When in Rome... [FBI Tiff]

[mycroftsteed]

It was warm. Hot. The sun was gleaming and beating down against his skin. His pale complexion burnt and contorted like a piece of old leather. He took in  a deep breath and fumbled for his sunglasses in his pocket. He could smell the pollution and the carbon in the air, the byproducts of a bustling, industrial city. He gripped the sunglasses and drew them from the pocket. He clutched  his bag and threw it over his shoulder and placed the sunglasses neatly on the bridge of his nose. His foot hit the stairs as he began the decent from the aeroplane.
"Gotham" He whispered to himself. "Nice one"

The flight over hadn't been unpleasant. The seat was comfortable, the staff were tolerable but still Mycroft didn't feel confident. Perhaps it was leaving Emily behind while he'll jetted of to America, or maybe it was leaving that buffoon, Merchant in charge if the whole Intelligence Service while he was gone. He strolled into the terminal to see a man waiting for him with a sports car and moving van. 
"Matthew?" He asked the man as he shook his hand. Nice firm handshake, good

[fbi]

Tiffany came off as a cold hearted hard ass most of the time to anyone who had dealt with him. He easily judged others for their mishaps and tempts to the devil. He easily reminded people of their place in the pecking order of the world. The Lord at the highest. He always had to be organized and have a plan of action. He was not a spontaneous type of guy. However, when Tiffany was with friends, family, or people he genuinely like because he believed they were good people who deserved to enjoy life he was friendly. Very friendly. He wasn't the most popular boy in his high school for no reason at all.

When he shook Mycroft's hand in his, he pulled the man towards him into a beer hug. He knew the Englishman would find it slightly uncomfortable. His time with some the English had told him that they weren't as open to physical contact as he fellow Americans. "It's been too long Mycroft. I apologize I have not kept in contact over the years," he stated truly sincerely, as he still held the man in a hug. It was his personal sin he tried to overcome. He would neglect those he held close ties with. They deserved better from him. He finally pulled away with a large grin, "I'm happy you accepted."

When Tiffany's hands were back at his side, his smile had left completely. He held that serious expression most saw on him all the time. "Unfortunately, you will not be able to rest. This city has gone straight to hell. Saving it will be difficult, but I have a plan. I hope Emily won't mind, but you're going to be here for a while."

[jean]

[/b] She stated, before realising it was probably not a great idea to joke when she had little to no knowledge of how these two men would react. She knew nothing about them, except for the fact she'd just witnessed what appeared to be quite a warm hug between the pair of them. "Mycroft Steed? Agent Tiffany? Yes?" Jeanie asked. "I'm Agent Rathbone," she explained. "Agent Jean Rathbone," she added.[/ul]

[mycroftsteed]

Mycroft allowed himself to be pulled towards Tiff as he hugged him tightly. Mycroft dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around Matthew.

 "12, if I remember rightfully, Matt" Mycroft said sensitively "12 long years" Mycroft knew Matthew expected different of him, especially the hug. He was not a great lover of physical displays of emotion himself but this felt like the time to loosen up. A new city, a new country and a new challenge. Mycroft beamed back at the smiling Tiffany.

 "Well, I hope I'm not just pushing pencils like the old days Tiff. Times have changed" Mycroft pulled his identification card for HMI out of his wallet and handed it to Matthew.

As the two men stood, a woman wandered over to them. She wore a large coat, high heels and pulled a large suitcase on the floor behind. She identified her self as Agent Rathbone. Mycroft was sure he'd met a Jean Rathbone before. Somewhere, somehow.

"Well, Jean, I'm not sure about Mr. Tiffany here but,  as it is a pleasure to meet you, unfortunately, whilst on operations you will have to refer to me as Sir". Mycroft uttered begrudgingly. Jean seemed nice. His kind of person. She could really grow on him.

"I assume this is us then Matt?" Mycroft addressed the car rather than Tiffany, as he threw his bag into the back seat of the convertible. Mycroft walked to the driver side door. He placed his hand on the top off the door panel and stroked the car. He turned to Matthew and lifted his face slightly.

"Can I?" He pleaded.

[fbi]

He saw the badge Mycroft showed him. He inwardly winced. He knew his friend was proud of his accomplishments, but he should not gloating. He wanted to say or warn his friend of that flaw, but he couldn't because he saw how happy it made the man. He was a friend after all, but he would politely inform his friend later on. Tiffany's smile fell immediately at the interruption. It held a serious expression as he turned to judge the other agent who was joining his task force. The only reason he had caught interest as he looked over backgrounds was her previous career with the GCPD. He needed someone with background information of Gotham, and since he had little faith in the police department he would pull someone from his own agency.

"Agent Tiff," he stated blandly as he shook the woman's hand, but before he could address her more he saw Mycroft throwing his bag into a fancy convertible. The man then touched it as if the car were some type of delicious food. Tiffany felt his eyebrow rise in confusion as he saw Mycroft moved to the door and ask if he could.

"That's not my car," he stated with a humored smirk crossing his face. This was why he enjoyed Mycroft, he was always making such funny jokes. To have such confidence to go up to a stranger's car all to make Tiffany laugh, he was quite a friend. Yes, this was what Tiffany really thought. It was probably a self protection measure when handling friends because if he actually realized Mycroft was truly showing such an obsession over a stupid car he would be furious. Tiffany has friends, but to have friends his mind must play these tricks on him.

Tiffany only chuckled slightly. "My car is over here," he stated as he walked towards a boring black subaru legacy a couple cars back. He turned to the female agent, "Agent, you lived in Gotham correct? As I am driving in I will need to know everyone with the GCPD you believe had questionable loyalties. I need at least twenty names, but I expect there to be more."

He turned to Mycroft as he stopped at the Subaru, "As I said before, straight to work."

(OOC: lol i told you Mycroft, Tiff would never own such a thing.)

[jean]

[/b] she corrected, when Mycroft insisted that was how he ought to be referred to. Jeanie certainly wasn't a fan of the formality between agents who were working together, but she'd put up with it. She was used to referring to everyone by their first name, or by their surname in an affectionate way. Rathbone almost seemed affectionate when you had the right person talking about it. Agent or Sir just seemed so stoic to her, but she accepted it none the less. She had no choice, really.

She turned and shook hands with Mathew Tiffany, and smiled at him. They had such a brief introduction before Mycrofy dropped his bag into a convertible - a car apparently not Tiff's. It wasn't a surprise, because it seemed to be such a laidback mode of transport, and not something she would associate with any FBI. She couldn't help but smirk as Tiff proceeded to inform Mycroft that it wasn't, in fact, his car and that he'd just put his bags into a strangers. Jeanie placed her hand over her mouth briefly, hiding her smile before they moved on. Tiff's car was parked a few back, and they made they way over towards it. Jeanie pulled her suitcase along behind her, still not quite sure what to make of the men around her. They were both older than her, and superior in their positions to her, but she held the invaluable insight into Gotham for which she'd been called upon for this operation. Jeanie assumed that was probably her soul purpose in this entire operation. She had to admit, when she'd been told about it she'd been quite sceptical. The I in FBI didn't stand for investigation for nothing.

"That's correct," Jean responded when Tiff asked if she'd lived in Gotham. She was slightly taken aback by his request, and she paused for a second. Hand over the names of the questionable police officers she'd met in her time at the police department, and where would they go, exactly? She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, before nodding back at him. "I'm sure I can hand you more than twenty, Agent Tiff," she assured him. "Then you're gonna be looking at a police department with no police," she smiled. There were very few loyal police officers in Gotham.[/ul]

[mycroftsteed]

"Ah"

Mycroft lifted his bag from the back seat of the car and ran his fingers across the side panel. "Well, whoever owns this fine machine is bloody lucky".
He slung the bag over his shoulder and continued on over to the Subaru. "Very Cliché, If I say so myself Tiff. The FBI driving around in a black saloon car?" Mycroft tutted sarcastically and chuckled at Matthew as he rolled his eyes at him. 

He walked with purpose, admiring the car as his 'petrol head' instincts came into play. Stared longingly at the jet black hood and saw his distorted reflection glaring back at him. He took a deep breath and smell the pollution and fumes of biting oil in the mighty engine. Mycroft longed for a car like this. He had wanted to drive a black saloon ever since his days as a youngster watching movie where the men suits appear in jet black motors. 

He hurried to the driver's side and grabbed the door handle. He spun on his heels and gave Tiff the puppy dog eyes. "Please?" Mycroft was like a child in a toy shop. He outstretched his hand, as if begging, waiting, pleading for Tiff to drop the keys in his palm. He waited and waited and waited, until he felt the cold chill of the silver metal in his hand. "Excellent!" He cried with joy as he heaved the door open and slipped into the seat. He looked at Agent Rathbone through the rear-view mirror as she sat in the back seat. He knew his eyes were enough to communicate with her. "As regards to the Sir remark earlier, its only a simple formality that's really not required" He smiled "Chief or Boss or Croft or something like thats fine with me. Just don't call me Steed. Reminds me of boarding school" He paused slightly as he placed the keys into the ignition and turned. The mighty engine roared into life and Mycroft looked back into the mirror. "But tell me Jean, were you once in the Santa Fe Hotel in Toulouse with a man named Bradford in about 2002?" He inquired.   

[fbi]

He ignored his friends obsession with the car. It was only a materialistic object and should not be valued more in anyway. He just glanced over at the list. He would have preferred to drive because he knew the location they were going, but he also did not want to destroy his friend's mood. He managed to mute that agitation by focusing on his work. "This is good, Agent," he commented to his new employee, "It's enough people to make everyone else realize that their job is no longer secure. If they come to that conclusion then they will be less likely to snap out against the group."

He folded up the list and put it in his pocket. Mycroft's statement caused the barest of smile on his lips. It was humorous, but this wasn't the time nor place to be joking. The men on your team should respect you and that does not come from acting like a friend. It comes from order.

"I assume you both have been informed of the basic outline of the mission, but I will soon have enough force to destroy the main meeting place. The attempt on my life gave me a key piece to determining where these costume people are getting their weapons from. There have been many black market deals, but all the dealers that I have arrested have known one man in particular. Oswald Cobblepot. We will be raiding his restaurant and arresting all people on sight. Some I assume will be innocent, but they will not be let go until after interrogation."

[jean]

[/i] someone. It was never an easy job, and she often wrestled with her own conscience. She did the same with PROTECT - it was almost like people had forgotten there were humans behind the masks, trying to make the world a better place, just like she was. Just like these two men with her were trying to do. They were on the same side, but now someone had taken up arms and said 'enough is enough'. There was a fine line between being a hero and being a convict, and apparently i you did it in a suit you were a hero, but if you did the same thing in a costume, you were a convict.

Jean shut the car and walked around to the side, slipping into the seat and pulling the belt across to make sure she was strapped in. She sighed heavily and pulled her phone from her bag, wondering if she should drop her brother a text and let him know she was back in Gotham now. Perhaps she ought to wait, she thought. Things were likely to be hectic for a while, and she wouldn't be able to see her family for a bit. Give it time, Jean decided.

"Quite so," Jean said in response to Tiff. "Plenty of Officers in the department thought they gained the best of both worlds by doubling up on who they're working for," Jean added. "Funny their extracurricular affairs never quite stopped some of them ending up with a stray bullet in their skulls. Guess they figured it might grant them immunity to work against the department," Jean rationalised. "But there's no such thing as immunity," she added. She chose not to comment on Tiff's point about raiding the meeting point, merely giving him a curt nod. The plan of action was not hers to comment on. She looked up again as Mycroft spoke to her.

"Alright, Boss," she grinned, slipping her phone back into her bag and giving him a smile, assuming from the angle of his gaze that he was observing her through the rear-view mirror. Boss probably wasn't going to end up being the name she referred to him as, but right now she felt like she ought to comply with formality until they understood each other better. She zipped her bag up again before her eyes travelled up, head set to the side a little as Mycroft made a strange little enquiry.

"I'm sorry?" Jean asked, looking stunned by his question. "How - Bradford is the surname of my fiance. Er, well, ex-fiance," she explained, shaking her head. "But... Toulouse? Have we met before?" Jean asked, sitting up slightly. "I was only nineteen then, you couldn't possibly..." she trailed off, clutching her bag to her and looking severely perplexed at this strange turn of events.[/ul]