

  "Right," Joe said dubiously, looking between them both. He looked like he was going to argue for a moment, but then thought better of it. "Bloody dancers. Fine, hurry up and get into costume. You're on in ten." He waved a hand at a dressing room door as he started to walk away. "Your costumes are in there."

  Once he was out of earshot, Warren shot Monet a look.

  "... we're actually going to have to get up on stage now, aren't we?"

Kurt and Tabitha take a look around the main area, and come across a familiar face.

Troy knew he shouldn't have come to Monte Carlo, even if Sandy had requested him to. He could have stayed in Amsterdam. Or gone to London. Or really -- anywhere. Anywhere but here, where he'd directed Tabitha and her friends. But instead he was here, lurking in a alcove while he debated trying to find Sandy.

He was looking the wrong way for his own good, as he was soon to discover when Kurt loomed up on the lee side of his alcove, smiling dangerously.

"Fancy finding you here, Troy.  You would not be planning to warn a certain person, would you?"

Tabitha sidled up to his other side, slid her arm around his waist. "That wouldn't be much fun, now would it?"

"No!" Troy did a remarkable impression of being a deer in the headlights at that point, and Tabitha's arm around his waist definitely didn't help.

"I mean, I am supposed to be meeting her here. But as you can see, I'm here. And not... precisely where she is. If she has any idea you guys are here, it didn't come from me."

Tabitha walked two fingers up his chest. "Where were you supposed to meet our dear woman, eh?"

Troy swallowed. It was one thing for him to betray Sandy to this point, to have told them her general location. This was a little different.

But in the end, his skin was more important to him than his partnership with Sandy, and he was more than a little wary after Monet's comment about Tabby and C4.

"She's got a booth in the main area. She's probably watching the show." There was another pause. "She'll timeslip away if she sees you. But if you can get a hold of her before she does, she won't be able to."

"You did not see us coming", Kurt pointed out.  "And I have ways to move even more subtly, in a dimly lit place like this.  Also, my girlfriend is a telepath.  Tabitha, would you keep our friend Troy here for a little while, just in case?"

The blond bomber nipped at Troy's chin. "I'm sure we can find some things to discuss. Go get 'em."

At this point, Troy wasn't at all sure whether being left alone with Tabitha was a good idea or not. But then he didn't think he was going to be able to argue against either of them.

"Sandy's more suspicious than I am," he tried, one last time, to warn them. "And better at being sneaky. Don't say I didn't warn you, man."

Tabitha didn't watch Kurt leave, eyes locked on Troy. "So, why *did* you talk to me that night? Keep me occupied while your boss hurt my friend?"

"What?" Troy honestly looked shocked at the accusation. "No, it was nothing like that. I thought you were the hottest woman in the room." He looked shifty for a moment. "It had nothing to do with Sandy, and everything to do with wanting to sleep with you."

At that, Tabs took a startled step back. "You're kidding," she said in disbelief.

"What?" Troy looked just as shocked in return. "Of course I'm not."

She sighed, not moving closer, nor further away. "I'm an idiot." She dropped her head on his shoulder. "Y'know, if I wasn't stupid and you weren't in league with that crazy woman, you might have had a good chance."

"No you're not," Troy said quietly, bringing his hand to her chin and tilting her face up to his. "Surely I get some points for helping you guys out in the end?" Never mind that he'd basically been forced into it.

Her mouth quirked into half a grin. He really was asking for it. She leaned forward to kiss him. Not the soft, simple one from Amsterdam, this time she used all she'd learned from Vanessa and Warren.

Troy would have grinned, if he wasn't too busy kissing her back. The hand on her chin slid to cup her face, his other hand sliding around her waist to pull her in closer.

Tabitha leaned back before she could get carried away. She was supposed to be helping Warren, after all. "A few points. Not enough," she said.

"Are you sure?" He said in a low voice, leaning back in to kiss her again. Now that he'd gotten this far, he didn't want to let her go without a fight.

She clenched her fingers in his hair, holding herself and him back. "You're going to have to make it up to me," she said, before she loosened her grip and kissed him again.

Troy grinned with something like triumph, pulling Tabitha in close once more as he kissed her deeply. There was something of a risk, kissing her like this, here, where her friends were likely to appear again any moment - or Sandy could, which would prove interesting. But Troy ignored the risks, dismissing them entirely as his lips parted against hers. 

"I will," he murmured into her mouth. "I'll do anything, I swear."

Warren and Monet find who they're looking for, and with a little help from Kurt, get what they came for.

  Warren was used to feathers. Really used to feathers. But he was quite sure that this was overkill when it came to it. And sparkles. These people really did enjoy their sparkles.

  Monet had done a pretty good job of making him unrecognisable, and he was fairly confident as he stepped on stage that not even his mother would recognise him, considering the monstrosity they called a headpiece. The fan of feathers helped as well, and he somewhat ineptly stumbled at the back of the group, trying to copy what the other men and women were doing for the routine.

Monet was stumbling along almost as awkwardly. A childhood of ballet lessons didn't translate across that well, not with her current coordination levels and she was simply glad to be in the back. And laughing silently at Warren.

"I'm going to try the crowd," Warren mumbled in Monet's direction as the dancers started to disperse, the routine over for the moment. A couple of the other dancers were making their way to the stairs that led down from the stage, and Warren started to follow them.

"Cool, I'm with you." She pried her headdress off, dumping it in a corner and followed him.

Warren attempted to sashay his way through the club, though him and heels? Really not a great match. But it was when he stumbled on them and caught himself on the back of a chair that he finally spotted Sandy in the back of the club. Most people wouldn't have, given how dark it was, but then most people didn't have Warren's sharp eyesight. He straightened up and looked at Monet, tilting his head in Sandy's direction.

"That's her," he mouthed, doing his best not to catch the attention of Sandy or anyone else around the place.

"Got her," Monet muttered and began to walk across the club, keeping out of Sandy's eyeline as she worked her way over until she was able to grab the woman's arm. It didn't much matter that she bruised Sandy as she dropped into the chair next to her, slinging her free arm over Sandy's shoulders. ~Kurt! Backup on my position. Warren's on his way over. We've got Sandy!~

"Hi there, Sandy. You maybe want to consider not moving for a few minutes, okay? We're just going to have a nice, quiet chat, understand?"

"I'm sure you remember me," Warren said as he joined them, taking a seat opposite Sandy. "We met, a few nights ago. And I believe you have some photos of me that I'd like back."

When Monet had sat down, Sandy had automatically moved to slip away, but had been caught when the woman had thrown her arm around her shoulders. Instead she just froze, then tossed her hair back haughtily at Warren's accusation. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," she claimed in heavily accented English. 

"I think you do", Kurt said, strolling over from the alcove he'd just left.  "We have Troy over there, and I do not think my friend here will ever forget your face." 

Sandy scowled at the mention of Troy - she wasn't surprised that he'd betrayed her, both of them far too protective of their own skin to be truly loyal. 

"Well, yes, fine, perhaps I recall spending the night with him. Those wings, they are not easily to forget."

"And neither is a camera in the bedroom," Warren said, attempting to stay cool. "So perhaps you should stop playing coy, before my friend here forgets her manners and starts taking your reticence personally." 

Monet tightened her grip slightly. "I'm not very patient but I'd rather not rip the details out of your mind, so why don't you talk to us nicely? That way I don't have to get emphatic about anything." She really hoped that she wouldn't have to get any firmer with Sandy.

Sandy eyed Monet, wondering if she could possibly get away from the other woman. But the strength in the hands on her told her it was very unlikely, and she honestly didn't want the woman ripping anything out of her mind. 

"Oh, fine," she said with disgust, before going to her pocket to draw out a data stick. "I would have given you a chance to buy them back. I just had to figure how much they were worth." Sandy did not often collect gossip about Americans, she was just not familiar enough with them to know who was worth bribing. 

"And the prints?" Warren asked, pocketing the stick. Sandy sighed, and slid over a small folder. 

"You do not play very fair, did you know that? Coming in so heavy handed, with all your threats. We could have been so civilised about all this."

"Perhaps we could have," Warren agreed. "If we hadn't spent the past few days running around Europe trying to track you down." There was a pause. "Or, perhaps, if you hadn't left the hotel room when you did. You chose this game, lady, you can't complain when someone beats you at it." He looked over to Kurt and Monet, his relief evident in the slight sag of his shoulders. The make-up Monet had caked on hid too much of his facial expression, but it would usually be readable there as well. 

"Let's go home."