Cages and Cobbler



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Scene Title Cages and Cobbler
Synopsis Agent Woods gives Doctor Knutson some advice.
Date October 23, 2008

Primatech Research - Odessa's Office

It's hard to distinguish day from night down on Level Five, save for when the lights go out. But even then, who's to say that the lights go out at night at all? It could be during the day. Doctor Odessa Knutson ponders this quandary with her elbow resting on her desk, head propped up boredly in one hand while the other holds up her watch where she takes turns watching the second hand tick 'round the face of the timepiece and glancing disdainfully at the new tan line she's earned since she forgot to take the thing off last time she was in the tanning bed. In front of her are two open files, one each for the remains that were brought in recently. She has all the results she cares to run tests for at the moment, but she isn't sure what to make of it. Rather, she doesn't like what she's made of it. To stall having to deliver her findings, she's scanned and sent copies of her files to Doctor Suresh. God only knows what time it is in India right now - Odessa certainly doesn't - so she's at the mercy of timezones and, well, time. And as far as the young woman's concerned, the geneticist can take all of it that he needs. She'll be content to sit in her office and simply claim to the higher-ups that the results will be available in due time.

The knock on the door frame comes as a welcomed intrusion, "'Ey, Doc," The euro-chirp that comes from behind Odessa is a familiar one, even though mildly irritating, "Do you have any fucking idea where Petrelli's gone and run off to? I think he's fucking with me today. Swear t'god he's just teleportin' around t'screw with me." He comes in without being invited, one arm stuffed into his pockets, the other in a cast and kept bound in a sling to his chest, one sleeve of his suit jacket hanging limp at his side. "Oh an' ah, if you could toss me some more of the happy pills I'd be a bright bit more smiley t'day. Between Petrelli buggerin' off and my wrist feelin' like Sanders 'as got it in a vice-grip I'm in a bit of a shit-shaped mood."

"Oh!" Odessa's startled when the agent enters the room, fastening her watch around her wrist again and looking a touch surly as she does. "Come in. Sit down. I could use the company - no pun intended. Peter's bound to come 'round sooner or later. He's been bugging me non-stop about these test results." The doctor makes quick work of shutting her files and setting them aside neatly on her desk. "You know these things are addictive, right?" From one of her drawers, a prescription pad and a pen are procured. "Don't abuse them, because your superiors won't be happy and trust me when I tell you that rehab is no fun." Especially when it's Company supervised.

Wrinkling his nose andl eaning his head back like he smelled something distasteful, Woods shakes his head and purses his lips, walking over to the examination table as he hops up. "You don't need'ta brow-beat me Mom." His ryes roll at the sentiment, head quirking to the side. This his eyes do wander to the paperwork after the pill bottle. "Those trays of cherry cobbler you got down in the lab are some right fucked. Petrelli didn't exactly say a whole lot more than a mouth full of mumbles and sob-story when I asked 'em what the fuck happened." He shifts awkwardly on the table, rolling his good shoulder. "They looked like inside-out thanksgiving turkeys. I mean, seriously what the fuck does that to a man?"

"I'm… not sure," Odessa answers honestly, rising from her seat with the freshly written prescription. "Please don't tease me again. I can read this writing," she holds up the slip for him to see, "but I'm betting you can't. The chemist will know what it says, and they'll know what pills to put in that little orange bottle… But do you know when your Vicodin pills are really laxatives? Not until it's far too late." The smile is serene, as though she hadn't just threatened to mess with his medication for poking fun.

The attempt at dodging the question would have been followed by a scathing interrogation, were Woods not so easily distracted by the teasing about pills, laxatives and vicodin. "Ey!" He feigns being insulted, or perhaps he is, it's hard to tell with him. "This is a serious matta' here. My bloody arm was bent backwards like a chicken wing by a flying futon an' these little pills keep me from turnin' myself into the best crybaby on Level-5." His nose wrinkles, snatching the prescription slip and squinting as he looks at it. "Christ woman, this is a trick right?" His eyes shift sidelong to Odessa, "I mean, this is a drawing of Finland, yeah? Not words?"

"Norway, actually. But you were close." Odessa smirks and gently reaches out to touch Woods' shoulder. "How are you feeling, though? No new pain?" She squeezes once, then slides a little further down the arm, squeezing there as if to ensure nothing else has cropped up.

Woods cracks a smile at the rebuttal, "Not unless you count late-night calls from Pete askin' me t'pick him up at a fuckin' used car lot. I ain't his bloody taxicab." His' brows furrow, as he thinks about that just a little more, "Why the fuck did he call me? Son of a bloody bitch he's just fuckin' with me I swear it." Face turning a bit red, Woods shifts his eyes over to Odessa, "Are you sure his brain's screwed in straight? He's been acting like a nutcase more so than usual. He fucking calls me up at almost midnight last night to take a cab to Harlem, then says oh forget it once I bloody get there he has me dump off some stolen car in the fucking bad side of the city at the ghetto apartment!" Woods rubs his forehead, "Then he calls me again, and tells me to ditch the bloody car. I know he's settin' a fuckin' trap for Monroe, but why's he gotta' be so goddamned cloak-and-dagger about it all…" He huffs, actually managing a teenie little pout. "S'just not fair, really. I ain't gettin' none of the action in this. S'like I'm his bloody comedy relief."

"Brits are always the comedy relief," Odessa points out. "Haven't you seen a film lately? You lot are hilarious." She meets Woods' eyes with a mischievous smile as she releases her grip on his arm, seemingly satisfied that he hasn't gone and messed it up further. "Peter's not… like anybody else. He's got this idealistic sense of what he has to do. I admire him for just going out there and doing it."

Puckering his lips into a distasteful expression, Woods waves his one good hand that holds the prescription slip, "That's racist." He pauses, "…Nationalist? Oh fuck me I don't know it just pisses me off." One shoulder raises a bit higher than the other, and he slips down off of the table, shoes clacking on the floor at the same time. "Peter's an admirable asshole, that's for certain. But half the time he seems like he's just banging his head against a bloody wall instead of going through a door. I mean, just yesterday, he seriously hadn't thought of emulatin' any of ol' Sylar's powers. Fuckin' shapeshifting? I'd take that in a bloody minute. Ain't my fault I was born fuckin' normal. If I had his little trick, I'd…" He pauses, looking to the side down the hall, "Well I guess I'd probably be in one of them cells by now." That took out a bit of his fire.

Odessa's smile turns sad. "Be careful what you wish for." She looks around her and the smile fades entirely. "Being what you consider normal maybe isn't the worst thing." She returns to her desk, though she pulls herself to sit on top of it rather than behind it at her chair.

Brows knitting together, Woods crinkles his prescription slip in one hand, eying Odessa side-long, "What got you in a pouting fit?" His lips crook to one side, "Oh, well, yeah I guess there's that bit." He coughs to himself, awkwardly, then leans against the door-frame to the lab. "I ain't got much understanding as to why the power-that-be keep your pretty little head all cooped up in here." His eyes wander around the lab, bobbing his head up and down as if mulling over words in his head, "I mean, it could use some fresh paint," Eyes wander the room awkwardly. "The world out there though, s'full of shitheads and crazies. Don't they let you out at all though, I mean, everybody gets vacation time, right? I get two fucking months paid vacation every year."

"I don't get paid for this and I don't get to leave. Sure, everything's paid for, but… I don't get to leave." She shakes her head. "I've never questioned why. My first time out, and my guardian gets killed by Sylar. As if that were somehow my fault." She rolls her eyes skyward. "I see the world through photographs and film, Agent Woods. You should appreciate what freedoms your so-called normalcy affords you."

Woods doesn't seem to understand, and the reason why is so above his pay-grade he'd have to break his back bending over to look up that far. "Well, n'why don't you just sneak out. I mean, fuck, I used to do it when I was a kid, right? Sneak outta' my parents house an go drinkin at the pub with the boys or whatever?" There's a mild laugh, mostly directed at himself. "Maybe we grew up in totally different places, Leeds is kind've small-town compared to this, but it's got the same idea. Suffocating and fucking tiny. Same people every day, over and over, drives ya bats." He shrugs, head tilting to one side. "I mean, really. The hell are they gonna' do, right? Glare at ya angrily? You've got all fucking sides of them beggin' you for how two blokes got turned into upside-down-cake,' He waves one hand flippantly in the direction of the lab. "S'not like they're not going to stop you from doin' your work. So, run out and have a little fun, you get yourself killed it's your own dumb fault, really. I mean, s'not like I'd want that but you know how it is, right?"

"Director Dalton wants to see my integration be a slow process. Apparently she expects that I'll freak out or have some sort of great shock or something. Mister Bishop didn't quite see it that way, I don't think. But he's not still in charge." Odessa drums her fingers against the desktop quietly. "If I sneak out, I'm afraid they'll just stick me in a cell when they find me. Would you want that risk?"

Tilting his head to the side, Woods consider that. There's a bit of a disappointed look in his eyes when Bob's mentioned, it's no small secret around the Company that he was a large fan of Bob's work, and that the way Sabra does things just rubs him the wrong way. She's too much of a gentle touch, and Woods is pretty much a blunt instrument. "From where I'm standin', love," His eyes look around the lab, "You're pickin' nits about the size of your cell. I wouldn't go runnin' off alone, but really, what've ya got to lose?"

Odessa seems to consider this for a moment, even letting out a thoughtful 'hmm.' "I'll keep it in mind." She smiles faintly, whatever she might have been about to say interrupted when her phone rings. She glances at the ID and frowns. "I have to take this. Thanks for your input. I'll give it some thought."

"Yeah yeah." Woods says with a dismissive wave, "See you at feedin' time." A zoo joke, how wonderfully tactless. Woods turns off towards the hall, and halfway out he calls back, "An' if you fucking see Petrelli tell him I'm goin'ta shoot him in the leg for fun next time!" And with that, he's off to get his Vicodin.

Odessa chuckles quietly as she lifts the phone from the cradle, not answering it just yet. "Will do, Agent Woods." She brings the phone to her ear and settles down at her chair again, reopening the files on her desk. "Doctor Suresh. It's good to hear from you…"

October 23rd: Trust the Midas Touch
Previously in this storyline…

Next in this storyline…

October 24th: Mallory and McLovin
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