Just Another Day on the Job

Participants:

alexander_icon.gif cat_icon.gif daniel_icon.gif grace_icon.gif helena_icon.gif peter_icon.gif ygraine_icon.gif

Also featuring:

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Scene Title Just Another Day On The Job
Synopsis It's quittin' time, and Grace has a package. Then it becomes social hour, much to the manager's dismay.
Date September 15, 2008

Alley Cat Courier Service

What was once a small warehouse now serves a completely different purpose. From before dawn until after dark, bikes pass in and out the open doors, couriers off to pick up and deliver mail, returning to take on another task.

Although the warehouse should be rather spacious, it mostly manages to feel crowded. At the very least, busy. A row of lockers, stacked two high, covers one long wall. Bike racks for those who prefer to keep their bicycles here - or need someplace to leave them while on break - line the opposite side of the building. There are always people moving about - rummaging in their lockers, little knots of chitchat, trading experiences and advice on routes (or just the latest gossip) beneath the shouted calls for messengers to deliver this package there or go pick up something from somewhere else. There are usually two people tasked with coordinating the chaos of the Alley Cats, a receptionist who takes called-in orders and the manager who sees to the fair dispersal of jobs; a corner of the warehouse near the main doors has been partitioned off to create their offices.


Flaked out on a battered old sofa of a particularly hideous orange shade - albeit one now liberally scattered with splotchy patches left by coffee and other spilled drinks - a figure in black lycra moans theatrically, then stiffly lifts her head to squint dubiously into the flickering glow of the overhead strip lighting. "Gah. Neverfall'sleep here 'gain", she mumbles. "Oh, my neck…."

Skirting in from the open door - it's really more of one of those sliding wide metal things that are used in such warehouse, giving ample room for messengers coming in - is Helena, skidding to an expert stop on her bike before unsaddling and hefting it to go stick up on the rack. "Aww, Yggy," she remarks as she's walking by, "You need to get your money back from Maybeline, because that's not what I call beauty sleep. You feeling alright?"

Ygraine sticks her tongue out at Helena, expression turning sour again as she pushes herself halfway upright. "Urgh. I just rested my eyes for a minute, honest", she grumbles, before running a hand across her eyes and shaking her head. "Blech. Was just unkinking my back a little before going for a shower. Dunno how long ago _that_ was…" She squints dubiously towards the door, then blinks. "Oh, yeah. Did that cop ever find you?"

Helena unbuckles her helmet, and walks to to the drink machine. She makes a fist and bangs on it in a complex series of thumps, and a moment later, a bottled water rolls out of the bottom. As she retrieves it, she straightens with a frown. "Cop? What cop?" She seems confused rather than panicked, after all, she hasn't done anything wrong.

Ygraine waves a hand vaguely in the air. "Some guy. Uhhhh. Trask. Officer Norton Trask. That's it. Came in to ask Jean about a list of names - most of us foreign types, plus a few locals. You were one of them. Bought me breakfast and "interviewed" me while Jean ran off the paperwork on the printer."

Helena scrunches her nose in distaste as she carefully chugs some water. "What for?" she says. "It's not like I've violated any traffic laws. Feh. Why would I be on an immigration list? I'm from Sleepy Hollow. You can't get much more Americana." She flops down into a chair adjacent to Ygraine's, letting her leg drape off the arm.

Someone else enters through the main door — if without a bike. Which marks her as a customer, more likely than not. The package in hand is a bit more reliable an indicator. Grace looks to be dressed more for business today — in charcoal slacks and a red blouse, at any rate. If her shoes make any sounds on the concrete floor, they're buried beneath the usual din of the couriers coming, going, and chattering.

Ygraine nods. "He said he didn't draw up the list - he was just the guy given it to check out. Looked to me like a list of foreign workers, with a handful of locals thrown in to "prove" they were just doing random spot-checks of some kind. I didn't get asked about any violations. Just… whether I'd seen anything odd around here, really. I wondered if they were checking this place out precisely _because_ it's got such a good rep for being above-board: "too good to be true", or some such theory. We wound up talking about law, as it happens…." Her voice trails off as she peers at the latest arrival, then raises a hand in greeting to the businesswoman.

"That's a lot of bull. Why would you send out a cop to do check ups on people and not even really know the point of doing so?" Helena shrugs. "Whatever. If this guy needs to find me so badly, he knows where to." A cop is looking for her? Sounds like she'll need to talk to Sergei. Espying the newly arrived potential client, Hel prudently takes her leg off the arm of the chair, a vague concession to appearing professional. "Can we help you, ma'am?" she calls out politely.

Addressed by Helena, Grace turns towards the young woman. She seems vaguely familiar, even from across the warehouse. Rather than yell back at the speaker, Grace waves a hand at her to show she was heard, then picks her way through the not-so-controlled chaos in between. Once she's close enough not to have to strain her ruined voice, Grace hefts the package and replies, "Just looking to send this." It's a small box, of the size that might hold a book and a bit of padding. Wrapped entirely in brown paper, with recipient and return addresses neatly written on that in black ink.

Ygraine once again raises her hand in greeting, mustering a rather tired smile for Grace. "Hi there. Forgive me if I'm too sleepy to think straight - but you're a friend of MacKenzie's, aren't you? If so - nice to see you again. If not - sorry for burbling nonsense at you."

Helena blinks at the pair. Okay, so they know each other. Huffing to her feet - not that she's out of shape, but Hel's just come back from a run - she elbows her way through the crowd at the desk, leaving a path behind her and beckoning Grace along.

The name, and the accent, jog Grace's memory well enough. "Mm. We've met," she corrects Ygraine, not unkindly, a hint of a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. Summoned, she sketches a brief wave to Ygraine, and follows after Helena, setting the package on the desk. Resting one hand on a corner of it, but idly.

Ygraine grins sheepishly, waving once more at Grace as the businesswoman moves to follow Helena. For her own part, she pushes herself to her feet, grabs her backpack and gear from the floor by the end of the sofa, and moves to belatedly stow them in her locker.

"Hey, Rey! Sort out this lady's package, would you?" Helena gestures with a flourish for Grace to step up and do her business. "Don't let Rey get all upsale on you, either." she tells Grace in passing, "Unless you actually need it." She lingers though, to hear the package's destination. Heck, maybe she'll take the run.

That hint of a smile broadens at Helena's instructions. "Oh, I won't," she assures the girl. Turning her attention to Rey, she tends to arranging the delivery with the air of having done this quite a few times before. If perhaps not necessarily here. The package, it seems, is destined for somewhere in Lower East Side.

Alexander has arrived.

Helena takes a nosy gander at the address. "Are you on a rush requirement?" she asks of Grace. "That's on my way home. I could drop it off en route and turn in the sig tomorrow morning." Rey nods vaguely, apparently this is something they allow, provided the client's permission.

Currently fumbling with the task of removing some items from her locker while inserting others, Ygraine spares a glance over her shoulder to check up on Grace's progress at the counter. Apparently reassured by what she sees, she returns her attention to disentangling a large blue towel from the straps of her backpack.

"I'm not," Grace replies, drawing out the words a bit. Contemplation is obvious even in her rasping raven's voice. A twitch of a smile; what might even be a glint in those pale blue eyes. "However… I get to pass the bill up the chain," the woman continues. Which means she doesn't have the reason of money for refusal. "And I'm sure Brian would appreciate getting it as soon as possible."

Helena seems inclined to let another courier pick it up then - she's not in the mood to handle a rush job after just coming back. Once Grace squares away the delivery, Rey holds the package up. "Hot run, Lower East Side!" he yells. Presumably, one of the other lingering couriers will take the initiative.

Maybe he's coming courting (though Helena is way too young for him). Maybe it's just a favor. But for whatever reason, there's Alex in all his glory, with Chinese takeout, peering in the door.

Ygraine glances around once more in response to the shout, only to have a black boot tumble out of her locker and bounce on the floor. Cursing half under her breath, she finally disentangles the towel, stuffs the rest of her burden into the compartment, then crouches to retrieve the errant footwear.

Grace covers one ear at Rey's yell, half-closing her eyes. She pays for the delivery, and nods to Helena. "Thanks," the woman says, directing it apparently to both the courier and the manager, before making her way towards the door. Transaction complete. Now on to other business.

Daniel comes in and stashes his bicycle quietly in the rack. Known for being quiet and keeping to himself among the other couriers, as well as perhaps being a bit of an obsessive about the air he breathes while crossing the island - even carrying his own breath mask, according to rumor. Possibly a good idea in the areas where dust still kicks up, but not exactly macho. He turns in his receipts, gets his cut of the cash.

Helena was near the counter, but now seems to be angling away from it. Then, "Daniel!" She seems pleased to see him, and then pauses, her little nose going sniff-sniff. Her head swerves toward the door. "Alex," she purrs, "Is that Pork lo mein?"
IT's like that scene in Beauty and the Beast, where the Beast offers Belle the whole library. "It is indeed," Al agrees, in his slowest, most amused drawl, dangling it before her temptingly. "I saw you dash past a few blocks away, figured you were homing."

Grace has left.

Slinging her towel over one shoulder, Ygraine closes and locks the door upon her stored belongings, turning to make her way through to the back and the rudimentary shower block installed for the benefit of the couriers.

Daniel says very quietly, "Hi, Helena. Hi, Alex. How's it going?" He also espies Ygraine, who he knows as a fellow worker, but perhaps not enough to interrupt, instead giving her a nod of greeting as she passes.

"Yggy, there's Chinese food!" Helena calls over her shoulder, as she graciously accepts the lo mein as if she were a goddess accepting libation. Yes, this is how you appease the goddess of storms; liberal application of MSG. "C'mon, sit down with us, Rey won't mind. Think you can swing a ride home for me and Daniel if we stick our bikes in the trunk?"

"Sounds awright to me," Alex says, amiably. The cab is outside. And god help him, it's a vintage Checker, in pristine condition. He must've sold what's left of his soul to get it. He's in the usual t-shirt and fatigues. He looks around for a convenient space to sit.

Ygraine dithers, attention grabbed by the offer of free food. "Lemme clean up!", she calls to Helena, offering her a grin and a wave. "I must _stink_!", she calls back before turning towards the showers once more.
Daniel says, "Thanks, I'll leave my bike here for now." He always has some mysterious errand that brings him this way or that with or without a bicycle. "Oh, for me too? Thanks, man, I could use a bite. Been through all kinds of things this afternoon. How was your run, Helena?"

There's a lounging area of beat up furniture for the off-duty and between run couriers. Alex is welcome to plant himself there. Hel flops back down again in her favorite chair, once more draping her leg over the arm. "It was alright." she says. "I'll probably cash out after I've eaten. Yours?"

Daniel says, "Interesting. They have new ID requirements at Northeast Sector Four. I had to double back for the authorization twice before they could get the right person on the radio." That's interesting? Well, for certain values of 'interest'.
Alexander settles down and spreads out the feast on the coffee table. General's chicken, sesame chicken, pork lo mein, and pot stickers. He casts an interested eye at Daniel, but right now he's working on the sesame chicken with great enthusiasm.

Ygraine disappears from view into the shower block, from which the sound of running water can soon be heard….

"Who ended up getting on the horn?" Hel asks with purely professional interest. Purely professional! She chopsticks herself some lo mein like a pro. Between mouthfuls, "I bet that was a nice take, though. You had to go through the rad zone."

Daniel says, "A new Colonel, Colonel Rayburn. Not sure who that is. Nobody at the checkpoint seemed too thrilled about him either. Apparently he's offsite somewhere, but close enough to hassle with a shortwave."

Alexander all but goes into a point at that name, like a spaniel who's found a nest of quail - he stiffens, and swallows hastily. "Did you hear him? Did you hear what he sounded like?"

Helena looks between the two, mid lo mein-slurp. It's not exactly the most attractive position to freeze in.

Daniel says, "Yeah. He sounded young for a Colonel, like…not gruff at all. Southie accent. Boston."

"Shit," Al, being from Georgia, turns that into a multisyllabic exclamation, as he all but drops his takeout container - he sets it down hastily. "If he's who I think he is, I'm fucked.

Daniel says, "What are you talking about, do you know the guy from somewhere?'

Peter has arrived.
Cat has arrived.

Helena looks over at Alexander with interest. They're in the break area, draped on the old beat up furniture with a spread of Chinese food on the coffee table. Helena's in her work gear, a pair of shin-length cargoes, a leotard, and a t-shirt over that. She's draped on a chair with one foot hanging over an arm, and she's shoveling lo mein down her maw with a ferocity that defies her slight frame. "So who do you think he is?" Though her tone does infer if it's not for public discussion, she understands.

This guy is apparently Satan's ADC, by the way the usually phlegmatic Alex is reacting. "If I'm right, and I pray to god I am not, he's ex-Army. I knew him out in Eye-rack. A tightassed fobbit, he made the lives of everyone on that base miserable. Managed to avoid real combat experience, managed to avoid listening to anyone that had it - he'd send men out into the most retarded situations…..and if he's some sort of HomeSec goon now, I'm boned. He hates my guts. I never was career Army, so we'd get up to all kinds of crap in revenge," He flops back against the battered couch, expression disgusted. "It's like….if you ever saw 'Band of Brothers' - he's like Sobel was in that. Only worse. You never saw such an uptight, chickenshit motherfucker." It's a longer speech and more profanity than has come out of Alex in maybe…ever.

"…that's what I thought." A voice joins the others in the warehouse, coming from a man dressed solely in black, walking with his hands in his pockets. "As long as she's got security watching her, I mean." The trail of his leather coat flares out as he walks, caught as a breeze blows from the sliding doors of the warehouse through the open floor. Peter doesn't walk alone, though, a woman about his age follows at his side, brunette hair tossed momentarially on the wind. "I'm just glad you decided to come, they're good people." He looks from his companion, around the warehouse, stepping aside as a bicycle courier whizzes past.

Coming to a stop, Peter looks around, his brow tensing as he tries to sort out the cacophony of thoughts in the area, searching for specific and familiar internal voices. After a moment, he nods, motioning with his nose towards a room nearby, "They're over there…" He states, heading towards the break room. To those inside, Peter's approach with his guest can be seen through the single plate-glass window that affords a view of the warehouse interior.

Alexander mutters, as he notes Peter's approach, "Jesus Christ, does he have to dress like he just mugged Neo?"

Daniel says, "That sucks, man. Tell you what, if I can find out if it's him, I'll let you know. What unit was he in in Iraq, yours?" He looks at Peter, then looks back at Alexander, and nods firmly. "Those movies actually were really terrible."

Helena snorts. "You two are awful." she says, giving Alex a nudge with her foot to his shoulder and setting her lo mein down. She'd ruffle Daniel's hair in passing, but since it's shaved close to the scalp, he'll have to settle for a head scritch instead as she pads up to Peter and Cat. Her smile increases incrementally, and she offers, "Hi, can I help you?" Obviously she knows Peter, Cat she looks at with affable curiousity.

"Ah liked the first one okay," Alex says, nodding. "And what's her name in the black vinyl was quite a perq. But yeah, overall, a bit of style, no substance," he says, finally calm enough to resume devouring his chicken. "Yeah. He was in my COC, the bastard." Peter gets an amiable nod of greeting, Cat a slightly cooler one.

The person Peter's speaking with is perhaps five feet eight inches in height, a wavy-haired brunette. A backpack is over one shoulder. She carries herself with confidence, clan in a blue t-shirt displaying the word Yale in white letters over dark jeans and boots with a two inch heel. Cat's eyes scan the interior of the courier service briefly, and settle on that break room when her guide heads that way. For a moment she wonders if someone resembling Jessica Alba will be tearing out the door on a run, and if the boss here is some odd fellow called Normal. They are, after all, a bike courier service in a post-apocalyptic city of sorts.

Approached and greeted by Helena, Cat's eyes settle on her. The face is compared with a recent memory, a glance goes to Peter, then eyes return to Helena. "I'm all good," she replies quietly.

Daniel listens, then nods to Alexander confirmingly. He smiles abashedly at Helena's head-scritch, ducking a bit, but merely listens to the conversation as it approaches, not feeling the need to speak up at this point.

"Hey," Peter says quietly, continuing to walk up to the young girl, but falters in his stride as he spots the others in the break room, coming to a stop just out of arm's reach. "I was up at uh," He glances around, "I heard you and everyone else were down here, I figured it wouldn't be too bad if I showed up." His eyes flit over to Cat, then back to Helena, "This is a friend of mine, Cat Chesterfield." One hand slips out of his pocket to motion to her, "She's the one who's window I etched." Peter grimaces slightly, sliding his hand back into his pocket, "She knows, you know, all of this." Trying to be subtle and coming off more as socially awkward, Peter shifts his weight to one foot. "I was going to have her come by, meet everyone. She's been helping me put things together… I figured it was time she got to know everyone. Seemed like the right thing to do."

Helena considers Peter a moment. By not bringing Cat to the tenement he's kept it secure, and a public location means no one could potentially cause a scene. "It's good to meet you, Cat." Helena offers sincerely, though her exuberence is dimmed down just a little to something more contained.

"Hel, you having a tea social over there or what?" calls the thirty-something man with glasses from behind the manager's desk.

"Stick a sock in it, Rey!" Helena replies over her shoulder. She then beckons to them both. "Come on in." She turns and heads for the break area.

Alexander's expression is one of polite interest. "Well, Ah don' work here," he points out, amiably. "Don't let 'em fool you. They just let me in to sleep on their couch 'cause I bribe 'em with food." The blue eyes have gone very cool, though, as he glances at Peter. No shoptalk out here among the gentiles, right? "Pleased to meet you, Miz Chesterfield." He extends a hand to her, having risen from his seat on the couch.

Daniel says, "Hey, Cat. I'm Daniel." He nods in agreement with Helena's greeting. That's a fairly typical halloo from Daniel.
She listens as Peter speaks, then Helena, replying "Likewise, Miss." Formal, yes, but then she doesn't yet know a name to use instead. A quiet smile is shown, and one hand extends toward the young woman even as Cat pushes the image of her being impaled by a piece of rebar out of her mind. Not a thing to dwell on right now.

The words spoken behind the man at the desk and Helena cause a brief glance in that direction, and her head shakes slightly. The resemblance is so close to the thought she had on entering the place. Rey. At least they don't call him Normal.

And Cat's attention comes back to the others as they speak to her. "Cat will do," she recommends to Daniel with a slight smile as her right hand shakes his once, then releases. Smooth skin, soft, except the calluses at her fingertips. The grip is neither weak nor crushing. Alexander, for lack of another name, is called sir.
Daniel shakes hands almost delicately, keeps eating, but listens to the conversation with animated interest, contributing in his way without words.

Peter cracks a smile, looking over his shoulder, "So you've got two bosses?" He smirks, knowingly, "Not sure which one is scarier, pony-tail or the hothead." Shaking his head, he walks into the beak room, catching Alexander's look with a nod, then affords Daniel a smile. "So, I was down at the hospital — a mutual friend of mine and Cat's is laid up there. I thought I'd bring her by, introduce you all. It's good to share aquaintences, espescially work-related ones." He doesn't sit, instead moves over to just beside the door, watching Helena and Cat's interaction with a tempered nervousness.

She's up on everything going on, and I mean everything. Peter's voice echoes in the minds of Helena, Cat, Daniel and Alex, a hollow and distant sound like someone talking on the opposite end of a long hall. I wanted you to meet her, since while she's not wanting to be directly affiliated with us, she does want to help. She's got expertise that is second-to-none in areas of law, which I figure might be handy if we ever find ourselves in a pinch. He eases back on the mental communication, letting them get used to it.

Alexander winces, fractionally. It doesn't exactly hurt, but man, it's startling. Like having someone come up way too close and whisper in your ear when you don't realize they're there. "Alex Knight," he says, cheerfully enough. Only a few people get to use or know his actual first name. "Lex or Al, as you please," he adds, dropping back to his seat.

"Oh, not 'Miss'," says Helena with a rueful smile. "Helena Dean. Hel, if you're comfortable with it." Her gaze grows distracted as if she was listening to something only she could hear. And when her gaze flicks to Peter, it might be more obvious as to why. She looks back at Alex and Daniel, unsure how their reaction to the sudden inclusion of telepathy is going to rank with them.

Daniel is calm about it, or at least he doesn't react overtly to the telepathy, merely nodding. He knew it was possible, after all. "What's your occupation, Cat?" he asks gracefully.

She doesn't seem surprised by the telepathy. Cat's eyes travel around across each of the faces, remaining on Alexander and Helena in turn when they share names. "Al," she repeats, and "Helena. It's a pleasure to meet you all." Polite, this one, and poised. Then she's looking for and occupying a seat, with the backpack being placed by her left foot. She sits with her back still straight and legs crossing at the ankles even when wearing pants. "I'm a number of things, Daniel," she answers with a quietly confident smile. "Lawyer, political scientist, and musician. But I must confess my passion is the music."

"So would you call yourself a social activist, then?" Helena inquires as she takes her seat. Funny, but her posture is no longer so lackadaisical; she sits upright, feet on the floor, hands resting on the arms of her chair, like she's somehow embarrassed to be so floppity in front of Cat. "I mean, all of those pursuits are mediums for social change."

Peter smiles as Cat relaxes into casual conversation, and at the reactions of the others. It's as good as he can hope for, "I've been to a few of her shows down at the Surly Wench, she's good." Peter stays by the door, still not taking a seat, though he off-handedly smiles to Helena as she speaks. His shoulders shrug, and he watches her maneuver about the conversation with a pleased expression. For the time, he doesn't feel the need to direct the conversation in any particular way, seeing that Helena has taken it exactly where he hoped it would go.

Alexander is still draped like he's a throw rug, letting his head tip back against the back of the couch. He's gone mute, though, merely listening, head canted to one side.

Daniel seems interested in Helena's question, he continues to munch on his Chinese food and listen.

"One could say we have some mutual interests," Cat replies calmly. "I've no fondness for gestapo laws. And yes, there is potential for propaganda and advancing platforms in each of those pursuits." Her eyes rest on the young blonde a bit after she finishes answering, perhaps forming a mental assessment. But what's really going on his her thought that Helena seems decent enough, and she hopes the woman doesn't get rebarred in a fight with Sylar. Her eyes shift toward Peter when he speaks, and a chuckle escapes. "I hold my own onstage."

"The platforms are available." Helena agrees, and looks Cat right in the eye. "But do you use them?" Because Cat didn't actually say she did.

Peter shifts and walks across the room, eyeing the carton of lo-mein. He glances around the room, plucking at surface thoughts just enough to discern who's it is, then bends over and takes it with a grin, assuming Helena distracted by conversation. Quietly eating, he watches the exchange between the two with a vested interest, occasionally eyeing Alexander and Daniel curiously, noticing their marked silence when he had heard them talking on his way over. That seems to trouble him, just briefly, before he looks back to the two women.

Daniel says, "What instrument do you play? Did you go to law school before the bomb?"

Alexander's face is now blandly inexpressive, one copper brow quirked thoughtfully as he listens. No questions. But honestly, quiet is his general mode of operation - that speech about Rayburn was more words than he'd strung together in months.

Helena's eye contact is met and held. "I've been in New York just thirteen days, Helena. Barely enough time to make contacts and begin to establish myself. But there will be activity. What form it takes will be determined in upcoming days and weeks." A few quiet moments pass, and her attention moves on to Daniel. "I play guitar, cello, and piano. I graduated law school, Yale, just this year. So I was in law school before and after the bomb."

Daniel says, "Mmm." He's quite impressed, which means he gets quieter, like he's trying to absorb whatever greatness Cat has just through sheer concentration. That only works for Peter, of course.

Cat adds "I don't say this often, usually I would neither confirm nor deny, but I'm of the evolved community, and I have declined to register."

Helena nods at that, apparently content with the answer. Her gaze slides sidelong to Peter. Oh yes, I see you, poaching my food. Her eyes go back to Cat. "I hoe you're successful, whatever you decide." she says sincerely. At Cat's announcement, Helena looks around at the others, and regards Cat silently. Surely the woman can understand that they can't admit to such here.

And Al is, perhaps, borderline crude. As he inquires, simply, "What's your pet trick, then?"

Quirking a brow, it seems that some of what Cat says comes as a surprise to Peter. He continues eating Helena's lo-mein contentedly, watching the group converse with a smile. When Cat makes her addendum, Peter's brows both raise. He looks around the room, focusing for a moment, then nods with a gentle sign of understanding as nothing seems to spur him to motion. Though, it's Helena's sidelong gaze that elicits a larger smile from the scarred man. At Alexander's question, Peter grins, "How forward."

Daniel is surprised by the admission, by the expression on his face, though it's perhaps not surprising that he doesn't blurt out his own.

She isn't asking anyone present what they have or don't have. Cat's eyes move from Helena to Peter and on to Alexander, perfect calm displayed in her demeanor. They may feel it a risk to speak so here, and they'll share or not at their own discretion, but to Cat's understanding this gathering is one of individuals privy to some things, and she's put herself out there accordingly. Knowingly giving them advantage over her by that sharing.

After some moments, Cat answers Alexander with a quiet grin. "I won't forget you aren't afraid to ask direct questions, Al."

Peter can only crack a smile at that, nodding his head slowly. "And that's not being dismissive, either." Peter walks over to where Cat's sitting, but the approach is more towards Helena, offering up the box of lo-mein to her with a crooked smile. "Before I eat it all on you."

"Got no time for bullshit," Al replies, continuing on with the crude theme. And then gives himself away, wordlessly, by extending a hand, and calling a bottle of IBC to it like he's Luke and it's his lightsaber. He's registered by default, having been one of Petrelli's mutant Uncle Toms, back when.

Daniel sniggers at Al's quip delicately, turning his head aside when he calls the bottle to his hand, as if to indicate that he sees nothink, he knows nothink.

Helena half sits up, trying not to look alarmed. Fortunately, Rey is busy with his head in the books, and she gives Alex a fierce 'don't do that!' look. "I don't know about you guys," she says, "But I think it might be time to head out." There's got to be somewhere private for folks if they want to do a show and tell.

She doesn't seem concerned by the action. Cat's eyes track the bottle from where it rose until it meets Al Skywalker's hand. No comment is made on the display, she simply speaks at a volume she expects won't be heard beyond the break room and its occupants to inform them further. "I've only had one instance of imperfect memory in six years."

Peter grimaces, "Sergei. You'll meet him soon enough, I think." Peter says to Cat with a crooked smile, nodding to Helena. "Are you on the clock right now?" He eyes the lo-mein still in his hands, pensively. Debating whether or not to finish it off as his offer was turned down. "Cat and I can wait around till you're off work. I'm pretty sure, anyway." He eyes Cat sidelong, "When do you need to be back for Dani?"

That's your power? Al doesn't comment further - he merely pops the root beer open and takes a pull. "I'm good to go. Got the cab outside." Al drives a vintage Checker - god only knows where he got the thing.

Daniel says, "What was it that you forgot? If, um…you remember?" He adds to Peter. "I just cashed out for the day. I'm free."

Helena moves to her feet, taking the lo mein with her. "I can go cash out." she says, and snagging her helmet and her bag, heads for the front to go deal with Rey and get her moolah.

"I've got some time," Cat replies smoothly to Peter, before turning toward Daniel. "I was outside, and for a few seconds I couldn't pull up details from long ago when I tried to think about them, and after that I couldn't completely remember what people were doing around me." Her voice in answering is lowered in volume, though, perhaps hard to hear.

Daniel says, "That must have been pretty scary. Me, I forget stuff all the time. I'm used to it." he adds, mock-bravely.

Alexander elbows Daniel, ungently. "Ditto," he says, amused.

"Right then." Peter says with a nod, looking to everyone as he backpedals towards the door, "Cam would probably pitch a fit if we took Cat home, for now." He rolls one shoulder, "I'll talk to him about it, there's no reason why not to at this point, but I won't overstep him." He turns, stepping out of the breakroom and towards the more open floor. "Alright," He says, brow furrowed, "Who's up for going out for a drink at the Wench, then?"

"Being a Baptist and a cabbie, I'll be the DD," Alex adds, voice drily amused, as he rises to clean up the remains of the Chinese feast.

Daniel says gracefully, "Why not?" He keeps looking at Cat quite carefully, as if studying how to be super smart.

Helena lifts a brow. "I'm not exactly dressed for a punk bar, but sure, whatev." And Peter can buy her a beer!

Hesitating as everyone is in agreement, Peter tilts his head to the side and taps his chin, looking to Helena. "The guys up front should let you in, I can be persuasive." He cracks a smile, then glances at Cat for a moment, questioningly, before nodding to Alex, "Been a while since I've ridden in a car, espescially packed full of people." Peter seems lighter today, relaxed and less angry than he's been the last few weeks. "After you, Al."

"Well, so long as you don't get uppity and cop a feel, we should be just fine," Al says, drily, giving Peter a look over his shoulder.

Daniel says, "I'll sit in the back seat with Helena and Cat." He volunteers. See. He's a volunteering sort.


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September 15th: Are You Sure?
Previously in this storyline…
They Have Sylar

Next in this storyline…
I'll Do What's Necessary

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September 15th: I'll Do What's Necessary
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