Misinterpretation

Participants:

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Also Featuring:

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Scene Title Misinterpretation
Synopsis Peter paints a vision of the future, but he fails to see the subtle warning within.
Date November 1, 2008

Primatech Research: Level-1, Agent Petrelli's Office


A drop of gray paint strikes the black and white tile floor.

It is a muddied splash amidst an otherwise starkly contrasting sea of rigid light and dark. The paint fell from a small palette made from a square of plexiglass, dappled with different shades of earth-tone paint. Most, however, manages to find its way onto the canvas set up on an easel in the middle of the office. Amidst the desaturating glow of florescent lights, Agent Peter Petrelli stands hunched over a canvas, brushing gentle strokes of paint across a black canvass.

"S'fuckin' creepy, inn'it?" Sitting on the small black sofa by the office door, Agent Woods is remarkably uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly where he sits, one leg crossing over the other, shoulders squirming up and down. "I mean, jus' look at his eyes, ain't never gonna get used to that look." Motioning with his coffee cup towards Peter, Woods leans in towards the demure gentleman sitting at his side. Then flicks two fingers away from his cup to point at Peter.

Ashton levels a steady stare to Woods, hands folded across a clip-board bearing a memo laid across his lap. He says nothing, and thankfully for Sabra's personal aide, his lack of hearing prevents him from being assaulted by Woods' incessant conversation. Woods, however, perhaps blithely ignorant of Ashton's hearing impairment, seems perfectly content to continue to prattle on the way he does. "You know, s'like a swiss army knife in a fashion, right? Cept he can add new little doo-dads n'stuff to it. That Mendez guy, it's a bloody shame what happened to him, but Peter's got his little gift, so all'at matters is that he just keeps on suckin' up useful talents for us, eh?" A gentle nudge of an elbow into Ashton's side is enough to urge the man up to his feet and away from Woods.

He may not be able to hear him, but even that isn't an entire respite from his distinct personality.

"Ey, what'd I say?" Woods asks helplessly, shrugging as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table in front of the sofa, watching as Ashton circles around Agent Petrelli, eyes focused on the slowly forming image. It's something in motion, a building of sorts with the front facade blown apart. Bricks and glass are all airborne, and two people are being roughly drawn locked together mid-air. He raises one brow, then tilts his head to the side, looking at Peter intently.

Woods, to his credit, grows quiet when Ashton begins assessing the painting. Eyes dip back down as colors and shapes start to come into focus, sharp black lines painting a suit jacket and a thin tie tossed to the wind. The aide's brow lowers, watching as the other man too is painted in, with wavy locks of curly brown hair, a flannel shirt left open. He's being carried — or perhaps pulled — through the air by none other than Agent Petrelli, it's that detailing of a scar on his face that is so telltale.

Ashton's eyes navigate the painting with a marked scrutiny, picking up the smaller, more subtle details. His eyes stop on one piece of glass, very close to the point of view, then at the reflection. His head inclines, and he turns to look back at Woods only to catch him picking at his back molar with his pinkie. Eye sclose quickly, and Ashton shakes his head before walking over to the desk and laying down the memo next to Peter's phone. Silently, then, Ashton walks towards the door to the office, pausing only to catch as Woods waves a silent, if not somewhat awkward goodbye. A faint, painted smile crosses Ashton's lips as he bows his head for a moment, and then steps out through the open door into the hall.

"Spooky bastard." Woods snorts once Ashton steps outside, swinging his legs off of the coffee table to nosily make his way over to the desk. Pausing for a moment, he eyes the same painting Ashton was looking at, watching as Peter continues to paint in details. A car catches his eye, a black four-door in the direct line of the blast. His brow tenses, and he exhales a sigh as one brow slowly raises, spotting a figure painted off to the side, a girl with a baseball cap tugged down to hide her eyes, long dark hair spilling out from beneath it. "Why's he always the one to have pretty ladies in his future, eh?"

With a stifled grumble, Woods finishes strolling over to the desk, fingers touching down on the memo. His eyes dart over it, and he immediately turns to look back over his shoulder at Peter with a long, silent stare. Once Woods focuses back on the memo though, a voice shakes him from his reading.

"Woods." Peter's come to, already leaving the vicinity of the painting to slap a hand down on his partner's shoulder. Agent Woods startles, wheeling around and sending the memo brushing off of the desk as his hand jerks away from it. The paper flutters through the air, then slides under the sofa. "I've got it," Peter points back at the painting, to a blown-out sign above the destroyed storefront, Rich Street Pawn Shop.

"That's, what — fuck." Woods blinks as he recognizes the name, "That's right down the fuckin' street from 'ere!" Peter cracks a smile, nodding affirmatively as he takes a jogging step back, snatching his suit jacket off of the coatrack behind him, throwing it on hastily as he sidesteps towards the door.

"Come on, Woods. It's dark in the painting, and it's already past five now. I want to get down there and check things out." He's already out the door, and Woods' eyes snap wide as he takes a hurried step towards the painting, then turns around back towards the desk, noticing the memo gone. A quick grimace, then a click of his tongue, and Woods whips back around towards the door.

"Christ Petrelli, wait for me!" He hurries out of the office door and skids to a stop in the hall, looking down both ends of the hallway for Peter before dashing off in one direction, leaving the painting to dry on the easel. There, as finished as Peter needed it to be, is a full depiction of a pawn shop storefront exploding outwards, bricks, metal reinforced glass and metal bards blowing outwards from two men in mid-air, grappling one another.

But what Peter and Woods missed, what Ashton saw, is a detail in one pane of glass close in frame. A reflection of Peter in the glass, the way his arms are wrapped around the man, but that his clothing and hair style are noticably different. Dark hair, longer than it is now, swept back and a black leather jacket with the collar upturned.

The truth's in the details.


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November 1st: Trust Takes Time
Previously in this storyline…
Paint Me Destruction

Next in this storyline…
Die Me, Dichotomy

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November 1st: Die Me, Dichotomy
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