Cherry Cobbler


brian_icon.gif niki_icon.gif peter2_icon.gif woods_icon.gif

NPCs by Brooklyn

Scene Title Cherry Cobbler
Synopsis A nice night out takes a wild and violent turn.
Date October 26, 2008

Upper East Side

Before the bomb, the Upper East Side offered some of the most expensive real estate in the United States, which the upper-range of residences reaching upwards of 70 million dollars. In the wake of the bomb, the economic collapse of New York drove property values down through the ground. This was only compounded by the southwestern portion of the neighborhood being in direct proximity to the blast aream causing rampant fires that destroyed dozens of blocks of residential and business areas.

The Upper East Side has the privelidge of being on the border of ground zero, with a barricade of one story tall concrete blocks forming a barricade around the ruins of Midtown. Entrances into these regions are protected by Homeland Security checkpoints reinforced by national guard. It is this jagged blight visible on the horizon of the neighborhood that has been a grevious scar on an otherwise well to do region of New York.

Despite itself, perhaps, the Upper East Side has done as good for itself as can be imagined in the wake of the disaster. Much of the western portion of the neighborhood has dropped so significently in property values that it has become residential shelters for refugees capable of affording a living. The northern-most regions of the neighborhood though are beginning to thrive again in the wake of economic stimulus thrown into the area following modest reconstruction efforts. Private and public donations to rebuild the region has resulted in a recovery to some of its former grace, but the damage done by the waves of riots and arson following the bomb may never truly be recovered from.

It's heading towards the early evening, and the street isn't entirely empty of people or cars. Closer to the blast, the buildings get a little more wrecked, and the people seem a little lower class the nearer to ground zero in midtown one gets, but it's a far mix, with businessmen and women passing by those that live in this area - or even on the street. One man, pale looking, dressed in old clothes and arms wrapped around himself, sits on the sidewalk and huddled against the outside wall of a building. He's shaking, but largely goes ignored. Just another dusk in New York City.

He hasn't been in a good mood all week, but given what happened when he visited his family, that's bound to be expected. In fact, for the last couple of weeks Peter Petrelli seems to have been slowly sliding down into a depressed anxiety, only heightened by recent events and friction with Homeland Security. Tonight, it's been an opportunity to take some of his own medicine and advice for once. Accompanied by Agent Sanders, Peter had planned on making this night out a casual one-on-one with another employee, a relaxing and friendly meeting of two people who could use just a little less stress in their lives.

"I swear to fucking god, I've never seen so many tight-asses in one bloody place in my whole life."

So much for that idea.

There's something to be said for Agent Woods, he's a determined man that isn't put off by too many things. But being left out one too many times has given him a bit of a complex on missing out on nights on the town. Given how badly Peter abused his relation with his partner lately, he felt a mild obligation to Woods, to get him out of the office and onto the town.

"Trust-fund kids aren't entirely bad." Peter remarks with a shrug of one shoulder, "Unless you count my brother." There's a bit of a wince, and his dark eyes flit over to the blonde agent, his collared shirt's top button undone and thin black tie loosened. It was the wine that did Woods in, one glass too many.

"Oh, c'mon Pete, you can't tell me you wouldn't like to see one of them jus' flip right the fuck out if you spilled a spot on wine on their twelve-hundred dollar suit, right?" He cracks a broad smile, hands tucked into his pockets as he turns his intrusive smile towards the person on his other side, "You agree with me, right Sanders? Those little stuck up buggers need a little shakin' down, yeah? Just so prim and proper an' daddy pays for it all for me. I'm a simple man with simple — "

"Woods." Peter's raised one hand to his own brow, hearing his voice is hard enough, but he thinks so loudly, "Tone it down, please."

Niki would have preferred a quiet night out with Peter to get a couple drinks. But, well, Woods is still a co-worker, and it never hurts to go out with them. Niki's kept her wine to a single glass tonight, since…well, it might not be a good idea to get too far gone. One never knows. She does look back, amused a bit at the conversation. "Spoken like someone whose brother's a politician and whose family is rich, Peter. I'm going to have to go with Woods here a little bit. I've been poor enough to have my "rich tolerance" sort of shot all to hell. I mean, I wouldn't do anything. But it would be fun to see it happen." For the moment right now, there's no voices in her head. It's quiet.

Unlike Niki's head, the street is less than quiet. A car goes rocketing down the street, wheels screeching. The lounge the three coworkers had just appeared from carries faint sounds of music out its door. Conversation, distant traffic, it all blends together for an almost-evening New York ambience.

That's when glass breaks.

From just across the street to the trio, in a highclass bar not so dissimilar to the Orchid, an argument had erupted - and suddenly, a man in a suit, perhaps wait staff, goes flying out the window at a force strong enough to break it, only to land unconscious and bleeding on the street. A car swerves to miss the man but continues driving, and some people stop and stare, and looking towards the bar. At a stagger, a lanky man, with dark enough skin to be Latino, looking very unwell as well (and nor is he dressed like a usual patron to such a bar), comes lurching out the broken window. In heated Spanish, he snarls some form of abuse at the unconscious man, storming towards him in a drunken swagger.

"'Ey c'mon Pete, just having a little fun, right?" An elbow is jabbed into Peter's side by his erstwhile partner, crooked grin spread from ear to ear as he swaggers between the two. "Ain't a bad evenin' though, I can tell ya that much. Thought I was gonna get picked up off me fuckin' feet yesterday with how bloody windy it was. Like get all lifted up to the land of Oz with little blighters runnin' about singin' and dancin'." He raises both hands, waving them from side to side as if about to birst into a song about the lolipop guild.

Peter shoots a cold stare to Woods, and the blonde Brit just pouts slightly, slouching his shoulders and lowering his hands without any musical fanfare. A sigh comes not long after from Peter, head canting to the side as he regards the street ahead of him. "How can you be so light-hearted with everything that's going on? I mean, we still haven't gotten Doctor Knutson's report back about what happened with those two Evolved who went berserk." Peter shakes his head, a vein visible in his left temple, "Elle is still missing and nobody has any idea where the hell she is — Or Monroe for that matter."

"Pete, Pete, Pete, Pete." Woods reaches up one hand to lay on Agent Petrelli's shoulder, "Christ man you need to leave work at work. Don't you know how to turn off? Honestly, it's a job, it ain't a bloody lifestyle. You take time off, you leave the office in the — " That's when the glass breaks, and both Woods and Peter turn towards the sound of the disturbance, " — Oh for fuck's sake."

Niki nods a bit in answer to Woods' earliest comment. "The weather's been a bit crazy this year. Really cold early, and then it's supposed to warm up again." She turns her head to look at Peter, and nods emphatically. "I want to get Elle back as badly as you do, Peter. But ramming our heads into a brick wall isn't going to make that happen. Until we get more information than we have, we can't change any of those things. And worrying about it is just going to stress us out more. I don't—" And there's that commotion. Niki stands, and frowns. "What was that?" She starts towards the door.

The man that was just thrown out the window seems to come to - just in time for him to be grabbed by the front of his suit by the lanky homeless man - and held up as if he were nothing more than a ragdoll, legs kicking feebly. As another car approaches, slowing down substantially due to the commotion mid-street, it blares its horn. The Latino snaps his head in its direction, and snarls— before promptly hurling the poor man in his hands at the car, enough to crack the windshield.

From across the street, the other homeless man, much older than this one, rather shakily gets to his feet, bent-doubled as if in pain, but he's hardly a spectacle compared to the one standing mid-street, who whips around to a car coming in the opposite direction, stopping just shy of him. With an incoherent roar, the lanky man brings his fist down onto the metal hood of the vehicle - going right through it.

"W-what the bloody fuck is going on!?" Woods shouts, ducking for the nearest telephone pole and narrowing his profile as he stands to the side of it, "Jesus christ is everyone out of their fucking minds in this city!? Petrelli — Do something!" Crouching down, the blonde agent reaches into his jacket and pulls out a pistol, chambering a round with a loud ca-chack and holding the barrel towards the pavement. Peter looks stunned, eyes wide as he stumbles back across the sidewalk, right into Niki. He turns, startled, looking back to the tall, blonde Agent, then back to the others.

"They're — " The look of concentration that briefly comes over Peter's face is met with a look of fear and helplessness, "Oh God Woods!" Peter shouts out, "Get on the phone, call Doctor Knutson and tell her we're going to have incoming! They're — It's just like last time!" Peter looks to the man across the street, then the one closest by. Niki, see if you can restrain the closest one. I'm going to try and handle the one across the street. It's an odd request, usually Peter handles these problems himself, he has enough powers to do that sort've thing. Something is off.

Niki looks over to the rampaging guy who just punched a hole in the damn car hood. Restrain him. Riiiiight.

She pulls out her own gun and aims it at him, trusting in that more than she wants to try depending on her maybe-there, maybe-not powers. "Stop where you are! Get down on the ground NOW and put your arms out to your sides!" She levels the gun at him.

Perhaps sensing he's being addressed, the Latino whirls around to face Niki. But did he understand her? Hard to say. His fist is now bleeding from where he punched the car in, the driver having the sense, it seems, to stay in his ruined car, staring out the window. There's a moment of pause, before he steps towards her in one slow step. Then another. His expression— is hard to read, it seems to twist in pain as well as anger. But all of a sudden, he launches himself at her, no matter the gun, arms out and hands reaching.

Meanwhile, the older man across the street just breathes heavily, not really paying attention to Peter, arms wrapped about his midsection like he might throw up. Nothing comes from his mouth - save for a couple of drops of blood, and when he looks up to focus a bleary gaze on Peter, the red liquid streaks his beard. And now there's a new sound occuring, a groan of metal - they seem to be coming from the cars on the street, and as one, they both suddenly shudder, as if rocked. The man lets out a groan and reaches out a hand - one of the cars begins to crumple. Above them, the powerlines shudder ominously, rattling.

The groan of the cars as they begin to crumple causes Peter's eyes to widen. He halts in the middle of the street, holding out a hand to the oncoming traffic as he darts and waves between cars, "Stop, stop!" Peter shouts, trying to get within a close enough range. Then, there's a flickering pop and he's gone with a rush of air filling the void where he was standing, reappearing in mid-air above the old man and the cars, coming down towards him with a closed fist, striking him in the shoulder with the full brunt of Jessica's strength, shattering bone and dislocating his arm. Black-soled shoes hit the pavement with a clack, and Peter straightens, reaching out to grab the man by the front of his jacket, struggling to get a hold of him long enough to teleport him away.

"No I don't want to be fucking put on hold you goddamned imbecile!" Woods turns his head to the side, hiding behind that telephone pole as he shouts into the reciever of his phone, "We have a thirteen-oh-seven in progress in… ah fuck," He peeks his head up, looking around for sinage, "Orchid lounge, fuck it you know where that is! Agent Petrelli is going to try and send two fucking crazy bastards down to Level-5 with his god-knows-what powers. Get Knutson — " There's a pause, "No I'm not hiding! I'm tactical fucking advisor!" He pulls the phone away long enough to glare at it, then sees Niki getting charged, "Oh sweet son of a -

Niki's eyes widen as she gets rushed. She fires off a shot, but she's new to this, and nervous; the shot barely grazes his shoulder rather than catching him anywhere more vital. He reaches out and grabs her, carrying her right along for a good ten feet before finally she slams both legs down, digging in. Yes, to the asphalt. "STOP IT!" she shouts back at him, stopping his steamrollering charge as she plants in.

Sleeping wherever you find a quiet spot has its disadvantages. One being that quiet places don't always stay quiet. Two, you might find yourself in the middle of something - mid nap. So Brian had meandered over to the scene. And of course, his inner-hero demanded to take over. Walking towards the edge of the street stands Brian.. and not one, not two, but five clones accompanying him. The five men have their identities concealed somehow. A half balacalava, a beanie, scarves, and collars pulled up high. Not perfect disguises but enough to hide that he has five copies at least. A few weapons are held by the men. A baseball bat, a crowbar, a knife, and a snapped in half golf club. The other two are unarmed besides their fists. Brian approaches with his small troupe slowly, eyes wide as he tries to asess what's going on besides the obvious.

Peter's punch easily connects, and to his credit, the cars stop trembling, although now one of the drivers is stuck inside, the doors damaged enough and refusing to open. Frantically, he brings down the window so he might climb out. Other bystanders seem to finally get the hint and start vacating the area, or ducking into nearby buildings. One of them moves through the troupe of disguised identicals, shoving by at a run from the scene.

The older man targeted by Peter lets out a groan, but not really loud enough, or pained enough, to be a normal response to a shattered shoulder. As Peter goes to grab him, he falls, coat managing to get captured by a Petrelli fist. All of a sudden, from his half-staggered position, blood erupts from his mouth with a choking sound, spattering onto the ground, onto Peter's shoes, just as power lines snap loose and whip wildly, only barely missing those still remaining. The older man seems to be no match for Peter, eyes wide with fear and pain, but everything around them even made of metal begins to quiver. As if rushing to his defense, both cars start forcibly sliding towards he and Peter, a ragged piece of metal suddenly tearing off and hurtling towards the empath.

Both the Latino and blonde come to a halt when she digs her feet in, and he abruptly lets her go, staggering back, and clearly stunned. He opens his mouth, as if to speak, but blood dribbles out instead. With a compulsive shudder, he brings a hand up to wipe it away with his sleeve. Then rather suddenly, he brings a fist back to execute a superbly strong punch to Niki's face - no grace, all force. Whether it hits or not, he's gonna try and grab her again - and lift her off the street.

Niki has the strength, certainly, but not the training…at least not yet. She starts to release her own grip…and then *WHAM*. She gets hit in the face; a punch that would have broken the neck of most people. Whether it did hers or not remains up for debate; she gets grabbed and hauled up off the ground. The blonde is either dazed, unconscious…or worse.

Woods does what Woods is best at, run. He's already around the other side of the telephone pole, diving for cover on the other side of a parked car when Niki and her attacker start struggling, "Jesus christ just bloody send a cleanup crew down here!" Woods slaps the phone shut and stuffs it in his pocket, breathing heavy and looking frantic as he pops up over the car, staring down the top of his gun. But what he sees through the sights of the pistol causes him to freeze in his tracks. Woods has seen a lot in his time, but this takes the cake.

The car across the street begins to groan and buckle. The hood rips right off of the car, just as Peter's trying to focus enough to teleport the man to safety. It spins clear through the air, striking him in the shoulder and sending him staggering back, releasing the old man. Then, as if the hood of the car sending him flying wasn't bad enough, more jagged pieces of metal strip themselves from the car, one piece whirling about like a knife before lodging itself in Peter's chest, the next drives into his shoulder, then another piece plunges through his abdomen and pins him to a telephone pole.

"Fucking hell!" Woods shouts, "They're all goin' cherry cobbler!" He can't get a clear shot across the street, not without shooting through moving cars. He turns his focus, towards the one Niki is fighting, and when he sees her take a hit, he levels the gun with both hands, squeezing off two shots. Peter can wait.

Brian's eyes widen at the Mexican picking up the blonde over his head. He doesn't know the situation, but that has to be bad! Gripping the baseball bat tightly he quickly makes a rash plan. Six men are rushing against the rest of the fleeing crowd towards the chaos.

Instinctively they all flinch and lower their heads and raise their hands at the sound of the two shots. One of the unarmed Brian's takes the lead of the charge. The thick young man lowers his shoulder as he charges to deliver a punishing blow to the man holding Niki. That is, if the bullets don't take him down first. The other unarmed Brian runs right behind him, aiming to try and catch the woman if he can. A third Brian with the crowbar slows up at the man, and the other three continue to rush through the street towards Peter and the.. weird.

It happens fast. A bullet buries itself in one of the Latino's shoulders, that arm slackening - but he still holds Niki up as if she weighed little more than paper with his uninjured arm. The other bullet buries itself in his side, causing him to stagger - but not fall. But what does shove him down is when he's barrelled into by one of the clones, letting out a groan as he releases the blonde woman and falls to his hands and knees. He starts to crawl away, trailing both blood from his side— and from his mouth. With a snarl, the lanky man suddenly convulses, as if in pain, not about to get up any time soon thanks to the bullet wounds - but he lashes out with a superstrength kick towards one of the Brians with an almost animalistic snarl, eyes wide and crazed.

The old man staggers to his feet, staring up at the pinned Petrelli as the three Brians start to run towards him. He doesn't notice them right now, though, staring blankly at the agent - before opening his mouth and giving a gutteral roar. The metal in Peter's body flies out of him once more, imbedding itself in the opposite building, and slowly, the street light poles start to bend down, as if wilting. There's no sense in it, no logic as to why he's pulling the street lamps down, bending metal - just like there's no sense of logic in his eyes as he turns to confront the three clones.

Peter lets out a groan, falling down to his knees the moment the pieces of metal are ripped from his body. He falls forward, hands planted on the sidewalk, head bowed as he coughs up blood. It takes a moment, it's been a long time since he's been this badly injured. But after a few more beats of thought, he rises back up onto his feet, blood covering his white undershirt, his jacket, his tie, it's even spattered across his face. Not all of it is his.

"Stay back!" Peter shouts out, his voice a bit wet sounding as he motions to the Brians, and he's walking, visible wounds — gaping and terrible — sealing shut across his body as he turns his focus back to the bleeding old man. "He's sick! Stay back!" Brian recognizes the voice almost immediately, his invisible friend from Harlem. Then he sees the scar across his face. Peter starts making headway back to the old man.

The fallen blonde looks up at the man as he kicks out at one of the Brians…and then she comes off the street with a rush of speed, running to the crouching man and -slamming- both hands into the small of his back with a double-handed strike. As if to make sure the job is successfully done, she crouches down next to him…and then rotates his head 360-degrees with a sharp movement. And a sharp snap.

Brian's arms spread out wide and he embraces Niki as he collides against the pavement. The Brian that just hammered down the Latino, looks wide eyed down at the man. "What the hell is wro—" He wasn't able to finish the words as the man's foot connects with his chest and he is soon flying through the air. The flight isn't long though, his legs first catching on a parked car then the rest of him crashing down against the windshield. He then bounces off and onto the street. He doesn't move. The Brian with the crowbar visibly winces as he lifts his tool up above his head and brings it down with full force at the Latino's head. He backs up instinctively as the blonde leaps back up and takes her own shot at the man. His jaw goes agape a little bit, but nothing is said. Not yet.

The three Brian's rushing towards the old man give pause.. Not much glory in rushing an old man. Looking over to Peter, Brian's features are unreadable. A whole bunch of different emotions swarm him at the sight of the man. One being anger at that being the guy who broke his golf club. The same golf club that Brian brings over his head then flings with all he has end over end at the 'sick' old man.

Yeah that'll do it! The Latino slumps under the attacks, letting out angered growls, a sharper yelp when the crowbar connects with his head. As the blonde rushes him, he doesn't put up a fight, just gives a long, pained moaned as his head is grabbed— and he's quickly silenced. He lies, crumpled, on the street, blood now streaming from his mouth, rivulets even streaking from the corners of his eyes. As if he'd already been dying before he'd been killed. His body seems to crumple, as if withering up from the inside - insides liquifying, bones and innards and all. It's not pretty, nor natural.

Meanwhile, the old man simply stands still as the golf club is flung towards him. He doesn't dodge it. He doesn't have to. The item suddenly just stops in mid-air, and turns, slowly. With a spasm of kinetic energy, it suddenly flings back towards the Brians at an even faster pace, chopping through the air at a dangerous spin. Then, the old man simply bends over, and vomits up a little more blood.

Peter ducks aside when the golf club goes whirling past, unaware of its intended target. He holds out his hand towards the old man, narrowing his eyes and focusing, as if expecting something to happen, but nothing does. He winces, shaking his head, and then rushes towards the man, taking a hold of him by the collar in his bleeding and bent over state. His brow furrows, tensing as he concentrates, and in a snapping pop with a rush of air, and he's gone. Down at Primatech Research, Cell 508 now has a new occupant.

Peter winces, looking up to Brian, "You need to get out of here," He strains the point, looking across the street just in time to see Niki snap a man's neck, "Oh god, Jessica." He gets back up, dusting off his pants as he turns to Brian, "All of you, get out of here, before the people I work for show up." He tries to keep his voice down, "For your own good."

The Brian with the crowbar stands in shock.. or perhaps terror at the scene before him. The Brian who had attempted to catch Niki is rushing over to the clone who had been kicked into a car. Going to one knee, he takes a look at his semi-conscious copy, poking and prodding a little bit to see how much pain he can sense through their connection.

CrowbarBrian slowly goes to one knee beside the corpse and Niki where he doubles over and lets out a small pool of vomit next to the body. Finishing his gags he raises a shaky hand to wipe away the excess liquid at his mouth. But just then his eyes go wide and his head whips around towards his three counterparts. All three Brian's are shocked when the flung object comes flying back. But the Brian with the baseball bat is swinging powerfully as the thing comes flying back.. and a strong connection with a loud CRACK ring out as the wooden baseball bat makes connection with the broken golf club. The Brian who was the intended target simply flinches until the threat is gone. Looking to Peter, the first Brian opens his mouth for a moment before shutting it. And then pop. pop. There is only one Brian where three stood previously. Picking up the clothes and bat that they dropped, he gives another look to Peter. "Still owe me a golf club." He says before retreating back to the other three Brian's.

Peter watches the three become one, flashing a stare over to Woods to pray he didn't see that happen. Woods is, much like one of the Brians by this pount, covering his mouth with one hand and resisting the urge to vomit all over his one good suit. He straightens up and croaks out a rough response to Niki, "J-Jesus Sanders, way to fuckin' go all kung-fu on 'em. Christ." He starts walking over, looking at Peter covered in blood and unharmed, "Looks like 'Supes is all fine an' dandy." He picks out his cell-phone again, hitting one of the numbers on speed dial, not paying attention to the Brians with the puddle of man on the ground. "Yeah, this is Woods. Petrelli sent one packing down to — Oh, you… right, this one's cherry cobbler too." Did he just say that? "Yeah, right, fifteen minutes? We'll be here." He looks back up to Peter, then down to the remains of the body, then back up to Niki. "I think we're all good. Might wanna send an ambulance for Sanders just in case. This bugger kicked like a mule…"

Niki walks over towards Peter and Woods. She took the punch high, thankfully…the entire left side of her face is beginning to purple, and her eye on that side to swell a bit. But she took it much better than some others might have. "Messy." She looks over to the cherry cobbler, -not- losing her lunch.

Peter exhales a slow, sharp breath by the time he makes it over to where Jessica and Woods are, trying to stand between then and view of the Brians. "Woods, did you already — " Woods places a hand in Peter's face, still talking on the phone, his fingers making a close your mouth gesture. Agent Petrelli snorts, then glances over to Niki with a wary look. "Are.. you feeling alright, Niki? You… you got pretty banged up there…" His eyes divert down to the puddle nearby, then immediately away. It happened, again, and with all his power he couldn't do a damned thing about it.

Niki nods, as she looks back to Peter. "I'll be okay. I'm not saying that I feel particularly good at the moment…but I'll be all right." She looks to Woods, then back to Peter…and essentially "thinks very loudly" in his general direction. And you and I are going to need to have a conversation. Soon.

October 26th: Rooftop Rendezvous

Previously in this storyline…
Fui Quod Sis

Next in this storyline…
Remonstrance and Requital

October 26th: Library Conversations
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