Participants:
| Scene Title | There's No Goodbye |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | In light of the postponed mission, Peter takes the night to visit Cat at the Surly Wench, and say his goodbyes. |
| Date | September 11, 2008 |
A punk rock pub through and through, The Surly Wench is dim, cramped, and incredibly popular. It's a small, rectangular venue with a bar bordering one entire wall. Despite this, ordering a drink on a weekend can be an exercise in line-waiting and rib-elbowing. There are a few small tables ringed with high stools for seating, but these are prime real estate. The majority of the patrons are forced to stand shoulder-to-shoulder on any given night. Almost half of the cramped interior is devoted to a low stage for live music. There's no dance floor. If you feel the need, you'll have to thrash in place.
The Cat is here, onstage. She's clad in black as is apparently customary for her when performing, and on other occasions too. It's a theme, much like she said. Her play tonight is edgy and energetic, the crowd as usual is well into enjoying her performance. Eye contact is made at random points with people among the audience; she keeps them engaged and gives the sensation of being recognized through that fact.
Off to the side of the stage her backpack is placed by that same table, and the guitar case leans up against it with an empty mug which appears to have held some dark Irish brew atop it.
The chill in the air tonight didn't keep a usual guest at these shows from lingering outside longer than is necessary. Peter paced back and forth in front of the club windows for nearly a half an hour before he finally makes his entrance. Slipping into the club, he scans the crowd with a nervous expression, making his way through the sea of moving bodies, eyes focused up on stage. He watches from the bar, finding a spot between two seated people, shouldering between them to get the bartender's attention. He waits, unlike usual, perhaps an excuse not to try and make his way over to the usual table. Thoughtful and intent, Peter listens to the set as its played, finally getting what he ordered; a shot of something dark and — unlike usual — a clear mixed drink. Downing the shot in one toss, Peter keeps his focus on Cat's performance, watching her prowl across the stage, then takes his drink over to one of the tables by the bar, abandoned by its occupants who made their way to stand closer to the stage before he came in.
Moving the chairs around, Peter makes himself comfortable, seated with hi sback up against the wall, not bothering to take his coat off. He sips at his drink, watching silently the performance as it's continued. There's something introspective about his presence here, idly sipping from the glass, thoughts wandering amidst the melodies.
One tune becomes another. At this moment in time it's a Ramones piece; she slides from that into a Joan Jett piece. Bad Reputation. The Cat continues to prowl, her eyes scanning the crowd. It's a part of the act that she perhaps seems to be seeking out zebras to tackle and devour among them.
A sizable amount of the attendees dance wildly in place as they vent whatever they came here to vent and drink that which they drink.
And when the last chords fade, her fingers going still, she stalks over toward the table where her gear rests. The woman doesn't bother saying she's on break; she just takes it and lets them figure it out as if she couldn't care less. Perhaps this is a calculated part of the stage persona, the punk attitude, much like the Sex Pistols spouting profanity and claiming not to be anyone's monkeys. Whichever is the truth, she's left the stage and moved to seat herself.
Peter remains seated halfway across the bar, leaning back against his chair, quietly sipping his drink as Cat comes walking offstage. Once she becomes hard to view through the density of the crowd, he lowers his eyes back down to his drink, cradling it in both hands as he sits in thought at the table. The pair who had gone off to dance come back to find their table invaded, but rather than letting it slip past, they simply pull up chairs and take a seat close to one another, leaning in to speak; both for the privacy and due to the moderate loss of hearing from the music.
Shaking his head at the unwelcomed company at the table, Peter shifts in his seat awkwardly, taking a larger swallow of his drink. He seems all too wrapped up in his own thoughts to listen to what they're talking about, and as he peers back up through the crowd, stealing occasional glances of the performer now on break, it seems he's unable to bring himself to go over to where she's seated.
He was spotted. She waits at her table for a few minutes, timing things out to himself to see if he approaches. When he doesn't, Cat stands and starts making her way to where he sits. One goal is to say hello and see if he'll try not to acknowledge her. The other is to obtain another pint of that dark Irish brew from the River Liffey near Dublin. It takes a few minutes, or more, to pick her way through the crowd. Along the way some people in her path rave about the skill she displayed, others seem drunk and oblivious. One of them, a guy of about twenty in a pack of four similarly aged men, reaches out and fondles her backside as she passes. The woman stops and turns abruptly to stare at him, coldly. He sneers back, commenting on her anatomy in some rude fashion.
She just raises one arm above her head and snaps her fingers to signal security, then her singing voice is heard at decent volume as she appropriates a Georgia Satellites lyric. "Don't hand me no lines, and keep your hands to yourself!"
Peter's brow furrows, watching the scene playing out in front of him. He doesn't move to get up out of his seat, though when his eyes fall on the man near Cat, he stumbles over himself and lands face down on the floor, like he's legs just slipped out from beneath himself. By the time he manages to groggily pull himself up, the bouncers are already on top of him, one arm in another, lifting him up to his feet to manhandle him towards the door.
Peter returns his attention to his drink, then up to the bar, watching Cat head in that direction. He breathes in a slow, calming breath, then downs the last of whatever it is he's drinking, settling it down on the table, one hand idly playing with the straw, swirling the ice around inside the glass. He looks up, for a moment, to the pair sitting across from him, then back down to the glass. He, like a rock, doesn't budge.
The other three are stared down as the man who groped her is shown the door, her face saying it all. Want some of that action, guys? No? Didn't think so. They opt to pick up their belongings and go join their ejected buddy, certain to find him a bit dejected now. Cat watches them go for a few seconds, then returns to her original path.
When the bar is reached, the 'tender's eyes are caught and she just nods. No words have to be spoken, they know what she likes. A pint of that dark Irish brew is slid her way, and she turns toward the scarred man. Little attention, if any, is paid to the others near him. "Silent treatment, is it, Rock? One would think you're angry with her."
"I told you I'd support you," Peter looks down to his empty glass, eyeing the couple across the table as they look up to watch Cat come over. Both seem like they want to interject into the conversation, but with Cat focused on another conversation, they bide their time. "I keep promises," Peter sets the straw down in his glass, pushing it away from himself as he looks back up again. "I didn't comne here looking for a lecture or an argument, so if that's what you want I can go." There's hostility in his tone of voice, maybe some hurt as well, it's restrained.
Nothing about her says she's about to give a lecture or seek an argument. "So do I." She never promised she'd be found amorous like that again after he left her heated up and frustrated. She hadn't actually said much at all, but she does feel for the position she believes he feels he's in. Cat's expression shows respect, compassion, and calm. But she also isn't flirting. "Dani's got her attention on something interesting, Rock." That's all she says on that issue, as if to indicate it isn't something she wishes to elaborate on with those other two nearby. The pair gets a brief glance their way, a disinterested one. It's an opportunity for them to speak whatever might be on their minds, but it won't last long. She intends to return to her conversation with Mr. Petrelli as soon as she can.
"Oh, hey!" The young man of the two says, straightening from his chair, "That was a great set! We've been coming here, what, a week now?" He looks down to the slightly younger woman who nods emphaticly, throwing up the horns where she sits, "It's been an awesome show tonight, though!" He looks over to Peter, seeing the expression he has, then Cat, "We ah," He motions to the girl, "We'll give you two some space, right?" He reaches down at takes the young woman's hand, lifting her up out of the seat. She quirks one brow, looking back and forth at the two, then takes on an 'oh' expression as she smiles shyly, waving while she's escorted over to the bar.
Once they're gone, Peter shakes his head and lets out a sigh, "That's great for her," He says with a distracted tone of voice, watching the young couple walk away before shifting his gaze back to Cat. Then he adds, untrustingly, "As long as it's got nothing to do with me or what I told you." Peter pushes back his chair with his legs, rising up as he straightens his jacket. "You don't have to worry yourself about what's going on with me, just keep yourself focused on your music. You said you didn't want to be a lawyer anyway, right?" He's trying to be dismissive, it's coming across more as petty and wounded, "Really, this got a whole lot bigger than you and her, and I'm not getting you involved." He circles around the table, putting it between him and Cat, and his brow tenses. "I was right," He says quietly, looking up sidelong at her, "To not push things with us. I don't want you getting involved — getting hurt." His eyes wander away, brow creasing, he's at a loss for words.
The pair get a smile, she nods to their expressed sentiments. "Glad you're enjoying," Cat replies. She makes the sign of the horns in response to the woman's. "I'll be back up there soon enough. Enjoy the rest when I start up again." Their faces are memorized, by the simple virtue of them being seen. She watches them move away and once out of earshot her voice lowers a bit. The volume chosen is one she expects not to be heard by anyone but him. "It's like I said. She doesn't know any more than was necessary to explain the room's condition. I'm willing to do the things I said. Consult, give ideas, opinions, actions on a case by case basis. If you won't include me I'll approach resistance to the Linderman Act my own way. That in itself might assist you. Aim at the same goals. Anyway," she says before a pause, "Dani's attention has fallen on Linderman and his support for someone. She made contact with a man called Kain Zarek. He's PR for the Linderman Group. Or so his business card claimed. And there was apparently a secretary with the man she feels has something odd about her."
"Linderman?" Peter narrows his eyes, "If Dani knows what's good for her she'll get away from that, Linderman won't hesitate to put a bullet between her eyes if he finds out she's snooping around." Shaking his head, Peter smooths one hand over his hair in a nervous gesture. "Look, Cat, I appreciate everything you want to do to help, I do…" He looks away, unable to make eye contact, "But I just, I can't ask you to go any deeper into this than you already are. Dani, too. If something happened to either of you — even if you're willing to take those risks — I…" He shakes his head again, looking up to Cat but wavering away from eye-contact again. "I…" He looks like he's trying to express something, then just shakes his head. "You… should probably have your drink and hit the stage again."
She's in the dark, not knowing what Linderman is truly capable of, the lengths he's willing to go. But what she does know of the man is entirely unflattering. His name is on the Gestapo Act, for one. It doesn't seem to surprise her, hearing he'd shoot Dani if she go caught. How to stop her interest is a dilemma. One she hasn't even started to figure out how to solve. "I think the only thing that'll keep her away from Linderman is a bigger target with as much juice and less danger," Cat mutters. Nothing is said about his desire to keep them out of things; Cat on reflection has decided he needs support, assistance, in his goals and will clue her in eventually. He's here, after all. She takes her pint in hand and moves a step away. "Take care, Rock. See you."
Peter looks at Cat for a time as she talks, and he can't think of anything to afford as an answer to Cat's dillemma about Dani. When she finally looks back to him from her thoughts, and offers that farewell, Peter gives a hesitant smile, "Hopefully." He says quietly, a gravity to his words. Reaching into his pocket, he takes a handful of crumpled bills out and throws them down on the table, "Goodbye, Cat…" The way he says it, is the tone of someone who doesn't think that they might get to say it again. He turns away, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, and makes way for the door.
There's no goodbye to her tone. Cat has no such gloomy expectation, though she does see it in his words. Calm is projected. Confidence. "Optimism, Rock. You have to keep it, be it. Believing is such a large part of any battle. If you believe things will go south, much is already lost. I don't believe you'll fail." And with that she strides away, heading for her table to drop off the pint and go from there to stage. Music shall soon resume, to the delight of this audience.
 September 11th: Deception |
 September 12th: Not Much of a Gift |