Good Conversation

It seemed like the only choice from where he sat. No one within ACME took him seriously to begin with and after his turn, people took him even less so. It had been two days since Nigel Braithwaite had fled. And with every second that ticked by, his stomach churned with indecision. He believed foremost what he witnessed himself. Carmen handing off the goods in Venice and her coincidental fly away from Nigel's office in London that night. He could hardly concentrate on the ACME tasks around him. Constantly scanning around for other clues with Julia's voice playing on a loop in the back of his mind. Followed closely by his own criticising for daring to have an opposing opinion. He was in her shoes, looked strangely upon when he prosed contradictory thoughts during meetings. A raised brown followed with a prolonged silence sealed his decision to seek out answers. To find Julia.

The demoralising way the other agents, and Chief, treated him as if he were a moron, more than usual, made him uncomfortable. Isolated. It punctured his work ethic greatly, finding it all trivial to the bigger picture the stood just outside of. And honestly, his feelings. But most notably, their constant denouncing of his hypotheses and opinions made him instantaneously think back to another he treated the same way. That was the true source of his misery. Pure, unfiltered guilt clouding his everyday actions, making him mumble with regret. Remembering clearly back to the conversation he eavesdropped on back in Mexico. Things had to be adjusted, repaired and absolved. It was difficult to conjure up memories of anything decent between them. He knew he should have tried to salvage it during those few weeks he was back at ACME, before she left herself. Instead of remaining on that self brought short pedestal. He was honestly just excited to be back. If there was anything he had to offer her, it would be that they share their view on Carmen Sandiego: That she is not what she seems. Rightfully, he still had his reservations, those now moderately inlined with Miss Argents. Even if he found her, and she was unwanting to discuss anything due to her objecting to consulting with a heinous beast such as himself. Then he would attempt an apology only, it was what he owed her, at the very least. An apology for his thoughtlessly avoided support for her different opinion.

ACME wasn't to linger around in London much longer. To move on once the governmental mess left by Nigel Braithwaite was dealt with. So he had to act quick. He was already way off everyone else's radar within ACME at this point within just a few days. Making it easy for him to slip off for a minute or two and do a little bit of research to pinpoint Julia.

She currently resided within London, working at UCL, in Bloomsbury in London's West End. In the Ancient History department, essentially, the humanities wing. It was too easy to find her, scarily so, reminding Chase that ACME truly knew everything, especially her work schedule. Except for who and where VILE was, naturally. Julia, unfortunately, had a large workload full of lectures and classes. Only having a few office hour breaks in the next few days he could take advantage of. It would be tricky to sneak off for an hour or two during the afternoon to get to her. But he had no choice, so he did it. It was all eating away at his sides. He wanted to know what she thought all this time. Chase wanted Julia to tell him for sure what was true and correct for she had been the one to see it clearly for so long. His judgement was currently compromised by worldly emotions.

To lower his chances of getting caught by a roaming security camera, he changed back into his 'streetwear'. Sadly for Chase, he never had plans to do any 'street activities'. So planning to bring any other real ensembles was low on his list. Only having his gold cat jacket still shoved at the bottom of his case. He had tucked it there for storage, now the only thing he had to wear instead of his clearly obvious and branded ACME jackets. With that appearing as his only alternative, almost made him abandon the idea. But if there were anything truly, eternal good about him, it would be his determination in the face of adversity.

The rain had a soil-like smell to it. As if the ground itself had spat it back up high into the air just for it to fall back down upon him. It wasn't particularly bad, but it never quelled in its potency. The immaculate grass surrounding the main UCL building as well as the old stone beneath his feet the most likely culprit to the stench. Chase kept his umbrella tight to his head, wanting to make sure his face was covered. Partly because the jacket was a lot brighter in its blue tones than he remembered even in the dull stormy afternoon sky. But for his and her safety. The risks of appearing before her not only put his life in danger but hers. The last point far more forbidding than anything else.