A Pox on All Petrellis


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Scene Title A Pox on All Petrellis
Synopsis An angry shadow vents his frustration. Peyton and Cardinal consider the meanings and ramifications of Else Kjelstrom's visions of the future, and Peyton peeks in on the present of Brennan and Liette.
Date March 13, 2010

New York Public Library

It's early evening and from the sound of music and the lights in the file room, Peyton is still there — she's been finding tasks that keep her busy past the time that it's safe to travel home through Midtown, and spent the night there more often than not in the past week. There is a sense of security there, strangely enough — more so than she does in her posh apartment overlooking Central Park.

Peyton is bent over a table, looking at several pages of what look to be hand-scrawled notes — until one realizes upon closer inspection they are computer print outs of images of hand-scrawled notes. There is also a file already made — it seems she is getting the hang of the filing task set before her.

"A pox on all Petrelli's and their bastard line!" A shadowy, serpentine hiss from the tatters of Richard Cardinal as they wash into the room like a tide, flowing along the floor, up the wall, down to the floor again and then straight up Peyton's back to spill down one arm, "If I ever even think of trusting one of them again, just remind me…" Never again…

"…huh. Those are Else's prophecies." Prophecies…

Peyton jumps when the hissing shadow enters the room, but the gasp for breath is released in a laugh as she shakes her head, turning to look at the shadow on her arm with fondness. "Hey, Cardinal," she says, smiling despite his foul mood. "Should I remind you that our darling Claire is a Petrelli bastard, even if she doesn't bear the name? We still trust her, right?"

Her dark eyes glance down at the prophecies and she nods. "Yeah, Gillian sent me the link so I printed them out at home and brought them over to pour over. They're pretty crazy." She nods at her laptop.

"I looked up some things, but most of it doesn't make a lot of sense. This, here?" she points to one highlighted spot on one page that is marked with various colors. "Every Prophet In His Own House. I think it's from a televison show. so I printed out the synopses of all the episodes. But I don't know what the hell I'm looking for. You looked at it? Saw the stuff on Summer Meadows and Edward Ray?" she glances at him. "Too bad we didn't get it earlier…"

A silent snort from Cardinal, "Shut up. She's far more a Bennet than she is a Petrelli…" Far from Nathan… The torn shadow ripples down her arm and over the notes upon the table, spilling out over them like some overlarge rorschach blot. "I saw some of it, before Peter decided that he was going to be a complete bastard— I never should've wasted that vial. I should've left him to die in the god-damned cold…" The cold…

"Evidentally I'm going to find him at least. That's something, but will it be in time?" Never in time…

"Find… Ray?" she asks, peering up and looking at him in confusion. "I thought he died. Oh, but look at this part." She reaches — strangely through him, hoping it doesn't hurt him, and finds the main page. Her eyes skim until she finds the right section, tapping to the small squeezed-in text in French. "Here… il viendra du passe pour changer son future mais nous resterons les memes." she looks down at that shadow, her teeth catching her lower lip and raking it. "Do you speak French? Does Else or was she like …channeling something?"

"Apparently not. The precognitives seem to think that he's with the other missing scientists in whatever hole the government's buried them," Richard mutters as he looks over the various sections — tendrils coiling about the part with his name, "This is very clearly a… conversation between myself and Eddie. And no, I don't speak french. I don't know, about Else…"

"Do you… Do you remember that conversation? Or has it not happened yet?" Peyton asks, then, her fingers also moving to lightly touch the part that says his name as well, brushing over it lightly as if to read it by Braille. "I wish I'd met him… then I could help find him." She taps the French again. "The time stuff though, this is what that means." She speaks the French again, her accent rather good, if a bit "proper" rather than native. "He will come from the past, to change his future but stay the same." She looks down at shadow. "Could it be Ray? The French throws me though. Why put it in French?"

"It hasn't happened yet. Which is why I say it seems we'll meet again…" Again… Cardinal notes dryly, "You'd have hated him. He's a bastard. But he's a bastard who happens to be right, smug son of a… hm. That could mean anything, really. Typical precognitive babble… or… of course! Francois. I don't know what he's been up to, though…" A pause, "…hm. I don't suppose you ever met a doctor - Harve Brennan? Works with the Ferry?" The Ferry…

"Francois? Who's that and why would it mean him? Just because it's in French and he's French?" Peyton asks, not yet connecting the fact she knows Francois. Sort of. "I know Doctor Brennan. He's kind of my doctor, actually. He's the one I went to when I collapsed on Staten the day of the delivery." They'd both been hurt that day. "He's a pretty good guy. Why?"

"Francois was brought forward… from the past. He was the person who held the— healing entity before Abigail did…" A silent pause, and then Cardinal barks a sharp laugh, "Ha. Got him. I need you to find him, Peyton. There's a girl with him — she may know where the missing scientists are." Doc.. Gregor.. Lewis.. Edward..

"I can't get anything on Doc. Just darkness every time I try," Peyton says quietly. She taps at the mirrored 11s flanking a mobius strip on one spot of the page. "11-8, if you read the mobius strip as an eight, is November 8th. Anniversary of the bomb. I'm not sure why it repeats though. 11-8-11. Unless… maybe that's when you will see Ray again?" she asks, even as her eyes lose focus, the pupils slowing eating away the brown of her eye as she attempts to find Brennan. No time like the present, right?

"Something that happens on the fifth year anniversary of the bomb…?" A thoughtful whisper of the shadow as he whorls over those numbers and symbols upon the page. "I wonder what. It can't be good." Cardinal continues examining the writings, as the clairvoyant does her work.

"I see… him and a young girl. A blonde kid, maybe 14 or something, I'm guessing it's Liette? It's not his kids, I've met all of them," Peyton says softly, feeling perhaps a touch bad about spying on someone she's friends with, who isn't kidnapped or dying.

"They're… I can't tell where they are. It's just like, cement walls. There's sleeping bags and packs. They're playing a video game on a television, so it has to be somewhere with electricity, anyway." She blinks, and when her eyes open, the pupils constrict swiftly. "Why are we watching him?"

"We need to pick him up… the girl, at least, but if she's trusting him, it might be best to bring him along if possible," murmurs Cardinal, "Keep an eye on them from time to time, until you can… find some sign of where they are, or someone you recognize. She may be the key to all of this." To all of this…

"I… okay." Peyton doesn't sound happy about it, spying on a friend. "How is she the key? Who is she? There's so much … it's all entwined…" like Else's scribbled notes. She sighs, and shakes her head, planting her elbows on the table and raking her hands through her hair. Focus. She chooses to focus on something that she can. " "So what did Peter do to you?"

"I have no idea. Rebel thinks she is… of course, Rebel's not that stable itself…" A hissing sigh from Cardinal, "…if she knows anything, we need to get to her first." At the other question, he's silent for a moment, "Oh. He decided he'd tell the Company and Kershner I'm alive." Traitor…

Her brows knit together as she considers what he says. She'll do what Cardinal asks, but with the pangs of a guilty conscience each time she does. "I'll watch. I'll stay here tonight anyway, and check in again later, and in the morning, so you'll know what I see immediately," she says softly, trying to help in the scant ways she can. As to the rest, she tilts her head. "Can they… what can they do with that, with knowing you're alive?" Or something like it. "Can they hurt you? Or stop you from doing the things you need to?"

"It… limits my freedom some, if he does tell Kershner. She'll be prepared for me to be on the move, acting, plotting… and they'll know that Liz knows, and that could harm her career…" A frustrated sound, like feedback, crackles from the shadow of Richard Cardinal, "He's convinced everything is fine and good and the government is our friend." Forgetful…

"Did he … does he not see this?" Peyton says in almost angry astonishment, tapping her nails on the pages of Else's scribblings. "Not all of the government is bad, sure — they protect us sometimes, but they also think they have to protect everyone from any of us, when if it weren't for our kind… if it weren't for you —" her voice cracks and she bites hard down on her lip to stop the floodgates from opening. "I'm sorry," she whispers, and reaches up to rub her forehead, eyes closing for a moment as she hides from him by closing her eyes to him for just a moment.

A wash of lacy shadows spills over her hand, a whispering sigh rising from Cardinal's darkened substance. "…he knows. He was there, he owes me his damned life… he just doesn't want to believe. He wants everything to go back to normal… house, car, two point five kids…" The American Dream… "…he's hiding from the truth, but eventually, the blood will get too deep for him to keep his head in the sand." The sand…

"You saved all of us, Cardinal. We all owe you our life." Peyton clamps down on the anger and the fear that want to well out in tears from her eyes, since she can't go kill the things that want to harm them. "And there's no American dream anymore. Not in this city and not for people like us. Maybe he can manage being a Petrelli, but if he thinks the rest of us can, he's more naive than I am." She sighs, opening her eyes, turning her hand over so that her palm faces up, slightly curled, as if to cup the shadow that falls upon it. "I'm sorry."

There's silence for a long few moments from Cardinal, as she speaks and as those tears threaten to well up in her eyes. Then he whispers softly, "Don't apologize. It's a sign of weakness. Not everyone can see the truth, like we can… ironically, they're the ones we're fighting for. Or we wouldn't need to fight. Thank you, though…" Thank you…

"It's nice to know someone believes in me."

Well, aside from Liz. She has to, it's in the 'in love' contract.

Peyton gives a sad smile and then stands, laying out each of the dozen or so printouts so that he can pour over them. "I'm trying. Not to be weak. And I do believe in you. It's nice to have something to believe in." She nods to the table. "Let me know if there's anything in there you need me to look up." She can't do a lot, but she can lend him her eyes and her hands, to watch and to research what he cannot.

"You're not weak, Peyton," Cardinal's hollow, whispering voice replies, even as the shadows stir over Else's prophecies once more to return to them, "And I'm proud of you." Proud of you…

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