helena_icon.gif peter_icon.gif vinnie_icon.gif

Scene Title Castling
Synopsis Castling is an important goal in the early part of a chess game, because it serves two valuable purposes: it moves the king into a safer position away from the center of the board, and it moves the rook to a more active position in the center of the board.
Date February 11, 2009

Moab Federal Penitentiary

The Moab Federal Penitentiary is an expansive multi-level prison designed by the United States Government in cooperation with the Company. The prison rests on sixty acres of government owned land in Moab, a remote and mountainous region of Utah bordering Canyonlands National Park. The prison is an enormous and fortified concrete structure containing both above-ground and subterranean prison cells. The above-ground cells feature narrow windows looking out over the prison grounds, and are known as Green Level, each progressive subterranean level is likewise color-coded, from yellow, to orange, to red. Only the most dangerous Evolved are detained on Red-Level, and are in sealed isolation chambers tailored to their specific abilities.

Looks like there's a real big bad dog being shoved into this particular pound.

Alexander's assessment of the single prisoner who was escorted into Moab seperate from the other group just a few days ago turns out to be a rather astute one. In the days since the arrival of a new batch of prisoners, it's become incresingly evident in the past few days that business as usual in the federal penitentiary is going nothing like usual. The amount of guards at thee prison has turned up, and while the prison is still woefully understaffed, there is a sense of suffocating oppression that has become the norm over the last two days. The riot out in the yard that sparked the Moab Security Force to act hasn't had a repeat incident since, and any rumors of an attempt at escape has become so subdued that it seems like the fires of rebellion have been thouroughly stamped out.

But it's on this gray and overcast afternoon, when the prisoners are let out from the yard to exercise after lunch, where it's clear that a few new faces might just shake things up. Now only are there six new male and five new female prisoners making their way out onto the lightly snow-dusted and fenced-in recreation area, but a somewhat familiar face is now observing the prisoners.

A tall and young man with short dark hair in a long black coat with a high, tight collar. His brown eyes survey the yard from atop the helipad of the prison, looking down from the high concrete wall slitted with cell windows. No rumors yet as to who he is, or what he's doing here, but whatever the case may be, he's earned the attention of one of the yard-birds.

From where Peter Petrelli sits, slouched in a defeated posture on bench seating near the basketball court, his head may be downturned, but his eyes are lifted up towards the black-clad man, watching his vigilance with an uncertain and guarded stare through the long and unkempt bangs that have grown in from what was once the short, clean haircut Helena had given him in the fall.

Somewhere amidst the drug-suppressed prisoners, all bearing their nickle-sized injection scars under their jaws, one of these new faces might just be more of a danger to the other prisoners than they realize… by what he knows.

Conversation over the past few days has ceased between the prisoners whose designations end in 01 and 02. Which isn't to say that there hasn't been activity. The walls of Helena's cell are starting to take on some decor, the result of her written ramblings; occaisionally Peter's been subjected to her voice in the dark, singing softly to herself the songs her mother used to love and ones that were popular before she got locked away to rot.

Today appears to be no different; this morning Madison braided and coiled her hair because it made her look 'just like Princess Leia only blonde and her daughter used to love going as Princess Leia, I don't understand why a harmless little thing like you is here, dear' and then finally Helena had enough, gently extricating herself from Madison and going to sit at a bench to the side of the women's basketball court, the one next to the fence seperating the two, and of course coincidentally, the one that puts her next to Peter.

Speaking of new faces, the ever angry Vinnie makes his way out into the yard, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtlessly. His gaze drifting around the prison yard intently, sizing up the other inmates carefully before he finally catches sight of the man standing high above them.

Vinnie almost always looks so, simply put, intense. Vinnie is by no means the average man, at least not in a physical aspect. Despite the man's confident swagger, he maintains a stiffened, disciplined posture.

Vinnie doesn't move far from the entrance for now, he leans against the wall pulling out a small box of cancer sticks from his pocket along with a packet of matches. He goes about firing up one of those cigarrettes, exhaling the smoke through his nostrils. Then he puts them away into the pocket from where he had taken them from.

Ah, Cigarettes, one of the few luxuries afforded to any prisoner anywhere. It must be an American bylaw, or perhaps one coded in by the rich tobacco giants in ages past. But for all of the conventional freedoms robbed from the prisoners of Moab, the ability to slowly kill themselves with cigarettes is still a liberty that won't be wrenched from their hands any time soon.

The man high up on the wall peering down at the yard casts his dark eyes down towards Vinnie, head canting to one side before letting his eyes flick back up to the other prisoners again, watching them in the same manner a child wound ants in an ant farm. One ant, though, he's keeping a close watch on the watcher.

When Helena comes to sit on the opposite side of the fence from Peter, the long absent touch of his mind to hers silently echoes inside of her head. How're you holding up? It's the first words — thoughts — he's shared with her since their conversation rather soundly terminated days ago. The mental contact is matched by a shift in Peter's weight, not focusing on Helena, but rather on the new arrivals. Peter pulls a leg up under himself, and then pushes up to stand and move down one bench, then another. His eyes wander the crowd, focused on Alexander keeping to himself in a corner, arms folded and head down, then to the other familiar faces like McIntyre, seated at a table with a few of the other inmates, all very well-behaved ants dressed up in hunter orange.

Spotting the man with the cigarette, Peter tilts his head to the side, brows tensed, as if searching for something that can't outwardly be seen

I've been thinking about your friend. Helena doesn't look at Peter, rather she too, turns in her seat to consider the new arrival. He looks scary. He reminds her of Ethan. This does not endear him to her in any way, shape, or form. How do you know you can trust him? Did you get into his head?

Long, drawn out lengths of inhalation from his rolled tobacco and a cold, aggressive stare defines Vinnie right now. He seems to be slowly, savoring that cigerrate to it's fullest while glancing about the yard intently.

Vinnie is well aware of the man looking down on him through his peripheral vision. He turns his gaze to lock with the man's, he then grins arrogantly at him. He lifts his right arm, slapping his left hand down onto his right bicep to make a obscenely rude gesture in the man's direction.

After that, Vinnie pushes away from the wall and begins to roam the yard, walking right through the basketball court; he shows no concern for those playing on it at the time and he doesn't even care to notice any dirty looks he's getting as he moves along the fence, scoping out the women on the other side for a moment until he reaches Helena and Peter sitting on opposite sides of the fence by one another.

Vinnie leans on the fence, his attention drawn toward the attractive young female as he says to her,"Afty babe."

McIntyre? We've talked, I've looked. There's not a whole lot people can hide from me. As scary as Parkman is, Peter's telepathic voice in her head goes silent for a moment, I can be worse. Peter's physical form doesn't seem to reflect the conversation at all, he's doing a remarkably good job of keeping a facade over the subtle hints of insurrection and liberation playing out in mindscapes. //I want to know who the man in black is though, he's outside of my range. I'm — // There's just a moment's hesitation, and Peter steps down off of the benches and begins walking towards the front doors. It comes just a quaver-beat later than his actual physical pause as he catches what the man leaning on the fence says.

Peter's lips crook into something of a smile, and he keeps walking past Vinnie towards the front of the main entrance where the man in the long black coat stands, surveying the yard. Yeah, I'm going to go see if I can get a sweep of what dirty thoughts he's thinking. Maybe it's a joke, maybe it's not.

I know. Her mental tone is mild, but then - Claude's not the only man she credits with teaching her mental self-defense. Peter's course was far more hands-on, so to speak - and involuntary. So you're sure he's on the up and up, and isn't a plant, or at least doesn't believe he is. Is there such a thing as a mental snort? If not, Helena just invented it. Yeah, and you're a priest. Her brief fluster at the man's approach is evident though, both in her head ad on her face. "Hello." she says, with polite uncertainty that is more shown then actually felt.

Vinnie glances over at Peter as he gets up and moves off past him. He actually goes as far as to take a step away from the fence and impolitely stand in Peter's way despite the fact that Peter obviously isn't interested in him. That's all he does though, he does try to stop Peter from what he's doing, he just creates an obstacle in the man's way to force him to move around, if he chooses to move around and not go through Vinnie in some fashion or another.

After Peter moves away, Vinnie moves over to sit down on the bench on the opposite side of Helena where Peter was, taking his spot non-chalantly. "Whatsa beddable babe like you doing in this shitbox?"

Part of Peter doesn't mind leaving Helena behind, at least for a little while. He makes his way, rather directly, over to the doors, but instead of stopping and inspecting the man that peers down from above, it's clear that he's maneuvering to meet up with someone under the overhang of the roof, where the man in the long black coat can't see them. McIntyre, at some point during her conversation with Peter, slipped out from the table he was at to go meet with the Petrelli. The two stand there, having a conversation too far removed to be overheard by the blonde, and only when the two exchange a pack of cigarettes does the image of them exchanging something the last time Helena saw them together cross her mind.

Without lingering beneath the overhang for long, Peter breaks away from McIntyre's lanky form, tucking the pack of cigarettes into the front breast pocket of his orange jumpsuit, not quite making it back in time to interrupt whatever wonderful convrsation the new inmate and Helena are going to evidently spark up. But it might also be because he's slowing his pace down just a little too, watching the new face with a scrutinizing motion of his eyes.

Helena is pretty, blonde, and young. These are qualities someone once pointed out as means to get her way and she'd protested. But now she has no qualms about using it to her advantage. She smiles faintly, almost sheepishly. "The same thing everyone else here is doing. I got myself into trouble." She doesn't bother asking what he did. He practically screams scary thug.

Vinnie's gaze wanders from Helena toward Peter again curiously watching the man for a moment or two before he turns his attention back to Helena. Grinning widely, Vinnie asks,"So, what's the SP?"

Vinnie's glances back in Peter's direction as he makes his way back toward them. He doesn't appear to be willing to move from Peter's spot as he comes back either. He disgracefully turns his attention away from Peter again ignorantly and arrogantly back to Helena.

"She's not talkative." Peter is nothing if not a bit over-possessive, even of people he has not right to be that way with. It's not the best greeting he can give to Vinnie, but this is a prison, and he has a certain presence that has to be kept up with. But with his hair grown out again, that long and curly lock of uncontrolable hair covering one side of his face, and a patchy five-o-clock shadow, he looks like a slim italian boy trying to be a thug.

"Name's Peter." He tries a bit of a softer touch after the initial headbutt, like two goats meeting on a mountainside, "Peter Petrelli." Like the President. "You got a light?" One hand is held out, either an offer for a handshake, or a request for one of the matches he saw earlier. His eyes track over to Helena, then back to the thug once more.

He's HomeSec, he's looking for somebody, not me. I dunno what he's doing. There's a pause, ever so brief, I trust McIntyre, you're going to have to take my word on this one.

Wait, McIntyre is HomeSec? Her lashes flutter, perhaps in confusion and she echoes, "SP?" Her eyes narrow a touch. "Are you mistaking me for a hooker?" Her tone takes on a certain tightness, but she doesn't get visibly indignant about it. At least not for now. Peter's two cents prompts her to lift a dark blonde brow, and she clams up, looking at her hands in her lap.

"She was talkin' just fine before you came back." Vinnie states without looking in Peter's direction, then he tops it off with an even clearer statement,"Bugger-off."

Vinnie smirks at Helena,"Ya. Well, you didn't tell me what you were here for, so I just made an assumption." He shrugs his shoulders helplessly, leaning on the next bench up on his elbow, looking more or less relaxed.

No, no — // Peter's strained tone of voice, often the one he used when trying to communicate a plan to Eve translates well into the hollow and tinny sound of psychic conversation, //The man in the long coat, he's HomeSec. I had pegged him for the Company, I guess I was wrong. McIntyre, no, he's a teacher — he's nobody. At least, not until he came here, now he's out best ticket out of here.

Peter's jaw tenses at the man's words, rolling his tongue across the inside of his cheek as he flicks a furtive glance to Helena, then one back to Vinnie. "Hey, I don't think she wants to talk to you." Peter steps up onto another tier of the bleacher seats, getting a little bit of artificial height on the thug, "Just be cool or back off, alright?" Dark eyes narrow, and that sense of overprotectiveness is ever present.

What makes you think he's suddenly not HomeSec after all? Then, This big lug can't hurt me, you know that right? Her mouth curves upward faintly, and she shakes her head. "I'm not a hooker." she says, but does not elaborate. "Everyone here is Evolved. You'd be foolish not to realize otherwise. Or do they keep you asleep during your daily dose of suppressant?"

Vinnie's cigarrette was almost down to the filter at this point and he certainly wasn't sparing the woman from second-hand. He lazily looks up at Peter after his comment, his top lip curling a bit as he shows a little disgust in the man's direction. "Blimey! Who da hell you s'pose to be?", Vinnie asks Peter, then his attention turns to Helena before Peter can answer, asking her,"This bloke think he's your bum-chum or somethin?"

Vinnie looks back up to Peter and says,"Blow it, ya damn wanker. I be talkin' to this bird now." Vinnie looks back to Helena again, smiling, or rather grinning at her, he says frustratedly,"Bloody hell. Damn americans. And thanks for pointing out the obvious, kinda figured this place wasn't normal. What's your ability anyways? Let me take a stab at it, you're a gold digger, that it?"

I'm just certain. When you dig deep enough into someone, you can see things. Espescially when they don't know you're looking. Peter's nostrils flare at Vinnie's sentiment, stepping over Vinnie's legs to stand by his side, leaning down to his level where he lounges, "Leave her alone." Peter insists, trying for all his might to look like someone who can handle himself in a fight, despite the degredation months in prison without true exercise looks to have done to him.

That's something Helena is really noticing now, how thin Peter looks. Much of the muscle tone and strength that he had mustered up during his time with PARIAH is gone now, he looks much more like the wiry young man in the photographs in his apartment. "She isn't interested in you, so screw off."

Eventually, Peter had to lose his temper. After everything he's gone through, and with which half of the emotional divide of Brian Fulk's replication power that he is, it was just bound to happen.

The guards on the yard happen to notice the change in the tossing of words, but don't yet do anything about it. Though McIntyre notices, watching Peter with a very intent, very focused stare.

Helena says, "Peter!" There's no way she can stop herself, she hops to her feet, moves closer to the chain link fence and going so far as to put her hands into it, curling her fingers around the links. What are you doing? He could probably kill you with his bare hands! "Just…stop. It's okay." She looks over at Vinnie, her mouth pulling back to show teeth. "I'm a terrorist." Yeah, RIGHT."

That would be the final straw for Vinnie, the man's top lip quivers with anger and annoyance as a bitter and vile expression overcoming his features as he looks at Helena. Suddenly Vinnie is rising up from the bench to his feet, he goes from gritting his teeth to putting on a big, cheerful, and yet rather devious smile all at the same time.

At this point, Vinnie could care less about Helena, his focus is on Peter now, that murderous gaze locked on to a target more or less even though he's pretending to be friendly. "Oh, look at this babby trying to wear the trousers." Vinnie chuckles heartily, almost in a playful and joking manner. "Look here, bloke. I don't want no trouble." Vinnie lifts his hands up in the air like he's surrounding peacefully,"That bird isn't worth a squirt any road." He starts to turn away at that point, as though he's going to move on…. But that's not his intentions, not at all.

Finally, whether or not if Vinnie's actions and words put Peter off guard or not the big bad englishman is going to suddenly turn sharp on his heels and launch a rocket of a fist at Peter. Vinnie is aiming to put the smaller man on his bum with this haymaker.

Don't worry, it's a good cover. I doubt he'll take a swing at me, it'd be too risky for a new inmate to try anything, espescially after what nearly happened to Alexander. Peter's eyes widen at what Vinnie says, clenching his hands into fists as his jaw clenches, watching as Vinnie begins to turn away, scowling all the while. See? What did I tell you… When Vinnie wheels around and a closed fist, Peter is turning to look at Helena, and the strike hits him square in the mouth. Compared to the muscle Vinnie possesses, Peter is knocked clean off of his feet and back onto the bleacher seating. He bounces on the wooden seat, rolls down a tier and then falls into the snow. Everyone on the yard sees it, and the moment Peter is struck, McIntyre's eyes look away from Peter and up towards the man in in the long black coat.

Helena. They might put me in the lower levels for this, I need to know right now. You need to tell me where to send everyone, where is Phoenix gathered? Where can we have the most security when we leave? His thoughts are a little frazzled, but remarkably calm for a man who looks to have just had his head knocked into his shoulders by Vinnie's tremendous punch. Peter rolls onto his side, couching and spitting as a spray of blood hits the thin layer of snow he's curled up on.

He struggles, making a very strong point of getting up to his feet, as if standing so he can be seen is the absolutely most important thing right now. And he's bleeding, bleeding from a split in his lip that looks — both from the size and his expression — extremely painful.

Helena, I need to know right now. You have to tell me, Helena. You have to.

But he's still bleeding. Peter's dark eyes track to Helena, then back up to Vinnie, wavering a bit as he touches his fingers to the split, still.

Helena I need to know. Now.

Peter isn't regenerating.

This could destroy Phoenix. She doesn't know any of these people, she doesn't even know if by doing this she's not giving over information that would destroy the group from the inside. It's too risky.

Long Island.

The image she gives him is an empty warehouse, empty as she remembered it, save for the white truck that was found there.

She can't risk other locations. Locations she just won't think about.

"Get up." Vinnie exclaims, making a come hither hand gesture to Peter after knocking him on the ground. Vinnie jumps down to the ground, into the snow. "Ya still got the bollocks to scrap with me, ya lil' quilt? Come on then, I'm going to beat seven shades of shit out of you."
Vinnie's boxing style is a little unorthodoxed, his guard raised infront of him loosely but his fists are turned in an odd fashion, facing his opponent, kind of like a kick-boxer does but not quite the same style.

Vinnie takes a step toward Peter, first he let's loose a couple jabs, then he follows them up with a heavy hooked fist. All of which are aimed to put a bruising on Peter. Still, the man carries a grin on his face as though he's enjoying every moment of this little quarrel. Cockily, Vinnie continues to taunt Peter, "Been quite some time since I've done a little queer bashing."

"Stop! Stop!" she starts to shriek, for a moment her worry overriding her senses as she shakes the fence. She watches Peter's bleeding face in horror, and…

Peter's bleeding face.

Her struggles immediately cease. No more protest over the pummelling. "Who are you?" she hisses. "Who are you?!"

Thank you Helena. Thank you so much.

The moment those thoughts are sent, the man in the long black coat breaks away from his perch on the rooftop, making headway for the stairs that descend down into the facility, already retrieving a phone from his jacket to bring to one ear. McIntyre flicks his gaze from the man on the roof to Peter, giving a nod, and then looks to the prisoner adjacent to him, nodding his head as well as a handful of people begin gathering at the table McIntyre returned to.

The psychic voice does not return, and Peter's very intent, very strong stare to her is followed by an apologetic look as he turns back to Vinny, just bleeding down his mouth from the strike to his face. "Thanks." Is all Peter can get out, before Vinnie's fist slams into Peter's side, sending him staggering away, another jab to his gut knocking him back, but the final punch that would take him off his feet never comes.

Pneumatic taser darts strike Peter in the chest and neck, sending him down to the ground with kicking legs and spasming limbs. The same darts hit Vinny from behind, in the middle of his back and one in his leg, causing the giant of a man to crumple down to the ground with the buzzing shock that sends his muscles into spastic disarray.

The Moab Security Force is quick to emerge from the interior of the building, men in black uniforms with tasers and batons, subduing Petrelli and Sullivan in one pair of shots. Zip-ties are brought over as the continues electrical shock elicits loud cries from both men. Peter is hoisted up, dragged by his arms by just two guards, where it takes four to carry Vinnie Sullivan's weight.

Trailing blood from hs lip as he is dragged away, head hanging limp, Peter still hasn't recovered from the blow to his face.

McIntyre casts his eyes up to Helena, frowning slightly, then looks back down to the plastic chess board he has on the table, taking the white king, and swapping his place with the white rook.

That's what they call Castling.

February 12th: So That's Where You Are!

Previously in this storyline…
Say One Thing, Mean Another

Next in this storyline…
Four Lights

February 12th: The Right Thing
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