The Lost Girls


f_gillian_icon.gif helena_icon.gif

Scene Title The Lost Girls
Synopsis Helena and the Gillian of 2019 have an unexpected encounter in Central Park.
Date April 10, 2019

Central Park

As much as Helena loved Cat for putting her up, she'd stayed cooped up in buildings for far too long. And on this, the very wee hours of Helena's third day of freedom, Hel has finally started to feel her ability come back to her, for realz. The weather influences her mood, her mood influences the weather. She needed to be outside. She imagined no one would look twice at her, a young woman in a baseball cap slunk down low on her head, when she started walking, a cabbie told her she looked just like the late Helena Dean, and offered her a ride to anywhere she wanted to go. Helena chose Central Park.

This new age has made it safe. At least, safer. It's not like Sylar's going to come and try to eat her brain, right? And her favorite sculpture, the Mad Tea Party, is still there - restored even, perhaps by some Evolved's handiwork to buff away the grime of years. Enjoying the night, Helena sits on one of the mushrooms as she's done many times before, leaning back, looking at the night sky. She doesn't think about the now of things. Just the stars, and freedom.

Not thinking of the now is about to experience a little bit of a monkeywrench. The park is so safe that a drunk rich lady could talk her driver into walking a couple meters behind her so she could have a hint of privacy. The expensive sparkling necklace of diamonds (for faux diamonds) still rests around her neck, though she's put a black shawl around her shoulders for warmth. The night hasn't been easy on her, in all honesty, and going home to an empty house… an empty bed… those things don't make her mood better. Not to mention the fact she favored the bottles of plum wine a little more than she likely should. At least she's not carrying one with her.

With her hair pulled up, sparkles of diamonds bounce off of the bombs holding her black hair out of her face. Light reflects off a ring at her finger, off of the bracelets on her left wrist. She's barely recognizable from the Gillian Childs that she knew as she gets closer to the Tea Party statues. "Enjoying the sky?" she asks with an amused and possibly drunk tone to her raspy voice. The voice hasn't changed at least. It doesn't seem she's gotten a good look at the girl, yet.

Helena Dean is once more, she is proud to say, never cold unless she wants to be. The voice makes her blink, though. No way. She closes her eyes. Can't she get a damn moment's peace from the present? "I'd say so." she says carefully, neutrally. She's afraid to sit up. It couldn't be, could it?

The voice sounds familiar… The well-off looking woman stops walking, looking at the statue and the girl resting there, even tilting her head to the side slightly. This is when the illusion is broken, at least for one of them. "Mrs. Petrelli?" a male voice speaks up. It could be. It was the driver, the man following a few meters behind her, responding to both her stopping, and perhaps her speaking to the statues, the girl on the statues. Gillian glances back at the driver, waving a hand absently in the air, telling him to stay back as she moves in closer. "This was always a nice story," she comments, a hint of a laugh in her voice. The girl hasn't sat up yet. But the voice sounds familiar…

"My favorite." the young woman admits, determinedly staying on her back. "Well, one of them. I always liked the stories about girls who ran away and got themselves lost, whether by design or not."

"You and me both," Gillian says, moving to sit down, turning her back to the girl at the statue for a moment. The driver, and possibly bodyguard, is in a suit, and he stands at a distance. This is probably his least favorite moment of the week, because if anything happens to the woman he's with, even a twisted ankle, he might get fired. Or worse. Once she's seated, she's ruining her dress. Already stained. She doesn't need to wear it again. She leans forward, resting her arms on her legs. She's half wondering if she's talking to herself. It wouldn't be the first time. "I always perferred getting lost on my own…"

Helena is not only at the statue, she's on the statue, laying back on a mushroom. Her hat's jammmed down too, the rim of her Mets cap over her face, making it hard to see. "That's the way most girls get lost." Helena murmurs, "Except when they have help."

"Yeah… often there's some kind of help to get them there. A tornado… a white rabbit… a boy that teaches her how to fly…" Gillian's voice is dropping in volume. The driver shifts on his feet nervously, but doesn't move closer. It almost sounds as if she wants to sleep or something. "And even with help, they usually have to find their own way. Pick their way through the place they end up in…"

Yeah, it's Gillian. There's no way around it. "Because in the end, you're all you have, right? There's no cyclone, no wardrobe, no white rabbit, and no Peter come to save you." Helena still has no more tears, and her tone is so calm it even surprises herself. Still, she bites her lip. Might be best to try and move on. This could end badly, and it's a long way to the Village at this hour.

"Maybe they're the ones that needed us," Gillian says softly, looking down at her hand. The bracelets still cover the tattoo on her wrist, but she can make out enough of it. Her left hand also has the ring. That's what the voice reminds her of, even the topic. The first time they really spoke, Wonderland had been connected. "Fuck, I really am talking to myself again, aren't I?"

And that seems like a good time for Helena to try and make an exit. Abruptly she sits up, keeping her chin to her chest so her face is shadowed as she slides off her mushroom. Still, there's no way for all that long blonde hair not to catch the light.

The yellow hair does catch the light, as Gillian looks toward the movement. She doesn't sit up all the way, but it's enough. "You even look like her," she muses in the same raspy tones, that sound almost like she's injured or sick. That's just the way she's always sounded. It's distinctive. It's her. Shifting to stand up, she watches her.

Helena lets out a soft choke of bitter laughter, just a single chuff. "Yeah." is all she says. "Spare a buck or two for some cab fare, lady?" She steals furtive glances at Gillian. A ten year older Gillian. Where are all her tattoos? She looks so beautiful. No wonder Peter married her. He'd had to carry on, hadn't he? Helena drops her eyes to the ground.

"Hallucinations don't need cab fare," Gillian says with a quiet hint of a laugh in her voice. It's almost tired, almost quiet. The diamonds reflecting light everywhere may have drawn so much attention, but there's moisture in her eyes too, possibly the alcohol that's flushed her skin and carries on her dress (since wine got spilled on it) is the reason for that. No tattoos are visible. No scars either. Ten years have been transforming. "I once called you Wendy… Wendy to his Peter… and then you said you were Alice," she glances over to the statue again. "And you didn't beat the Queen of Hearts." Or, fate as it were.

"And you've been painting the roses red, haven't you, Gillian?" Something in Gillian's ramblings made Helena bring her chin up, made her spine stiffen. "But you know - if I reach the eighth square, I can still become a queen."

"No, I got rid of my red rose," Gillian says softly, glancing over her right wrist mildly. It doesn't follow along the train of thought exactly, but she's not on the same track. "Can't reach the eighth square after getting taken off the board at the seventh. You're gone… just like my sister. And I wonder if you're here to tell me I did the right thing, or if you're here to tell me I didn't."

Helena's mouth opens, then closes again. She's silent for a long time - one of Helena's habitual silences, in fact, indicative of thinking hard about the question before speaking. "I can't tell you that." she says at last. "Are you happy?"

"Sometimes," Gillian says, glancing up at the sky. It's a nice sky, really, nicer than she thought it would be. It wasn't that this was a terrible April evening, but somehow it seems… "Things used to be better." There's a pause, her voice shifts slightly, perhaps becoming determined, optimistic, "They'll get better again." A hand comes up to reflect light again, looking over the diamond on her finger. "He didn't buy me another ring. He gave me yours." She laughs a little as she says that. "The one you were wearing when you died…" This is all an hallucination. The hallucination knows anyway.

Helena rocks back a step, Cat never mentioned that. Her fingers momentarily curl into fists, but she keeps herself in check and instead asks, "Is he happy?"

That's a strange question. It would also be strange that a figment of her imagination wouldn't know exactly what she was talking about. Gillian watches her for a moment, that glistening visible in her eyes again. Reaching up, she rubs at her face, smearing eye make up slightly. "I wish I knew the answer to that question." She laughs a little absently, tiredly. "But not all of us our telepaths…"

"You're tired, Gilly." Helena says softly. "Go home. Go home to your husband."

"I would if he were there," Gillian says with a small laugh, shaking her head and looking back up at the sky. "He can teleport back and forth if he wanted to…" But the way she says that seems to say she knows he won't. There's a pause, her eyes lower. "If you're a figment of my imagination… you would know that…"

Helena shoves her hands in her pockets. "Maybe I'm a particularly stupid figment of your imagination." With that, Helena turns on her heel, starts walking away. It's a long, long way to the Village, and her odds of finding another generous cabbie are slim. She could hop a turnstyle, but she doesn't know if the subways ever got up and running again…

"Wait," Gillian says, moving after the girl, reaching out toward her arm. There's no longer any need for a knot to hold her ability back, not since she learned to control it, but being drunk, and being emotional, and reaching out to touch someone whose ability is almost always slightly active… The glow isn't dark purple anymore, but much brighter, nearly violet-white. And the surge of energy is much more than it'd been before. But luckily she has felt the like in the past. Hopefully no one will be sent to Oz unexpectedly.

"Oh!" Helena's arm is grabbed, and suddenly Helena is hyper-aware of well, everything, at least in terms of the weather. Not just the burrough, but the entire city, not just the entire city, but practically the entire state. It's a lovely night, and that calms her, but quite suddenly there's an unexpected and angry rumble of thunder above, as clouds take on an unseen blackness in the dark night sky. Helena pulls her arm back from Gillian's grasp, almost panting from the sheer enormity of power she experienced, eyes gone wide and mouth agape. She takes a step back, shaking her head and rubbing her arm.

That surge of energy is definitely not an hallucination. The thunder rolling in. Gillian lets her hand get pulled away from, and even backs up a few quick steps. The driver has started to run over. "Stay back," she snaps at the man, and he complies. But she can't help but stare at the girl. The girl that is not an hallucination. The girl that brings thunder, lightning… wind. Suddenly she has to stop being drunk, but she feels like she wants to throw up. "How?" Simpliest question.

"Time displacement." Inside, Helena's shocked at how calmly she's dealing with this. "I'm not the Helena who died. It hasn't happened to me yet. Two days ago, I was in Moab Federal Penitentiary, and Phoenix was busting me out. You were there. You opened the door and let me out. I got to the yard and it was just chaos. Someone - a friend started to lead me out, and Hiro Nakamura was there for a minute, and - " she pauses, shaking her head. "It all went wrong. Suddenly I was outside the prison, and everyone was gone, except for - " she bites off. "So really, I could use that cab fare." she finishes lamely.

"That never…" Gillian trails off. The urge to throw up definitely has come on strong. Even the color has drained from her face a little. She glances over to her driver quietly, who probably has her purse, her money, or money of his own. "You're from the past…" This happened before. Time travel. It shouldn't have happened. It shouldn't have… But it did. As said in Peter Pan… All of this has happened before, and it will all happen again. Neverland… Wonderland… Oz. It's all the same. "Welcome to Wonderland," she says quietly, looking to the statues again, the Mad Hatter, March Hare…

"I know." Helena says solemnly. "We need to go back. I don't particularly want to go back just to die, but I know we're not supposed to be here." With a sigh, "I'm not the only one who's been displaced. Tamara Brooks knew, somehow. She was waiting for us. I don't know how the others feel, but I don't want to stay here." She looks at Gillian pointedly.

"It's funny… no one really cared what happened to the future Gabriel saw," Gillian mutters under her breath. But that future was terrible. This one's only terrible for a few. She looks up at the sky for a moment, the cloud that appeared when she touched her. "Where are you staying? I'll drop you off. You don't need cab fare." She sounds tired, quiet, and almost accepting of a sort. The alcohol might have a lot to do with this. Or maybe something else.

"This is a beautiful future." Helena says softly. "But if I learned anything from Doctor Ray, it's that the river needs to flow." Helena shivers, even though she's not cold. "With Cat." she admits. "In the Village."

"It is flowing, Helena," Gillian says with a small laugh, shaking her head. She waves a hand in the direction of her driver, as if to make the blonde girl go in front of her. "Just because you've jumped the stream, doesn't mean it wasn't flowing just fine for the rest of us." It's clear she doesn't like what she's saying, but… "I know where Cat lives, come on."

"Yeah. It flowed just fine for you, didn't it?" Helena asks softly, and shaking her head, lets herself be led to Gillian's car. It seems that despite the sort of foul up she brings to the other woman's life, she'll trust her to keep her word.

"It's still flowing. I just don't know what happens next," Gillian says quietly as she leads the way, the driver more than willing to drop the girl off first. There's no deception, no trick. Just a command to drop off close to the Village, close to Cat's place, and then they pull away and leave her. The whole time, the wife of Peter Petrelli broods in silence, staring out the window.

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