Participants:
| Scene Title | Daidō Shōi, Part I |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | On a routine trip through Brooklyn, Abigail Beauchamp and Peter Petrelli are visited by an unexpected individual. |
| Date | March 1, 2010 |
"Do you know anyone who's looking to sell a piano?"
Of all the things Peter Petrelli has asked his new partner since they started working together, this is perhaps the most singularly mundane thing. Leaning against the passenger's side door, staring out at the lightly falling snow coming down over the streets of Brooklyn, his mind is left to wander amidst the myriad of things that he's never had time to consider. Angling a side-long look towards Abby, Peter arches one brow higher than the other.
"My— mother made me take lessons when I was little, I'd always thought about getting back into it. I never really knew just how important having a hobby would be once I put all of that— " Peter waves a gloved hand in the air in front of himself, "you know, other work aside. Now that I'm leaving saving the world to the professionals, I have too much time on my hands." There's a crease of Peter's brows and a lopsided smile. "So, I'm in the market for a piano."
"Have you tried the Salvation Army? Or Goodwill? Maybe they have an upright? Oooh, or there's Craig's list, I'm sure if you look, there's someone selling one. Unless you want a baby grand, and then…" Abby slants her own look over towards him as they crawl through the streets. "You could always see if the white house has one in storage? Or you could ask your Momma. I mean surely there's one from your childhood yes? I think ours was in the spare bedroom… I'd offer it but…" But it's now a pile of ashes.
"Craig's list" The blonde nods her head as if very sure he'll find one there. "Or I can look around, maybe the ferryman have one stored away somewhere?" Hobby. "I should take up a hobby. Maybe when I'm not being… stalked anymore" There's another look at him. "Besides, just because you want normal, doesn't mean you're going to get it. Half of everything that's happened to me, hasn't been from deliberately seeking it out. If you're meant to save the world again, it finds a way to drag you back, kicking and screaming"
Grimacing slightly, Peter offers a shake of his head, brows furrowed and head crooked to the side. "I— I didn't want to let my mother know i was looking for one, and… I'm trying to keep the ferry out of my life as best as I can. I— They— It's hard to rationalize moving on and accepting the way things are when you associate with a group of people who're stuck in the past and trying to…" Peter's eyes close, his head shakes, and he tiredly folds his hands in his lap, choosing to turn slowly opening eyes out the passenger's side door.
"I'm hoping to surprise my mother…" Peter digresses, "Her birthday is coming up, and she always wanted to see me play when I was younger. I thought it might be a nice sort've— thoughtful gift." When he looks back to Abby, Peter's smiling a bit crookedly again. "You know, and I hate to admit this, but I'm pretty— ah— not internet savvy. I mean I can check my email and stuff but, I've never really bothered with things like Craigslist? I think I might take your advice on the Goodwill though, that seems like the right thing to do."
Leaning forward and looking up through the windshield, Peter's brows furrow. "Do you remember the last time it was sunny?" He asks as total non-sequitur. It was a while ago, come to think of it.
There will be no comment about the Ferry. Surely by now, he's figured out that she's one of them? "It'll be okay Peter. I'm sure that if you want a normal life and you put the effort in, you'll get that." She returns the smile to him, fingers resettling around the wheel with the arrival at a red light. "I think, that that is a wonderful gift. Far better than anything you could buy. If you like, I can look up piano's on Craig's for you. I mean, I'm going to be settling in at Liz's again tonight. I'll have time once they go to sleep. Can see what they have. bet, I really bet, that you'll have luck there for sure. You might find an upright at goodwill or something. It's if you want the grand, or the baby grand, that you might run into cost and availability"
She leans forward, looking up towards the covered sky with it's clouds and drifting flakes. "I can't… remember. I haven't really paid attention to the weather. Been busy" Dark brows pull inwards and down, frown settling across her face. "I could always ask Helena for some sun, if you need it. Or want it. I'm sure she'd do it"
That offer elicits an uncomfortable noise from Peter. "N— No I— You don't need to ask her to do that." Waving one hand dismissively, Peter offers an awkward smile to Abby, both of his brows up and lips crooked. "I— It's nice of you to say, but I think it's probably best for Hel and I to just… not have a lot to do with each other for a little while. We… the gala was a mess." There's a somewhat nervous laugh with that comment, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.
"Oh, hey so— " Quick to divert away from the topic of Helena, Peter grimaces. "Yeah if… if you could look up a piano that'd be fantastic. I've got some money in my savings so the price shouldn't really be an issue. A baby grand would be fantastic, I've got enough room in the apartment now that Kaylee's not sleeping on the couch anymore, it'll give me an opportunity to rearrange furniture some."
Quirking one brow up, Peter offers a look to Abby as he considers those words. "Have… you met Kaylee yet? I know she works for the Ferry; tall, blonde, telepath?" There's a smirk there, perhaps a slightly self-satisfied one. "I think you two'd get along, we're— " he makes an awkward motion with one hand, "sort've seeing each other?" It's still in that nebulous state, it seems. Though as Peter's making that wishy-washy motion of commitment, he spots the coffee shop across the intersection.
"Could you pull in there, too?" There's a nod of his head. "I'll buy you an early lunch, and I need to use the little paramedics room anyway."
"Yuup, I know Kaylee. She used to work at the bar. Brief period of time before she left. She likes to dance on the bar. She's good people, have fun with it, see where it leads. I'm jsut stepping into the dating thing. Dip the toe and all that. I think i'm in the same state as you" Abigail looks left, then right, taking the large vehicle and parking it in a no parking. Because, ambulances can do that. Hooray.
"I'll take the early lunch, I was up all night, couldn't sleep" Helena is a topic off limits. Gillian probably is too. "I didn't see you at the Gala, who'd you go with?" What had been an awkward few first days has turned into something more give and take with Abby and the ambulance. More at ease around the other man. "And don't tell me, you were the reason that my date was rarely at my side and always flocking off to take care of something or other" The engine is killed and her jacket is fetched from behind the seat so she can put it on, grab her purse with it's Caliban instructed taser inside.
"Dance?" Peter stares at Abby flatly, "On the bar?" Both of Peter's brows shoot up as he opens the passenger's side door, stepping out and down onto the street, carefully midning traffic before swinging the door shut and circling around the front of the ambulance towards the curb. As he waits for Abby to come out of the driver's side, door, Peter's got his shoulders hunched and gloved hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. "You know, I'm never going to let her live that sort've thing down…" He comments with a crooked smile, walking backwards across the ice sidewalk towards the front door of the coffee shop.
"I took Kaylee to the gala, we didn't get to get a dance in until we got back to my apartment. There was… I dunno what was going on, but unless your date was Jensen Raith then I'm not really sure it was my fault. He dragged Kaylee off for— God knows what, and— " Suddenly Peter's mind hitches on what really happened to make the night so chaotic. "There… was this girl there, she blacked out and— You know, when we're done with our shift tonight, could you remind me that I need to go check on her? I wanted to ask her something about her abili— "
That's when three things happen:
Peter's heel slips on the ice, sending one foot kicking high up into the air, eyes wide and arms flapping out of his pockets.
The man behind Peter is slammed into, sending his newspaper to the wind, sheets separating and blowing through the cold and snow breeze towards Abby…
…and time freezes still.
Snow hangs motionless in the air, fat flakes looking like tiny stars of ice. Pages of a newspaper hang lifelessly on the unfelt breeze, curled and folded sheets just beginning to seperate from one another. Peter is in mid-fall, his back brushed up against the man who just lost his newspaper.
"Ohayo gozaimasu, Abigail Beauchamp." And Hiro Nakamura has his hand on Abigail's shoulder.
"No, I was with Robert Caliban. When you're the Linderman PR guy at a Linderman Gala, you're not really off work. But we got some time in. Didn't get to dance, but that's good because I have two left feet" She points out, making that mental note that he wanted. "Right, I'll sticky note it and paste it to your forehead and put it in your bag and I'll try and reme-"
Abigail turns at the sound of peter slipping, someone bumping into him and making a grasp for the papers when the world just stills. Except for her. Her face whips one way then the other, eye wide with momentary panic that maybe one of Kozlow's russian buddies, this daiyu Feng might be using an ability.
Except it's Hiro Nakamura that she lands her eyes on with the touch registers at her shoulder and for a moment, she's deer in headlights at the time manipulator before she's grinning wide. "Hiro Nakamura. Ohioguyzimus to you as well" Abigail Beauchamp, slaughtering foreign languages since 1990 with her accent. "What are you doing here? Oh lord, peter's going to be sore as, well, he's going to be sore when you unstop everything. You could have just called you know"
"I do not have your number," Hiro states simply, moving his hand away from her shoulder, "or a phone." Dark brows crease together at the addendum, and Hiro's eyes flick towards Peter for a moment before clicking back to Abby. "He will persevere," is the awkward answer Hiro gives, offering a side-long look down the street towards frozen traffic, then back to Abigail. "So will you." There's a certainty in his voice when he offers that comment, before letting his black gloved hand move into the unzippered pocket at the front of his black vest.
"You have a resident living in your bar, her name is— " Hiro's brows furrow, "Joy. No matter what happens, you need to ensure that she lives. You must do this, and you must do it without her— or anyone— knowing that you or I ever met here today." A look over Abby's shoulder allows Peter to regard Hiro, before he settles that stare back down to Abby again. "Even Peter…" and then the conversation takes a turn for the weird, "and especially not me."
Angling his head back, Hiro's dark brows lose some of their tension. "Under no circumstances, should we meet again, are you to recall this meeting. Protect Joy and stay away from Roosevelt Island." Hiro's dark eyes take on a somewhat more distant expression. "I am very sorry about what happened."
Well, this is.. interesting to say the least. "Hiro Nakamura, trusting me with a secret" Abigail murmurs, looking over at the Japanese man. "She came asking for shelter. I'm letting her stay in the back of the bar for now but… I can have her stay upstairs. The security is good there, if you're not Hiro Nakamura or Elias" A bit of a tease in her tone, but the gravity of the situation is very much understood. "Protect Joy, stay away from Roosevelt Island,don't acknowledge this meeting to anyone ever. Can I tell Joy that? To stay off there?" She won't ask too many questions. If she needed to know, he would have told her what was going on, on the island. "Have you frozen the world Hiro?" She's looking around now, reaching out to touch a flying piece of paper in awe. "Sorry, i'm getting distracted, I apologize and thank you. You're condolences are accepted. But like you said, I'll persevere"
Questions seem to come and go, flying past Hiro in every direction, but strangely his focus lands on the most innocent of them all. There's a furrow of his brows, a hesitant smile, and a slow shake of his head. "I… do not know." There's an unusual wistfulness in his expression, eyes distant and unfocused. "But no one man is powerful enough to stop the world for long. Eventually, everything begins settling into motion again…" Hiro's dark eyes consider Peter over Abby's shoulder. "…no matter how hard we want them to stay in limbo forever."
Flicking his gaze back to Abby, Hiro's brows furrow subtly as his head shakes from side to side. "Let Joy do as she will, when she goes to Roosevelt Island, it will be of her own choosing." There's a subtle quirk of one brow up, and in a way that makes Abby's job difficult — protect Joy, but don't go where she might go; Only Hiro could contrive orders like that.
"Sore dewa," Hiro states simply, his brows furrowed and head tilting forward into a nod. In that moment, there is a rushing sound of displaced air before all the noise of New York City comes screeching back all at once. A confused yelp, a crash, fluttering pages of a newspaper flying past Abby's head on the wind and the pained groan of Peter's collision with the ground at his back.
"Oh hey— Shit my nn— Oh, man, are you okay?" The confused startling of a businessman that Peter nearly knocked over, coming to crouch down at the prone paramedic's side, hand on his shoulder. The world returns to motion for Abby, returns to life, and like a ghost Hiro Nakamura disappears back to unknown places and times.
He seemed tired.
Abby reaches out, as if to stop the time mover, ask him how the hell she's keep the woman off the island if she goes, but he states his goodbye and she's left puzzled and confused and apparently, much like the conversation she had in the rig with Peter, sucked back in and away from a normal life. Not that anything has been normal of late. Hands come up to protect from newspapers and she tries hard to act like the world didn't just stop and five minutes was stolen from it for a conversation that never happened. "Peter, heavens, do you never look where you're going?" he's helping Peter, Abigail makes an effort to start grabbing at papers and gather them together. "Peter, you okay?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine." Peter hastily grouses, laughing awkwardly as he offers one hand up in a wave, pushing himself up onto one elbow before sitting up. "Only thing bruised is my pride," he offers with a lopsided smile, turning dark eyes up to the stranger helping him up off of the ice street. "Sorry about that…" Peter sheepishly apologizes to the stranger, who just gives Peter and awkward smile and watches as Abby collects the newspaper pages that had been caught on the breeze.
As Abby collects the newspapers, folding the pages together and Peter's grimacing painfully towards the blonde, his battered pride the only thing bruised by this experience, the cold New York wind blows down the crowded streets, driving snow and bitter chill thorugh the young blonde's hair.
On the cover of the New York Times, the headline article that comes into view as she straightens out the pages seems to echo darker times: Virus Death Toll Rises.
Sometimes, the future is hard to escape.
No matter how hard you run.