evillurks | Check-up

Current Location: Apartment of James Rettigue, Manhattan, NY

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Check-up

The Shadow has been splitting his time between the Sanctum and the apartment of James Rettigue, but only one of these locations is a place for guests. The coffee table is a solid mass of paperwork, although there are signs of order in the form of stacks. The furniture is sleek and black, modern even for its time. One wall of the living room is dominated by a tall picture window that overlooks the city, but the curtains are half drawn. From the kitchen the scent of fresh coffee drifts, but The Shadow is not used to entertaining. The spartan feel to the place, broken only by his paperwork, does not give a welcoming feel.

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"Do you think you -- that is, your alternate, can stop a world war?" She's not sure whether to be impressed or disturbed. "I really only know the basics -- the Strangers mixed the first and second World Wars into something of a jumble for us -- but that sounds like quite an undertaking."

The Shadow closes the folder and lets it fall into his lap, settling back with a rattling sigh. He has his diagnosis now, and the paperwork can tell him little more that will be of practical use. The knotty fingers of his long hands are steepled together as he falls into the more comfortable topic of his work.

"I think there's a possibility, because sometimes very small pushes and pulls on events can turn the greater tide. In my own world, Hitler had almost abandoned a plan to invade Russia, when winter was coming on. It was a foolish plan, but through careful manipulations his mind was changed back, and he went ahead with the invasion. It didn't end the war, but it did go very badly for him, and delayed more dangerous actions until the American forces had joined in the fight. If he hadn't invaded Russia when he did..." He gives a mild shrug that belies how terrible that thought truly is.

((All of this is, in fact, a neatly-written Shadow comic.))

Sarah nods, listening. This sounds like a more plausible scenario than stopping the war completely. "And you'd like your alternate to do the same thing?" She remembers something that she learned from reading an accurate history book. "I... I don't suppose there's any way of saving all those people he systematically killed. Hitler, I mean."

"His world, Myra's world, hasn't reached that point yet. The Concentration Camps haven't seriously begun. I'm hoping they can nudge the right leaders and influence decisions that will prevent Hitler from ever getting that far, yes." It's a monumental undertaking, and they all know it.

"I wish you luck." She smiles sadly. "I once helped to try and alter the world of my boyfriend's alternate. We were... we were all a little too naive, I think. It didn't end well. But we had to try."

"Thank you. It's very possible something far worse than I could ever imagine will come out of my meddling." He sighs, but that risk was weighed on both sides before the project was begun.
"But I understand the need to try, all too well. I don't think I could take watching the war happen all over again for them."

"That's always the risk you run when you try to change the future." She looks at him thoughtfully. "Did you fight in the second World War?"

"It is, but it's worth the risk to prevent the holocaust." Her question actually puts a faint smile on his face, and he looks almost... flattered. "Not as a soldier, no. When I was a young man, I fought in the First." That might have taken him for younger, even by a decade, is a pleasant thought.

"You have to try," she agrees. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"Oh... what was the first one like? Were you The Shadow back then?"

"That's kind of you to offer. I'll keep you in mind if my alternate finds himself without someone to patch him up." He smirks wryly, aware that may not be quite what she had in mind.

"No, not yet. I was a pilot." He shrugs, while a myriad of memories flow through his head. His position in the Secret Service, the altering of his name for anonymonity, the shrapnel that damaged half his face; all these are secrets he intends to take to the grave. "It was a mess. All war is, from the inside."

No, that wasn't really what she had in mind, but she nods politely anyway. A sudden thought occurs to her. "You should tell your alternate to find some way to protect his lungs. Maybe he can avoid taking on so much damage." She feels a little guilty bringing the conversation back to the original topic, but since the Stranger seems all about changing timelines, perhaps this is something else that can be changed.

"Can you still fly a plane?" She asks, curious.

"I've warned him to stop smoking..." He frowns faintly, "But I doubt he'll take advice from me any better than from anyone else. I don't think I would have, at his age." He is honest with himself, at the very least.

As if he could simply forget how to fly. "I keep my license valid, yes. I have an autogyro, and a small plane. They come in handy for my work sometimes."

"He'll quit at some point, won't he? You did. You could try showing him the pictures of your lungs. That might turn him off." Because the Shadow's lungs are kind of yucky-looking.

"They do sound useful... I used to fly. For a short time."

"...He will, but Cranston smoked, and he's still spending a fair amount of time pretending to be him..." The idea of hypnotizing Lamont Cranston into quitting smoking does cross his mind. Certainly it doesn't do him any good either. "And thank you for that charming suggestion." several pictures, taken by different imaging means, are included in the folder. He has not lingered over them, yet.

"Did you? What did you fly? Why did ever stop?" This topic seems to interest him particularly. Beneath the impassive exerior, there lurks a passion for aircraft.

"Get him to quit, too. It's bad for everyone." She sighs, a little frustrated. "I always knew it was bad, but I had no idea how bad until I started reading modern medical literature. I've been trying to start an anti-smoking campaign. Perhaps without a huge tobacco company lobbying against me, I'll have better luck."

She smiles shyly. "I flew myself. I was a swan." That's probably not the answer the Shadow was expecting. Or looking forward to. Oh, well. "I still dream about it. Is it hard to fly a plane? It must be hard." All those gauges and switches... it was so simple to spread her wings and do what came naturally.

"It wouldn't hurt him to quit younger..." The Cranston of his own time is not doing well at all, although even at ten years younger he's lived a full life. "And good luck. The kids find things other than tobacco to kill themselves with, here."

That she's been a bird was the last answer he expected, but he takes it with expressionless calm, reminding himself of the LOLs of which he has yet to experience one. "That sounds like a fascinating experience. Airplanes vary in difficulty. As time goes by they get more and more complicated, but safer, too. There's something to be said for an open cockpit, though." He looks briefly nostalgic. They don't build them like they used to, out of wood and painted canvas and badly leaking oil that streams onto the goggles of the pilot exposed to the wind. There are good reasons, of course, that they don't build them that way anymore. He'd be hard-pressed to figure out the workings of a jet or a modern commercial airliner, though.

"We have those, too," Sarah replies. "The Strangers were kind enough to provide us with fuel for all our vices."

"It was wonderful," she sighs, her expression unfocusing for a moment. "Just... lifting my arms -- well, my wings, I mean -- and pushing into the air, feeling the wind rushing past me..." Perhaps the Shadow might understand, a little bit, since he is nostalgic for open cockpit flying.

She looks at her watch. "Oh, shoot. I have to go back home and feed the kitten. Did you have any other questions about your diagnosis?"

He winces slightly, out of sympathy, concerned for the youth of her city now. Perhaps they could use a black-clad avenger around to destroy the drug rings and put fear into the criminals and teenagers. Likely John wouldn't appreciate The Shadow's methods of going about it.

"It sounds... mm. I think all pilots dream about that." There is a trace of wistfulness about his smile, but he stands with a nod, offering a businesslike handshake. "No, thank you, I think I'll manage. I can't promise to avoid aggravating the condition, though. Thank you, and... congratulations." The ring on her left hand has not escaped his notice, and he's sure it wasn't there the last time he saw her, back before his escapades tracing the drug ring.

John would most definitely not appreciate a vigilante in his city, even if it was to break up drug rings (because, really, if John wanted to, he could simply will all the drugs out of existence.)

"Really? LOLs aren't something to wish for, but I wouldn't mind that one again." She returns his handshake, professional and courteous, but then he offers his congratulations. "Oh... oh, thank you." She simply cannot contain her happiness, her expression glowing. "Take care of yourself, Shadow." She'll go ahead and PINpoint out before she says anything silly.

The Shadow will simply have to content himself with dispensing justice in every other city he can get his hands into.

"I haven't been, yet, and I'm not looking forward to it." The Shadow gives a shrug, resigned to the idea that he is due for an LOL eventually. His handshake is solid and carefully gentle, the of a man without the least worry of arthritis. "Likewise." He lets her go and steps back so she may PINpoint away. He's perfectly glad to see her go without gushing about her engagement, which may be why he waited to mention it until she was about to leave. He's just as glad to go back to his work, now.

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