[ The words come a little too easily. It itches at the back of Sam's mind, the awareness that he's not usually this agreeable, this docile to be led. He doesn't feel dizzy, though, just a little lighter. His thoughts wander, briefly to the strangely sweet smelling flower someone on the streets tucked into his breast pocket, to musings on the source of his strange willingness to just 'yes and' all current developments.
It occurs to him he should actually ask where they're going, but something in hims is so bone deep mellow that he ends up not caring, tugging along in full capacity of his wits, but with something inside of his stomach rolling at the very thought of saying no to anything T'Challa asks.
Sam frowns. Is vaguely aware of being led through doors, and concludes 'building' somewhere in his mind. Is even more aware of the fact that under usual circumstances, he'd have at least stated his case, that he was on his way somewhere with purpose, that this sidetrek may well blow his operation. But the thought comes and it goes, and Sam just follows along. Too quiet, perhaps. Because T'Challa told him to choose his words wisely. Curious, that. ]
I should probably make you aware that there's a very real chance I've been drugged or otherwise compromised.
[ — curious (as cats are) that he is not subject to the Captain's rapier wit. And that in leading, to observe how one is followed. He would like to say it's because of trust, but when T'Challa glances back towards Sam, his eyes narrow in careful scrutiny. It's fortunate they are near a safe(r) district, and that the eyes that all watch them are friendly to Wakanda. For now. ]
[ They stop only when Sam warns him, at the side of a lobby with a plush but hideous carpet, waiting for the elevator. ]
It has become clear. Be at ease, Captain, we are going to a safe place.
[ Not dismissive, not a quip as is so wont to fall from his lips. And it's curious, because Sam doesn't feel sluggish, doesn't even feel like part of him is protesting being this... agreeable to everything that's being said. And yet here he is.
The thought sinks in that since nobody had reason to suspect Sam would make contact with T'Challa. So either Sam, bad at undercover work as he is, blew his cover and was targeted by people who wanted him to be real mellow and agreeable to anyone he'd end up in contact with - a chilling thought - or he was seriously unlucky and targeted as a random unlucky citizen of Madripoor. Chilling, as well, on a more seedy level. ]
I feel like I should question you more about having a safe house in Madripoor.
I believe the adage is that a cat lands on its feet.
[ Wakanda's war dogs have their teeth everywhere. Especially here, there are no less than three, embedded in various operations, in the best places to strike. Here is where nearly all the reputable fences work, where all the contacts are made, where the money changes hands. No one is closer to the identity of the Power Broker than them, but for some reason that man is still elusive. ]
[ The elevator dings open, and soft music drifts out of it. ]
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For @foreclaws
Yes.
[ The words come a little too easily. It itches at the back of Sam's mind, the awareness that he's not usually this agreeable, this docile to be led. He doesn't feel dizzy, though, just a little lighter. His thoughts wander, briefly to the strangely sweet smelling flower someone on the streets tucked into his breast pocket, to musings on the source of his strange willingness to just 'yes and' all current developments.
It occurs to him he should actually ask where they're going, but something in hims is so bone deep mellow that he ends up not caring, tugging along in full capacity of his wits, but with something inside of his stomach rolling at the very thought of saying no to anything T'Challa asks.
Sam frowns. Is vaguely aware of being led through doors, and concludes 'building' somewhere in his mind. Is even more aware of the fact that under usual circumstances, he'd have at least stated his case, that he was on his way somewhere with purpose, that this sidetrek may well blow his operation. But the thought comes and it goes, and Sam just follows along. Too quiet, perhaps. Because T'Challa told him to choose his words wisely. Curious, that. ]
I should probably make you aware that there's a very real chance I've been drugged or otherwise compromised.
no subject
[ They stop only when Sam warns him, at the side of a lobby with a plush but hideous carpet, waiting for the elevator. ]
It has become clear. Be at ease, Captain, we are going to a safe place.
no subject
[ Not dismissive, not a quip as is so wont to fall from his lips. And it's curious, because Sam doesn't feel sluggish, doesn't even feel like part of him is protesting being this... agreeable to everything that's being said. And yet here he is.
The thought sinks in that since nobody had reason to suspect Sam would make contact with T'Challa. So either Sam, bad at undercover work as he is, blew his cover and was targeted by people who wanted him to be real mellow and agreeable to anyone he'd end up in contact with - a chilling thought - or he was seriously unlucky and targeted as a random unlucky citizen of Madripoor. Chilling, as well, on a more seedy level. ]
I feel like I should question you more about having a safe house in Madripoor.
no subject
[ Wakanda's war dogs have their teeth everywhere. Especially here, there are no less than three, embedded in various operations, in the best places to strike. Here is where nearly all the reputable fences work, where all the contacts are made, where the money changes hands. No one is closer to the identity of the Power Broker than them, but for some reason that man is still elusive. ]
[ The elevator dings open, and soft music drifts out of it. ]
This way, please.