#painlived

    He turned slowly, steadily and let out a soft sigh as his hand settled on the kitchen counter.  “You should know you can’t sneak up on me by now. Especially not in my own home,”  A little smile appeared on his face then he turned back to the coffee he was making.  “Want some coffee?”

Alright, alright. Stay calm. You’re only being hunted by a bunch of Cold War G-Men lackies somehow still in their prime, with both bullets and tranquilizer darts, tagging along a woman with the patience of a landmine and being a man whose existential stability is only considered in terms of cosmic flux... Lovely.

Still, he couldn’t blame the PI for her admonishing plea to the heavens for at least some fucking bourbon to deal with the current situation. His own sentiments were... unsurprisingly similar. Especially given dealing with the government was not his forte, regardless of whether or not time travel was technically within his wheelhouse. When her ire turned toward him for an explanation, not entirely unwarranted, he held up his hands in demi-defeat. “Alright, relax. Long story short, the US government got up to a lot of shady shit over the last... ever, but during the 1980s there was a project in Manhattan that used human experiments to play with multi-temporality and longevity. Meaning time travel and eternal life,” he spluttered out, ducking his head as a slew of gunfire sent splinters flying from the door to the room they were hiding in. “Unfortunately for all of us, the Montauk Project was real, and it worked.”

Sort of. “At least partially. These men, whoever they are and whyever they want either of us, aren’t temporally stable. the smallest thing could upset their placement in this time, and potentially foil whatever it is they think they can get from us.” He cast her a knowing glance, and a slant smile. “That is to say, beating them up enough might well get them to bugger off.”

    THE AUDACITY OF SOME PEOPLE WILL NEVER SEIZE TO AMAZE HER. Vanessa has learned the art of subtlety and she’s masterfully weaved truths and half truths to people as to why and why not they should or should not do certain things... but everyone had a limit, and today the curator had reached hers. “This painting is a rarity, the slightest of unprofessional touches could ruin its integrity.” She speaks frankly, an upturned nose towards the woman whose apparel spoke of someone who could not even afford the least expensive thing from the gift shop. She has learned not to judge books by their cover, however.