Dancing On A Lake


audrey_icon.gif avi_icon.gif eileen_icon.gif elaine2_icon.gif graeme_icon.gif jaiden_icon.gif

lucille2_icon.gif magnes_icon.gif quinn3_icon.gif remi_icon.gif yana_icon.gif ygraine2_icon.gif

Also featuring:

helena_icon.gif jane2_icon.gif

Scene Title Dancing On A Lake
Synopsis No one said this gala was a masquerade, but people in masks turn up anyway. And nothing goes off without a hitch.
Date March 17, 2011

The Corinthian: Ballroom

A hierarchy of spaces is the showcase of Corinthian's ballroom, which is reserved for formal functions hosted by the hotel and split into two levels. The first, accessed through an ornate pair of double doors fashioned from gold and glass, is a mezzanine supported by marble columns with elaborate capitals carved to portray bellflowers and wisps of colourless flame. It wraps around the room, providing many different vantage points from which to observe the happenings on the dance floor below, though there is only one way down, and this is a grand spiral staircase with shallow steps and a smooth banister made from the same white rock as the slender flutes above it.

An expansive marble floor provides plenty of space to waltz, tango or samba depending on what type of music is being played by the orchestra, which has its own section sequestered from the rest of the room. Thick rivers of silver wind across it and would almost seem out of place in the ballroom if their purpose was not to reflect its resplendent ceiling. Painted to depict the night sky, deep indigo with shady gray clouds and a bloated moon hanging fat amidst hundreds of tiny lights that glitter like stars when the other lightning in the room has been subdued, it takes the shape of a large dome roof and gives the illusion that the room is even larger than it is.

Roman gods and goddesses in the form of pale statuaries can be found throughout in places both expected and not, their stern, austere faces illuminated by a candlelit glow and a series of elegant crystal chandeliers. Fluffy smatterings of silver sponged here and there add contrast to warm gold walls spaced between giant glass windows overlooking New York City that span over fifty feet at a time and are twice as tall as they are long.

The ballroom of the Corinthian Hotel & Casino is done up in a truly spectacular fashion tonight. It pays to have set designers on the decorations team for this evening's festivities; they've really turned it into a lovely place. The ceiling and columns are decorated with ribbons, lace, balloons, and many other decorations. All around the dance floor and grand stairway, there are tables set, with alternating black and white table cloths; chairs at the black tables are white, while chairs at the white table are black. The centerpiece of each table are custom-made swans with flowers and feathers and jewels hanging off of them, each centerpiece unique.

Tonight is the night of the charity ball, thrown by American Ballet Theater. All proceeds from the ticket sales to this event are going directly toward Habitat for Humanity's Make New York Beautiful program. In turn, this money will be put toward necessary repairs to structures in New York that have been damaged by the bomb, by the riots, and by the dome. So, while the tickets were a bit on the expensive side for those who have chosen to attend this event, one can at least say that the money is going toward a good cause, to help those less fortunate.

Dinner is being served buffet style, with patrons forming a line with their plates, the caterers dishing out portions as desired, with several helpful recommendations. The food itself is fantastic, with several different dishes to select from. Many people are already gathered at their chosen tables, talking amongst themselves and generally enjoying their food. Alcohol is available in plentiful supply, as well, with a full bar to provide for any and all alcoholic and general beverage needs.

The dance floor itself is a spectacle to behold. It is done up to look a bit like a lake, the dance floor shimmering in the soft light of the ballroom. A few rocks and reeds are stationed at its edges, only adding to the illusion of a lake. In the orchestra pit, the ballet's own orchestra is seated, playing soft music by the lead of their composer. What's more, while guests are enjoying the meal portion of the ball, there's also a small show going on, with ballet dancers twirling and leaping over the 'lake', dressed in billowing dresses and suits that, while extravagant, are also obviously stage costumes designed to be danced in. They're putting on a wonderful show, despite how busy the ballroom is.

Soleil Remi Davignon herself is dressed to the nines this evening, wearing a long, flowing dress of turquoise that is held up on her left shoulder, a swan pin holding the ensemble together. She carries a purple clutch, which matches her barely visible purple heels; her makeup and hair are impeccable. Over her shoulders is a silvery white stole of fur. She herself is schmoozing closer to the entrance, along with the other choreographers and the directors of ABT themselves, quietly chatting and absorbing the glow of a successfully opened show, of a wonderful ball, and of a general abundance of Good Things happening for American Ballet Theater. Occasionally, the group will pause in their idle chatter to watch the dancers on the dance floor with a slightly critical eye, as if to ensure that they are in perfect form.

The director himself is an older man, though slim and fairly fit for his age; he wears a designer tuxedo, probably Armani. The other choreographers are older than Remi, as well, with a 30-something year old man in an equally refined suit, and some older women who wear luxurious dresses, complete with fur stoles that grace their shoulders. This group of people all put out the vibe that they are the ethereal types, those who can't help but look down their noses at others. Likely, something that happens when at the top of the ballet food chain in America.

Truly, American Ballet Theater has outdone itself on this ball, hoping to bring in more potential theater lovers to their circle. It seems to be working fairly well, all things considered. Things are running quite smoothly.

But then, who knows what this night will bring?

The director isn't the only one wearing a designer suit. Magnes is in a black suit with a white trim and a matching fedora, sitting at a piano while he plays with the dancer's movements. He seems caught up in his work. He would have of course invited Yana, but pointed out that he'd be there 'working', so wouldn't be able to escort her. He isn't seeking familiar faces, but his isn't hard to spot behind the black grand piano.

It's his birthday, and there really wasn't any way that Graeme could say no about showing up. So, he's here, tucked away at one of the further tables with his phone and some small amount of work in front of him. He's dressed in a decidedly monochrome fashion, albeit all very nice, a grey dress shirt, black pants, and a silver filigree bolo tie disappearing underneath a slightly darker grey cashmere sweater-vest. It's a seat that gives him a good vantage point, he can claim that he's not hiding, and he's already eaten several times earlier in the day, which means that he'll happily wait for less people to be going for food before he actually goes there.

There's just a hint of paranoia in Graeme Cormac's gaze and posture, and he's decidedly less cheerful than he'd otherwise be on his birthday. Half an eye is kept on his roommate, though he's pointedly avoided much by the way of conversation. As his gaze falls on the dance floor, there's a smile on his face. But not because of the show going on. Rather, his hand slips into his pocket, wrapping around a tiny glass bottle with a slip of paper and some rose petals, one of his birthday gifts. But overall, it's a nice enough evening.

Even in this crowd, amidst the gowns and the beauty, the botox and the nose jobs, some people stand out for their personal style. The halter-necked, backless gown is stylish, but not in itself exceptional. The black-diamond necklace somewhat more unusual, but still no more expensive than much else on display around the throats and wrists of the glitterati. However, tonight Ygraine has dyed her braid a rich and glossy black - the end swaying around her hips a warm, brilliant blue. The tailored leather sling immobilising one arm is distinctly unusual, but not overly attention-grabbing. But across the whole of her back is one of Xiulan's largest works of skin-art - red and white dragons, all sinuous Celtic and Anglo-Saxon knotwork, twined around each other in impossibly bright, complex detail. Visible clear across the room, the artwork glows under the lights as if freshly painted moments before.

At present, the Briton stands with an elegantly-suited and very solid companion, using her most educated and crisply British accent to good effect in ensnaring wealthy patrons to hear about the Survivors group she and Jaiden have set up, and how there are still opportunities aplenty to build upon the good work done by such organisations as Habitat for Humanity when seeking to restore New York's troubled communities.

Despite the bad luck that so many gatherings in terrorist-torn New York City tend to attract, the turn out is a good one, and Jane Pak is amongst them. She and her "date" for the night are probably an unlikely duo in comparison to the city's elite, and the slender figures that dancers might make. No, Jane Pak isn't exactly a delicate flower and neither is Audrey Hanson, but the former has given it a good shot, her hair pinned up, white flowers in amongst the curls, oddly dated and fancy. Her dress is simple and black, of shimmering fabric make, and a clutch purse on a chain hooks along one bare shoulder to rest against her hip.

"Lookit that — we overdid it with the burgers," she says, pointing a finger through the crowd towards the buffet dinner. "I dunno about you but I probably more space in me, but man, I'm never going to get drunk tonight." Her eyes dart around the crowd, as if looking for someone, but who knows who that could be?

The show is being watched in turn. A man in a suit, as blandly penguin as most of them, a little bit overweight and a slouch in his shoulders. Avi Epstein, apparently, with a glass of champagne in his hand, and both of his eyes in his head.

Designer suits seem to be the order of the day for such an opulent occasion. Dressed in what he likes to call 'the good suit,' a fairly stylish gray pinstripe Armani job picked up about a year ago that suits him, to pardon a term, to a T. Jaiden looks like he was almost poured into that suit, it's tailored so precisely. The tie he wears is expertly tied, a red and white job that is lovingly worn to 'weddings, funerals, and other important endeavours.' Apparently this qualifies as one of them.

Standing next to Ygraine, on the uninjured arm side, he's paying attention to the conversations, true, but he's also watching the crowd, watching for little knots of people, disturbances, people moving away from other people - things like that. He's on edge without showing that he's on edge. A skill practiced over many years of being a reporter. His camera is with him, tucked in a small bag by his chair. You never know when pictures will need to be taken.

She can't believe she's here, it might be really stupid.. seeing as she's on the run. But what's the worst that could happen, right? Dressed in a simple black dress that falls to right above her knees, Lucille wears a pair of stunningly beautiful shoes. One of the only pairs she has left. They're a dark golden color to go with the purse she carries on her arm. Her hair is blown out and curly and wavy. Light grey eyes pop with the dark makeup as she moves through the crowd back towards Jaiden. "This.. is the first fucking time. I've been to an event where the line for the bathroom wasn't extremely long." Lucille Ryans says to her roommate. "Thanks for the invite.. I.. well I haven't been out like this in a long time."

She takes a moment to look around the crowd, doubting she'll see anyone that she knows. She's been out of this sort of circle for too long. Especially around here. There's not a chance of her running into an old runway buddy. Lu doesn't think. "Look.. we always need a plan for if I don't know, if something bad happens," that's her dad talking through her. "If anything nutty happens and I'm not talking about those cashews over there. We meet in the Rose Garden and get the fucking fuck out of dodge."

For someone who is so well read.. Lucille does love to throw in her swear words.

"You ever attended one of these things Pak? They're usually sit down white glove service with rabbit food so as not to make the ladies in their dresses look fat. And speaking of dresses," Audrey glances about the room, the color theme and then down to her own cocktail dress all black with white embroidery on the bottom. "You dressed me like the tables, you realize this right? I mean I could be draped across them and someone would set their plates down on me and never know."

One side of her own hair swept back, held there by a black silk flower, she's Jane's date instead of Ingrid in low heels. "So. We have ballet dancers and we have hoity toity's everywhere, and…" Oh dear god.

"Please tell that that is not Magnes Varlane sitting at that Piano and playing?" Her hand closing around Jane's wrist and pointing. "You realize who that is right?" Her voice drops to a near whisper. "Remember that super hero in white who went running around the city?" She tilts her head to Magnes. "Him" Where Varlane is, trouble is likely to follow, or at least that's how she's known it to be. "Maybe this won't be so bad, I give it ten minutes till he's making a ballerina float and the screaming starts. Now where's the drinks."

At events like these, there are two types of people: those who come to see, and those who come to be seen. The young woman whose pale, severe face is framed by wisps of fair blonde hair that have escaped the elegant twist at the nape of her neck falls into the former category, and wears a sheer, silky dress of blue-green with a texture that does strange things in the light. She is not particularly beautiful, and the fabrics she's chosen to adorn herself in still pale in comparison to the stylish ensembles that many of the other ballroom-goers are dressed in. The only jewelry gleaming on her exposed skin are the small pearls in her ears and the matching string at her slender throat.

The identification card in her purse claims that her name is Roslyn Charbonneau, twenty-four years old, five and a half inches tall — Non-Evolved. And that is the most important thing to anyone who might ask to see it.

So far, nobody has. She sits at one of the empty tables on the far side of the ballroom, a glass of red wine cradled in her palm, though it isn't her drink that has her attention — it's the man— the boy, really, at least in her eyes— at the piano.

Oh no. Don't worry about Yana coming unescorted. She will have a date to this evening's event. One that she paid for, and good money too. Certain specifications were requested in her date, and one of the most confident and requested males was sent to meet her. Would have been a usual thing for him, as he once exhumed confidence because he's gorgeous. But that was somehow torn to shreds when he encountered Yana. She has that effect on people, men especially. Perhaps it is the natural danger that she radiates that individuals can sense, like seeing a venomous snake, even behind a glass window.

Aside from her date being tall, a model, probably some kind of athlete and looking fantastic in a suit, Yana herself is a sparkling diamond. Not a hair out of place, and dressed in a gown that probably cost a pretty penny. It is black of course, and it lays across her slender form to hug and accent the curves that she has, displayed in the elegant manner in which she walks. Her fingers reach and pull back the fur lined jacket from her shoulders, showing skin left free from the strapless dress. Diamonds glittering about her neck and dangling from her ears. She is certainly one for these types of events, taking a look around just to get a feel of who might be here.

Almost a little nervously, like he needs to rush and keep from doing something wrong, Yana's date quickly takes Yana's jacket as she removes it, draping it over his arm. Good boy.

The dragons ripple against each other, as Ygraine part-turns to snare a glass of apple juice from a passing waiter's tray, before she looks back to her wealthy audience, favouring them with a warm smile that owes more than a little to the British Olympic Association's public relations training. "Yes, it is a rather modest project compared to many of those going on at present. We're no Liberty, for example, but we hope to do good work where people can see the benefits. Mmm? Oh… that campaign to raise funds to cover the costs of the Supreme Court considering the recent legal changes, so that they're no longer in a version of legal limbo… neither confirmed as Constitutional nor condemned…? I'm sure you know the one, yes. But our goals are much more local and less grand. More personal. We directly dealt with many of the people involved in Survivors while we were in the Dome…"

The small glass bottle is released, back into his pocket, and Graeme gets up. It's time to mingle, because Remi'll have his head if he doesn't do so to some degree, but really, he sees people he knows well enough that it's not going to be terribly awkward. And so he pushes his chair in carefully, threading his way through the crowds of people in order to come up near to Ygraine and Jaiden, then standing to Ygraine's other side. There's an apologetic nod to someone who recognises him along the way, but Graeme isn't feeling chatty, particularly. And so, there's a final sweep of the room in a glance as he turns to face the same direction that the other two are. There's a murmured greeting, before he steps half a step back, relaxed in place, a smile on his face as he listens to Ygraine talk.

The phrase 'cleans up nicely' is kind of offensive. Given that it implies that you were messy or something less than how you would look all dolled up, it's a phrase that is supposed to be a compliment but really doesn't work in the grand scheme of things. Elaine 'cleans up nicely' in the sense that the leggy redhead somehow manages to look stunning dressed up for a fancy event. Considering she's wearing a long black dress (with sensible heels) and her hair pinned up at the back of her head with only a few red wisps escaping to dangle along her pale neck, she certainly manages to look stunning and just out of her usual look.

She's currently arriving alone for unforeseen circumstances. Really, it could have happened to anyone, but Quinn got the unlucky. Just inside the party, she ran into a server just coming to refill the cocktail sauce at the buffet table. Literally ran into. Despite the unfortunate name, cocktail sauce on a cocktail dress is not exactly a good thing. So Elaine's date bailed (at least temporarily), leaving the well-dressed redhead to fend for herself. She beelines for the buffet table, figuring that's the easiest place to start. It doesn't look weird if she's sitting alone and eating, does it?

With a soft laugh and soft words of French uttered to the group, Remi departs from her coworkers and employer, drifting on those killer purple satin heels. Her clutch is tucked under her arm, a glass of champagne snagged from a nearby chair. She'll be nursing this all evening. It's more of an accessory than an actual beverage. Once alcohol is obtained, the woman drifts across the ballroom, ending up joining the group of Graeme, Jaiden and Ygraine.

A cheerful smile is on her face as she joins her closest friends. "So, 'ow is everyone enjoying the evening?" She's making it a point to pronounce her English well this evening. "Well, I 'ope." A miniscule sip is taken from her champagne glass.

Roslyn rises from her seat at the table, the train of her dress trailing mermaid-like behind her. She brings her glass of wine with so she has something to occupy the hand she holds across her midsection in a delicate bend. Her path weaves through the crowd of hopefuls at the edge of the dance floor and eventually around Magnes' piano. "Hello," she murmurs in a voice that's doe-gentle and velvet-soft. "I was wondering if you might play something for me?"

"I remember Varlane," Jane confirms, with an edge of a smile. Shows teeth. Not an uncommon kind of smirk on her face. Though her attention does seek him out, it's only temporary before she's looking to get her drink on as well. "I didn't read the invite that well — this is open bar, right? Any charity would be retarded not to get booze in the donors, after all." Moving with Audrey, the pair head for where it seems like alcohol might be provided, but—

Her attention does snag on where Remi, made of turquoise and silvery furs, is passing by, enough to have Jane turn on her heels, but she otherwise keeps moving, with but a glance back over a shoulder. "I think that's the choreographer," she's telling Audrey. "Checked out her Registry deets. Telepath. I'd hate to know what people're thinking in a place like this."

But Jane doesn't catch that Remi is being followed. At a distance. Finishing his champagne, Epstein sets aside the empty glass and moves off from the performance, and, while maintaining his distance, follows the path of the dancer in an unobtrusive but not unclear directness, black wingtip shoes quiet on the solid floor.

As Yana and her date press further into the ballroom, with Yana looking just a bit distracted. Most of her mind and attention are elsewhere, pulled into her own little world where she is able to converse with the viruses she houses within her body. There is quite a bit for her to learn about her newest house guest, and during various times through the day, she zones out to have a discussion with H5N10, that she has dubbed Cillian (unbeknownst to anyone else). It suddenly occurs to Yana… "I'm sorry, I forgot to ask. You're not Evolved, are you? It's quite alright if you are, I'm just curious. From a.. scientific point of view. It's a job of mine." Scientific is right. An escort would be easy to keep track of, if she were to order him from the company she purchased him from again. He could go home with a few new passengers if things are in order.

Her date looks at her nervously, and is at a loss for words. His tongue failing him a response to her while Yana looks up into his face, a brow slightly rising questioningly. Eventually she just purses her lips and nods, taking a hand and patting his arm. "It's alright. I understand. If you'll excuse me for just a moment please? How about you go find us some drinks." Which is Yana speak for, 'Go make yourself useful, waste of space.' She slips away from him and makes her way towards Magnes.

Magnes is stares up at the woman, seeming to do a fairly good job of blind playing. "Uhh." is as articulate as he gets before quickly clearing his throat. "I mean, sure. After I'll be letting someone else take over for me so I can go enjoy the party." Oh, but introductions are in order as well! "My name is Magnes J. Varlane, by the way."

When Yana starts walking over he raises a hand in slight greeting. "That's my friend, Doctor Blite. Nice woman."

The man Jaiden is talking to, a rotund gentleman with a beard and a mane of hair that was almost certainly not his own, seemed rather interested in his upcoming show. "…I was in the dome too, and spent a lot of time while I was there to take pictures and the like. I'm going to put on a show with them, actually. It's to raise money for the dome survivor's group, actually. To put a face to those who bear the name 'survivor.'" He's holding a small champangne flute too, half full of sparkling grape juice. He's the designated driver for his little crew tonight, but he looks like he's drinking.

When Remi approaches, Jaiden respectfully detaches himself from the man he's speaking with to give a smile to Remi. "It's a lovely evening, Remi. You've outdone yourself. I can't wait to see the show you've got prepared for us. "

Ygraine offers first Graeme and then Remi warm smiles of greeting - though the latter's interruption of her support-gathering efforts might not be entirely welcome. Still, one wouldn't want to overdo the ear-bending. At least, not on a first encounter…

"It's good to see you", the Briton murmurs to Graeme, wholly sincere, before flashing another smile at Remi. "I think it's safe to say that things are proceeding very well", she assures her friend.

Roslyn looks in the direction that Magnes indicates and her lips pull into a tight, uncertain smile as Yana approaches. A shimmer of turquoise and flash of pristine white fur over her shoulder catches the blonde's attention in the next instant, and there's a fractional narrowing of her eyes that Magnes might miss unless he's looking for it. "I'm charmed," is her neutral answer, spoken with a breath of accent that's difficult to place. "Fly Me to the Moon, if you know it."

Her chin lifts, gaze following Remi with the same directness that Epstein does. "Forgive me, but there's someone I need to speak with. It was good seeing you, Mr. Varlane. Give Dr. Blite my apologies, s'il vous plait?"

And without waiting to hear Magnes' answer, she's moving off again.

"After all you're paying that much for a ticket?" Audrey finishes for Jane, snatching up two glasses form a passing server. "yup, there we go, we have lift off. Booze, promise of more booze, and in an hour or so we can kick this place for O'Leary's. They have honest to god leprechaun wrestling I heard. Wouldn't mind seeing some midgets wrestle in green jello." Is Audrey joking?

She looks towards Remi though at her friends commentary, a pitiful expression. "I'd imagine it would be loud, you'd hear everything and it's be monotonous. You should ask Parkman how it's like. Comes in handy though when you're questioning a perp. Really. Way back when, when I was in California and he was, he found this girl when no one else did. Sylar'd come in and just killed her family. So it has it's upsi… " Epstein. Why is he familiar looking. Audrey can't quite place it. "What, you wanna go say hello the teep? I brought my badge, I could flash it, call it official business."

Graeme nods at Jaiden's words, and there's a smile to Ygraine. When Jaiden moves, Graeme slips over to Ygraine's side, positioning himself next to her with a smile and a little bit of unease leftover from his conversation over lunch. Obvious enough in his posture to anyone who knows him. Tonight, he's going to be paranoid just because it suits him, and his gaze continues to roam the room, seemingly aimless and distracted, but really picking up most of the little details. But people're going to approach, he rationalises, because Remi is one of the bigger names, is recognisable. That doesn't mean that he has to like it. "Jaiden's right, you know." His tone is pleasant, conversational. Graeme glances at Jaiden, another cursory glance given around the room." There's a silent sigh, then, and his polite smile works its way onto his face.

Remi offers a warm smile to Jaiden and Ygraine, taking a sip of her champagne with a bright smile on her face. "Merci, merci." She laughs softly. "It premiers tomorrow evening! I'm quite excited." She moves a bit closer to the pair, blissfully unaware that she's being tailed by one Avi Epstein. She's got her mind clamped down as tightly as she can, and it's still rather loud in her head.

The dinnertime show is finished, the ballet dancers running off to change into their own formal wear in order to enjoy the rest of the ball. It's a fairly relaxed affair, really. Upon receiving the request, the orchestra begins to play the requested song along with Magnes. And now, the dance floor is open, for everyone to enjoy. A few couples move onto the floor, beginning to dance and chatter amongst themselves.

Yana misses the woman that was just talking to Magnes. She had no particular haste in her step to get over to him, so she is gone to speak to someone else by the time Yana makes it over there. "This, here is one of the moments that should be captured." Yana mentions with a gesture to him at the piano. "A few more sophisticated qualities like this, and you could step up your social resume just a little more." It is obvious with her words that she approves of the fact that he plays piano, rather than appreciating his actual talent with it. As she gets up on the instrument, Yana's eyes cut down to the top of it for a moment, a little flash in her eyes before she reaches and swipes a finger across the surface of it like someone checking for dust, peering at the fingertip of her index finger, rubbing it against her thumb, and almost showing it to Magnes. "Hm. Flu. Only a lone particle or two, and just the regular variety of influenza, and not really enough to actually infect someone, but there it is… Was." She just rescued it. Without her help, those lone virus particles would have died on that surface. Fortunately, Yana has thousands of the regular flu virus inside of her right now for it to join.

Food carefully retrieved, Elaine moves away from the buffet looking to find a table. Remi is noted, a wave offered in her direction that may or may not be noticed—after all, Remi's likely to be a bit popular tonight anyways. She moves towards the tables, looking to see familiar faces. She notes Graeme first, raising her hand up to wave and head in his direction until she notes the company he's keeping. Oh. Uh, well, that would be awkward. She waves anyways, although it's a little more of a deflated one and she moves to take a seat at a nearby table, thankfully unoccupied. She almost hadn't checked to see if anyone was there in her distraction. She stares down at her plate of food and sticks a fork in it. Yes, food. Hello distracting shrimp cocktail!

"Well of course." Magnes says even though she doesn't stick around for his answer, and suddenly he tosses a microphone into the air before he stops right in front of him, floating in the air while he plays. "Fly me to the Moon, let me play among the stars… let me see what spring is like on, Jupiter and Mars. In other words, hold my hand…" He looks up at Yana, grinning as his hat suddenly tilts itself to the side, a little over one eye while he continues singing. "You are all I long for, all I worship and adore."

Obviously he's not answering her, but he's clearly begun to sing to her, quite impressively. He can't keep up with Sable's rough vocals in a rock song, but this is something he can do.

"Ms. Davignon."

The voice comes somewhere from Remi's left, and Roslyn comes into view as an elderly who had been standing between her and the young starlet link hands and head out onto the dancefloor. She lost her glass of wine along the way, both her slim, white hands freed to take Remi's if she'll allow it. "«Bolshoi has lost its brightest star,»" she says in the other woman's native French. "«I have never seen a more beautiful Nikiya than in La Bayadere when I was in Moscow last.»" There's sincerity in her voice, which she does not have to strain to be heard over the orchestra at such close proximity, but a kind of tension too.

She dips her head in an apologetic gesture to Jaiden, Graeme and Ygraine, a strand of moonlight-coloured hair curling at her jaw. "«Will you tell your friends I'm very sorry, but I really must speak with you in private on a matter of grave importance.»"

"Yeah," Jane agrees, taking the offered drink with a small smile, one that gets obscured by tasting after a dainty sip. "I guess telepathy would have its uses. And also, way belatedly, you should quit your bitching — the dress looks perfect on you." She flashes Audrey a wink, before her attention breaks off from simple interaction, to rather suddenly hawk watch the sight of Remi being approached from two sides — the woman that approaches the dancer, and the figure Avi cuts in the crowd.

Audrey can see it, the unusual set of tension in Jane's shoulders, her jaw. "That guy," she says, in a voice that is suddenly lower, serious, all good times fled from her tone as if they were back in the office and discussing something dire — and she points through the crowd a little, to indicate, "who is he?"

The onslaught of French, while not entirely unexpected to Graeme, is enough to furrow his brow a little further. There's a glance at Ygraine, as he takes one step forward, closer to Remi. It's questioning, and there's some tension now in his shoulders. The questioning glance is also offered to Jaiden and Remi in turn, because if there's something Graeme really hates, it's being out on the loop when he knows others understand the foreign language being spoken. When he rocks back on his heels again, though, his glance eventually settles on both Audrey and Jane, a slight tilt of his head to one side in curiosity, but Graeme's otherwise silent. In his pocket, his hand twines around the bottle-encased message once more.

And now he just went and lost points for that Joe Cool move he just pulled. Yana gives Magnes a blank look when he starts singing to her in a way. Yeah, it is his job to sing and perform, but that look he gave her was directing his words to her. She is quite sure. There isn't much she can say to him to discourage him from this particular action at the moment, so Yana turns away. "I'm thirsty." she states matter-o-factly, looking around for her date who is just returning with a flute of champagne for her. The woman plucks it from his hands, "Thank you." she states.

"So… how are your dance cards looking?", Ygraine asks the three companions she actually knows… before the singing starts. Leaning over a touch, she is distracted by staring at Magnes when Roslyn appears - and blinks around at the woman in some surprise when she drags her attention away from the… performance at the piano. "«Perhaps over there by the edge of the dance floor»", she murmurs to Remi - also in the woman's native tongue, the words flowing smoothly though with a rather more provincial accent in comparison to the ballerina's aristocratic Parisien. "«No one is likely to be close to you long enough to overhear anything of import.»" And it would keep the woman in clear view and fairly close proximity to herself and Jaiden.

"You're saying that because you chose it," Audrey points out to Jane. Though she has to give her friend credit, she did actually turn in spot back at the apartment and acknowledge that Cooper the human would have panted in approval even if she has no chest really to speak of like her friend who god gave an wealth of to. So Jane wins, she'll stop bitching about her dress.

Frowning at the tension that rides through her friends body, pinch faced for once relaxed, suddenly going back to pinch faced. She follows Jane's indication to Epstien, shaking her head. "It's on the tip of my tongue, I know him from somewhere but I don't know where, I don't think I've actually met him." Her free hand reaches up to habitually swipe hair back from her jawline and tuck it behind her ear, but is met with air. Oh right, it's pinned back. The name chases literally almost around her tongue before it materializes in her mind. "Epstein" Avi Epstein.

Little can prepare Elaine for the sudden darkness she experiences. But there's no special Evolved ability or anything sinister at work - it's easy to tell that there are fingers cover her eyes suddenly, someone pressing against her from behind. "Guess who?" a voice says, Irish accent unmistakably Robyn Quinn's, as is the giggle that follows it. She had only just arrived moments before, after being unexpectedly held up at work and unable to leave no matter how hard she whined. Turned out one of the songs she had planned for her show tomorrow had cleared the legal process necessary, so she was being required to fix it before she went home.

But now she's hear, dressed in a floor length and strapless black dress, one that glitters as the light in the room hits it. "Sorry I'm late. Things weren't too bad, were they?" She hasn't really taken the time to acknowledge the identity of the singer, or to look around at the other guests - her first and only priority has been catching up to her girlfriend.

Blue eyes turn toward Roslyn, the woman blinking a few times as she's addressed in her native tongue. Remi loosens her hold on her ability, just enough to direct it toward Roslyn. The woman's sudden presence is enough to distract her from Avi approaching her. A startled expression passes over her features, before it's quickly replaced with that stage smile of hers.

Then, the woman is responding in her own French, accented by her childhood in Marseilles, and her Parisian parentage. "«Oh, thank you! It is wonderful to meet people who were there back when I was still at Bolshoi! The door is open for me to return, I just…need to get to a better place in my life. If you attend the show tomorrow, I will be making a cameo.»" She glances toward Ygraine as her new personal assistant offers her input.

Then, the woman turns a warm smile toward her companions. "If you will excuse me for a moment?" While it's posed as a question, anyone who knows Remi will know that she usually doesn't wait for an answer. Turning back toward Roslyn, Remi offers a warm smile. "«If you will follow me, madamoiselle…?»" Then, she turns, leading the way toward a secluded corner of the dance floor.

"Quinny!" Lucille almost shouts as she spots the woman. Waving her hand at her, she looks over at Jaiden with a light smile before making her way over to her friend. "Whoa girl, nice dress." She comments with a wink and then she's staring at Elaine. "Hey, I'm Lucille." She holds her hand out for Elaine to shake… or not shake. Whichever.

As Elaine hears 'Fly Me To The Moon' in a very familiar tone, the redhead's eyes flicker to the ceiling, head tilted upward to look there. "Someone up there must really hate me," she mutters before her gaze moves towards the plate of food once more, spearing a forkful of salad and eating it quietly. Her gaze roams back over to the nearby table, eyes quietly watching Remi and her companions. Until, that is, her view is obscured by a pair of hands.

There's a relieved sigh as she hears the voice. "Not terribly bad, but I am incredibly glad you're back. You have absolutely no idea. I was worried I was going to be alone all evening." She peeks over, now that her eyes are free again, glancing at Quinn's dress. "You look lovely. As always." Then, of course, there is another voice. She takes the offered hand, shaking it gently. "Lucille? I'm Elaine. Nice to meet you. You're a friend of Quinn's?"

"A new friend." She says with a look over her shoulder back towards Jaiden and his friends, it better that she doesn't step all over her sorta big bro's toes. She doesn't want to be a cock block after all. "We met a few months ago. She's very nice." Lucille says, taking a moment to lick her lips. "Hm.. is this food to fancy to fill me up, or will it have me withering on the floor in pain later?" she wonders aloud.

She grins and winks towards Elaine. She's being friendly!

Roslyn gives Remi's hands what she probably hopes is a reassuring squeeze, and with a gracious lowering of her lashes toward Ygraine begins to follow the redhead toward the area that the Briton indicates. They are, at a distance, two companions rekindling an old friendship despite the fact that they are in reality strangers. He's had to have seen him by now, is the thought that the Frenchwoman's ability picks up when she opens her mind to it. We're running out of time.

"«What I'm about to tell you may frighten you,»" she says, keeping her voice low so as not to be overheard, "«but you have more friends here than you know. There is to be an attempt on your life tonight. You must leave immediately with Ms. Fitzroy and Mr. Mortlock and tell them as I've told you. They can protect you from what's coming, provide you with a safe place to hide until it's passed. Look at me. Do not stop smiling.

"«We are being watched.»"

And Remi isn't the only one being watched.

Before Remi's eyes, the woman in front of her suddenly shimmers like a heatwave. Her blonde hair is suddenly inky brunette, sitting unbound around her narrow shoulders, and a small bird grips onto the strands and seems to be watching her with beady, focused intent. Her face changes, too, becomes younger, sleeker, more severe. Eileen Ruskin— or Spurling, depending on who you ask— stands in place of the woman whose identification reads Roslyn. The shift is subtle — Eileen doesn't even feel it, and it's most blatant to Remi, and those round them might do a double-take.

Those watching find it impossible not to see.

Among them includes Avi Epstein, who shifts in much the same way, his shoulders tensing when his form differs. Though Eileen is dressed in the same garb, his clothes shift into more casual wear, pragmatic blacks in wool and cotton. He becomes slighter, younger, and the image of Avi Esptein seems to roll off of him like smoke. There's a twist of a look around, thick black eyebrows, a nose of regal proportions. For a few moments, Gabriel "Sylar" Gray, Midtown Man, is standing for all to see in the crowd.

And then a shimmer of invisibility ripples over him, a sort of hasty defensiveness. Ygraine suddenly feels herself get shouldered past by someone invisible, knocking her into Graeme.

A huff of a breath from Jane, at Audrey's side, eyes wide.

Graeme moves immediately to support Ygraine, rather than letting himself be knocked off balance. Perhaps he was right to be paranoid tonight, if not for the reasons that he initially thought. "Are you alright?" he murmurs, a question as he makes sure that the woman next to him is okay. He moves such that the next comment can be heard by both Ygraine and Jaiden. "Somehow I think we have more important things to deal with than our dance cards."

Magnes has stood up from the piano by now, holding the microphone as he seems to Seth McFarlane it up with the band. "In other words, I, love, you!" And he's back to the piano to play the last three notes to end the performance.

He straightens his hat, having missed whatever happens to be going on, opting to follow after Yana. "Elvira?" he asks as he walks up behind her, straightening his jacket. "I hope your date doesn't mind the interruption. I'm finally off the clock."

Barging into a wounded woman, prompting her to whack her wounded arm off the man next to her - that's not just rude, it's nasty enough to have a fierce slash of pain slice through Ygraine's suppressive drugs. Not even registering Graeme's support, she whips out the other arm - scattering the few drops left of her apple juice - and flicks gravity, and with it the glass. It goes up into the air as the Briton scowls… and things go weird. Something slams into the glass, carrying it in an arc over and backwards to smash on the floor, becoming a scatter of glimmering shards amidst a loud thump of something far, far heavier than the empty little receptacle.

As Roslyn makes this remark, Remi's brows raise in a look of shock as this bit of information is offered forth. And then, things change further, and she looks even more shocked, taking a single step back. "«Wh— what?»" She holds a hand out toward Eileen, taking another step back. This is strange and unnatural and she is definitely not liking what's going on here.

To Graeme, Jaiden and Ygraine, she sends a thought. I have just been told by a strange shapeshifting woman with a bird in her hair that I should leave. I don't know who she is, but…she has a bird in her hair. She blinks, glancing around as she hears glass breaking. She's no longer smiling. In fact, she's frowning a great deal. And still blissfully unaware of the presence of the Midtown Man.

This is her party, and she has a feeling it is very close to being ruined in just a few moments.

Yana had just turned back to the crowd, her eyes sliding across them and judging them all with her wandering eye. There is a change in her corneas. A green reflective light as she idly scans the crowd for signs of sickness. Something to rouse her interest away from her partner. Magnes provides a suitable distraction as he comes up to meet them. "Oh, he doesn't mind." Yana answers for the guy, without even considering if he will or not. What he wants isn't important right now. "Are you finally relieved?" Yana of course doesn't know what is going on around her, what with the Midtown Man and the possible drama about to happen.

It's like, a wet dream. Only in a very bad place. There's Sylar and every fiber in her being is upright and honed in at the man as he turns from being Epstein into The Midtown Man. Audrey sucks in her breath, holding it, even as her hand drift to the hem of her dress and the gun that is strapped under the dress that Jane chose. Clutch too small and holding her badge. The badge that let her bring the gun through in the first place.

"Call for back up, Frontline, call for the fucking coastgaurd Pak, anything, " Not that she doesn't figure Jane won't be far behind her. Where's FRONTLINE when you want them, when you need them.

And she's gone, slipping through the crowd, heels kicked off as she goes because she can't run in them, even as he's slithering into that invisibility. Audrey stops, eyes wide an waits for it. What is he using? Phasing? Vapor? Light manipulation? True invisi- There. There's people being shoved aside, drinks going up in the air and she's off again, following like some bloodhound on the scent. But not for his wake.

Audrey is going for Eileen, a scratch of velcro and she's got her gun out, held down and in the folds of her cocktail dress. Wouldn't do to make a big ass scene.

The strange shapeshifting woman with the bird in her hair gets the impression that something has Gone Wrong with the plan judging by the way the people around her, including Remi, are looking at her. She reaches up and touches the tips of her fingers to her cheek for what little good that does — in the end, it takes the songbird with its claws hooked in her sable curls twisting a look at her reflection in the nearest wine glass to confirm what the sinking feeling in her gut suspects.


Eileen gives Remi an abrupt shove with the heels of her hands back toward Ygraine, Jaiden and Graeme with a hastily bitten off, "Go! Run!"

Which is exactly what she's going to be doing as soon as she can be sure that Remi is actually moving. There's a reason she came here cloaked under an illusion, and the songbird gives a warning peep of alarm in her ear when it catches sight of Audrey on the warpath.

Time to go.

There's another glance at Ygraine, but in general, Graeme doesn't move too far from her. His eyes go up, though, at Remi's statement. He can only assume that Ygraine heard it too, and he smiles politely, with a jerk of his head towards his roommate and a raised eyebrow of query. There's a glance at the glass, and a murmur. "Impressive. Now what the hell is actually happening?"

It's for Ygraine's ears only, as Graeme stands behind her and to one side, still making sure that his friend is stable on her feet, while perhaps looking like he's being slightly friendly, and he steers her one step towards Jaiden, overall. There's another murmur. "Don't mind me, this is just the easiest way to make myself heard." And to make sure Ygraine doesn't potentially fall over or anything like that, but that's beside the point.

Jaiden, sitting back quietly, watching everything, looks over at the shapeshifting woman, his eyes widening at the order to leave. A glass of water….several glasses of water…on the nearby tables shiver, the water spilling out on the nice tablecloths, not soaking in but hovering there, as if waiting to be called into action. "Remi, Ygraine, Graeme…" Jaiden reaches out to grab Remi's arm. "Let's move."

"Lucille!" Quinn responds happily, her arms sliding down around Elaine's waist. She's too distracted to really notice anything that's going on around her as well. "I've been meanin' t' call you, but I've just been so busy lately with the concert and the new radio show an' everythin', so I'm really sorry about that." She gives an apologetic shrug to the former model, before laughing. "You're doin' well, I hope, though?"

Her attention turned to Elaine, Quinn pecks her on the cheek. "I wouldn't leave you here alone, you know that. Just very fashionably late, is all! You know me, I never get anywhere on time." Which is way closer to the truth than Quinn's joke may let on. "Thank you. You look wonder too, dear. So! Is there an open bar t'night? I mean, it is St. Patrick's Day." Never mind that they spent several hours past midnight last night drinking. It's St. Patrick's Day, and Quinn hasn't had her green beer yet. Clearly, she's forgotten to take into account what a fancy event such as this entails, besides the opportunity to dress up.

Ygraine's glass shatters, as stated. Something heavy and invisible falls.

The shock of it stuns the well-known serial killer out of his hiding, landing heavy and disoriented to the point of twisting around with as much grace as a wolf knocked off its balance. Which is to say, somewhat canine and a little clumsy. Dark hair shot through with silver doesn't do much to disguise him or make him much different to anyone who would be able to recognise his face, one that has a snarl already written on it as he whips around for the source of that attack, glass shards tumbling out of his collar. He doesn't see Audrey's approach.

But he isn't immediately attacking anyone — he looks instead for Remi and Eileen, alarm making white around his eyes. Which is about exactly the same time that strange light begins to pour off of him, a sickly kind of orange glow of radioactive energy that pulses from his skin, turns his amber-brown eyes into circles of hellish orange.

There is a second where it flickers, like bad televised reception. But then maintains.

"I'm on it," Jane says, perhaps perkier than is strictly appropriate, but all that Audrey cares about is that she's moving. Probably. And headed straight for Remi, with a swish of designer fabric, her clutch person swinging merrily as the agent heads through the crowd. There is something amiss though, and this time, only Eileen can see it.

The woman that heads over does not have the image of Jane Pak. For all that Eileen can tell, the chosen form is Helena Dean. And she smiles, almost feral, in toothy greeting. "Out of my way, people," Jane bellows, a DoEA badge in her hand from clutch purse, or presumably from clutch purse.

Elaine's arms slip around Quinn, nodding in the direction of the bar. "Have at it. Although I doubt there's much in the way of beer. More like champagne." However, there's some fleeing going on. Remi, Jaiden, Ygraine, Graeme… Elaine's eyes move back to Quinn, getting carefully up to her feet. "Oh, hell…" She mutters. "Nice to know it's every man for himself." She keeps an arm around Quinn protectively, glancing to Lucille to make sure she's okay. "We should go. The opposite direction."

"Yes! I'm doing great! I miss you." She adds to Quinn and then there's something.. "Uh.. hold that thought." Lucille holds a finger up to Elaine and looks over to Jaiden. "Hey guys.. maybe we should.. go that way." Though she should help Eileen right? Isn't that daddy's boss? The dark haired woman looks at Elaine and then Quinn and then Jaiden and the others, stuck in the middle and not sure which way to go. She knows where she should go.

Unsure of what to do, that's Lucille right now. Her usual quick thinking is failing her. Ryans would facepalm right now.

Ah. Oh my. And, very definitely, oh dear. Ygraine just majorly pissed off Sylar. Fortunately, backing hurriedly and fearfully away from the glowing, freakish serial killer is unlikely to mark the tattooed woman out from the crowd. Her years of competition, however, do give her a well-trained response to a surge of adrenaline and apprehension - and in moments, she's thinking comparatively clearly in spite of her terror. Specifically, about a route out of here, preferably with Jaiden, Graeme and especially Remi in tow. Those nearby for whom she cares, she aims to protect. Those further away whose presence is wholly unknown… too bad, unless they catch up.

Given her ability to treat the world like an Escher painting, Ygraine is heading for a route further into the hotel. Going up is just as good a route to the ground as any other, for her, and one that doesn't involve getting trampled in the rush seems like an eminently good idea. With a little luck, she should be easily able to beat most of those trying a direct route. "This way! Move!", she barks, focusing her attention primarily upon Remi. "Vite!"

One of the many benefits of spending a good 21 of 24 years in ballet training happens to be that moving about in heels is an effortless venture. Dancing on the tips of the toes is far more difficult than moving about in a pair of heels, that actually offers stability. As Eileen pushes at her, Remi does a small spin in place, before moving directly toward Jaiden's awaiting grasp.

"What is 'appening?!" Blue eyes cast about, wide as saucers. Remi is frightened, and she's casting about with her ability, flipping through the thoughts of those in her range as one would switch through radio stations, eyes following her path. Searching for a mind with hostile thoughts directed toward her, clasping at Jaiden's suit-jacket out of sheer fright. Jaiden and Ygraine and Graeme will surely be able to protect her, right?

Well, then there's the Midtown Man. And he is lit up like a jack-o-lantern, or something to that effect. That, more than anything, prompts Remi to move more than anything anyone else could say to her. With a loud shriek that should be more than enough to warn everyone in the ballroom that shit is going down, the telepath takes several steps back, her champagne glass shattering to the ground. Then, she promptly freezes, staring at the rather frightening sight of the Midtown man as she clutches at her clutch purse with a shocked expression on her face.

And yet…at the same time, her mind is turning toward his, focusing. Seeking for the answer, reason behind all of this, in the killer's own inner monologue. Ever the curious one, she wants to know why he's here, beyond an intent to apparently kill her. It's a lot to take in.

"Hell." His vocabulary is mainly reduced to cursewords for a moment, and then Graeme moves from being behind Ygraine as they retreat. His own steps are sure, despite the overall terror and panic, and his own mind, well, the panic is put off for later. His mental capacity to endure is not nearly as great as his physical capacity, but it takes more than this to get him beyond a little freaked.

However, when Remi freezes? Graeme isn't having that, isn't having any of it. She's been a little clingy, and as Jaiden and Ygraine both keep moving, and Remi stops, Graeme grumbles quietly, falling into a crouch in one step and then with the next step, picking up Remi despite that she's taken a few steps back and away. She can stare from being carried, and Graeme will worry about Remi's potential objections to this whenever he gets where Ygraine is leading them. For the moment, he focuses on carrying his roommate, and following. "Can we manage a little faster now?"

There's a glowing bloke in the middle of the room and Remi has frozen solid. Jaiden's training in the SAS comes into play, the man scanning for his 'team.' Luckily, the one member of his team that can most easily get them out of there in one piece has a back tattoo that could double as the English flag. "Come on, love…." Jaiden says as Graeme hoists Remi up over his shoulder, patting Graeme on the shoulder to let him know that he's right behind, heading toward Ygraine, the water on the table just…waiting. Ready to be used in case it's needed say, to block a wave of heat heading toward them from a pissed-off glowing man.

Yana, unlike Magnes, has a better idea of what is going on, and so does her date. Unfortunately, his fee isn't worth getting killed over, so he is out of there. Magnes can stand to take care of Yana as far as he is concerned. Normally, Yana would have a problem with this, but no. Magnes will suffice. Her date was a little boring anyhow. But those are details she shouldn't concern herself with now, for there is something bad going on in front of her. Magnes' suggestion to go check it out is met with a look from Yana. "Magnes, open your eyes. That is danger. The proper response to a situation such as this is to run away from it. Not towards it. If you feel you need to be a hero, by all means, douse yourself with gasoline and jump into that burning building there. But if you want to be sensible, I suggest we get out of here."

It's a nightmare really. Midtown man, flickering, in the middle of a ballroom with hundreds of people and higher uppers in society - and clearly someones failed on the guest list if you ask her if terrorists are once again crashing - and the potential for them all to be obliterated. Another midtown, they'll call him the The Manhattan Man instead if he blows.

With him hunkered down, Eileen isn't her target anymore but instead him as her path changes, going through the people, bringing her gun from her skirt folds and leveling them on the glowing man. "Everyone hit the ground Homeland Security." Because they don't let in just any crazed wacko with a gun. Just ones with homeland badges. Or evolveds… there are a of evolveds here it seems.

And hoping that the seas of people either part or do as asked, Audrey's leveling her gun at Gabriel, trusting Pak to be backing her up as she moves towards the man, aiming for his head, ignoring any chest or leg or arm shots, going right for the head. Can anyone blame her? No. Not really, she's sure. Her finger pulls back on the trigger once she's sure of a good shot, arms steady.

Eileen is beginning to have a difficult time determining what is real and what is not, from the radioactive glow pouring off Gabriel on the floor to the visage of Helena Dean bearing down on Remi and her tiny entourage — there's fury written across her expression, though, and her face goes white with rage. "She's going to kill her!" is the most she can do for them, an attempt to identify the real threat as it swoops in, thereby exonerating the other.

She came here with a purpose, but ensuring that Sylar does not acquire Remi's ability is no longer what's most important. Between Ygraine, Jaiden and Graeme, the ingenue is in more than capable hands.

Protecting Gabriel and evading arrest is, and she's not picky about the order in which she does it as long as she's successful on both counts. Unfortunately, these two things are diametrically opposed now that Audrey's gun is up and pointed at him. She can take advantage of the nearest exit like so many other people are doing or—

Eileen slams into Audrey's back, arms looped around her middle and uses her forward momentum to drag her down onto the floor, exposing her bare thigh beneath the wispy material of her dress and the sheathed knife fastened to it on the outside of her leg. She's going for that next.

Whoa. What the hell? Quinn blinks, looking past Elaine and Lucille. "What the hell?" she chooses to vocalise as she watches what's happening with increasingly widening eyes. "Shit," she hisses, looking between the two women. "She takes a half step back, pulling Elaine with her. "If Eileen's here…" shes tarts to say, eyes moving to lower on the glowing Midtown Man. She's torn between a desire to see what's going on and a desire not to get seen helping a wanted terrorist. That's always a bit of a dangerous line to walk, after all. But with people fleeing, and Remi being escorted away (by one of the last people she expected to see this evening), there's little other option. "Start towards teh door," she says quietly, looking at the other two. "Slowly, in case Eileen needs help. I have no idea what the hell's goin' on, but I don't think we should be bailing quite yet." But being prepared to bail easily if needed? That's fine.

The crack of gunfire is singular, the interference of Audrey Hanson being bodychecked by the diminutive but very determined avian telepath gripping spindly arms around her waist and throwing everything into it. The bullet buries somewhere high — maybe not his head, considering it would then by rights be spattered like overripe fruit or underdone meat on the ballroom floor — but it does hit. How much damage it does is determined by what kind of defenses Gabriel Gray might have against these things.

The music has stopped. The sound of panic thickens the air, including the crackle and squark of radios as security tries to help herd people out, and get in touch with— ya know. Real cops.

Enough is enough. Gabriel throws himself into a shape not readily recognisable, vanishing into a moving, inky cloud, roiling with indecision between headed for Eileen and Audrey, and where Remi is being carted away by Graeme. The radioactive glow is gone.

Jane Pak keeps moving, unimpeded.

She doesn't have a gun, either, or a Registration card that says she has the DNA equivalent. But she does extend a hand, and suddenly, Graeme's legs stop working — they go limp beneath him, spilling both himself and the telepathic dancer onto the ground in their exit. The agent's hand twists, and levels it towards Jaiden, and a sound like a firearm booms through the area, and manifests as a cone of rippling concussive force that slams into the Australian, hard enough to toss him off his feet, and feel bruises tomorrow.

And though Audrey is occupied, she may notice something. Her pretty black and white dress is no longer such a thing — it is, instead, a hospital gown, tied off over her underthings, streaked and crackling with dried blood.

"I know, I just wish I knew what was going on," Elaine mutters, getting down low to the ground with Quinn. "Yeah, but what can we actually do? It's not like—" The redhead's spotting the situation, suddenly looking a bit more worried. She moves towards the door, keeping a hand on Quinn's arm. She'll stop if she has to, but she's moving towards the exit, still keeping an eye on the situation.

"We can't just leave her there, come on guys." Lucille stops following after Quinn and Elaine. "I'm not apart of the Ferrymen but I do owe the fuckers for taking me in." She whispers towards the other two women. "What if she dies?" Guilt.. then, "Jai!" She cries out and begins to rush over. Taking the moment to slide under a table. Better to be under a table then seen running.. right?

"I can't let people die, Elvira. These are my friends, not just some strangers. Hurry and get out of here, I'll catch up soon." Magnes reaches back and suddenly red punch rises from a large bowl, swirling into a sphere. "Have to be careful with Gabriel, but if I stop the woman I can worry about Gabriel later…" he mutters to himself as he plans his tactics.

He immediately goes flying up and above the crowd, tossing the slightly heavier than normal sphere of punch in Pak's direction in an attempt to knock her off of her feet. "Remi!" he calls out, suddenly landing in front of her and Graeme as his sphere of gravity invisibly extends around the three of them, keeping his feelers out in case some invisible people decide to pop up. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm not letting anyone hurt Remi. Gabriel, you better stay a shadow or we're gonna put a modern spin on the Tell-Tale Heart!"

For a moment, the look of fear disappears from Remi's features, replaced by a look of total and utter confusion. That's not right. What she's hearing can't be right. Shouldn't there be something like murderous thoughts about how he's going to flay her and make a display of her for everyone to see or something? She doesn't get much of a chance to think this through, however. With an 'oof', the willowy dancer is easily hefted over her room mate's shoulder, still staring at the glowing man as they begin to move.

"That…that's not the midtown man…" She points toward the glowing man. She's not objecting to the free ride out of here, though. Graeme can move much better in his clothes than she can in her flowing dress, even with her ballet training. Something is definitely happening right now, and running seems to be the best idea. Even better that Graeme is doing the running for her.

As Eileen shouts about the woman who is apparently going to try and kill her, though, Remi's eyes turn toward Pak, jaw going slack for a moment. And then, she's being tossed to the ground, landing atop her room mate. Quickly, she scrambles off of Graeme, her heels coming off in the same moment. And then, she's backing away from Pak, eyes wide as her mind snaps to the woman's, while one hand raises as if to form a barrier between her and the other woman.

What comes next is definitely not listed on Remi's registration card. She's listed as having consensual tactile telepathy. But the sudden piercing scream that rips through the minds of those standing within 50 feet of her definitely does not fall into the realm of consensual tactile telepathy. While the telepathic shriek that Remi unleashes is mostly meant for Jane Pak, it is likely to have the same effects on her companions and her would-be savior, Magnes, as it does on its intended target.

Remi is not quite used to screaming at people with her brain powers, yet.

When the concussion blast hits - and it does hit - Jaiden is knocked into a nearby table, silverware and china going flying, shattering on the floor and wall behind him, painting an interesting tableau with hideously expensive food on the wall of the hotel. Still, thanks to training and the whole 'not wanting to die' thing, as well as 'not wanting people, specifically friends of his to die,' Jaiden springs into action, even with his ears ringing and a welt on his chest that almost certainly will leave a bruise.

Remi's telepathic shriek doesn't help much either, but with sheer will, he manages to work his way through it.

Jane Pak is suddenly splashed at with what seems like a glass of water, but unlike a glass of water, if it does hit, it doesn't act like it should…it sticks. This one is followed by another, and another, and another, the water on the tables - every one of them in a radius of around 30 feet -erupting from their glasses, the boiling water from the chafing dishes erupting from their dishes, all converging on the woman's head, trying to form an air-tight bubble. Specifically, not allowing any air in and forcing any air that happens to be inside her lungs out. "Lucille…." He croaks, to the Ryans girl, getting to his feet, stumbling toward Remi and Graeme, to help her up, to help him up. "Anyone comes near you, touch them and blind them." And given enough time, he starts pulling both out of the room, toward the wall where Ygraine waits.

Ow. But Graeme's still getting back to his feet a moment after Remi, jumping in place several times. His ankle's sprained, his other leg's going to be definitively pretty colours from the experiment of falling when he couldn't use his legs, but he'll deal. Despite Remi's telepathic screaming, Graeme picks up Remi again, with a glance to Jaiden, reassuring himself that the other man is back on his feet as well. "The sooner we get going again the better." It's muttered, the words are forced out around everything else and frankly, Graeme's surprised he's managing a full sentence.

Magnes is given a bit of a glance, before he is recognised. "Magnes, right?" And then Magnes is just as summarily dismissed, ignored, turned away from, as Graeme joins Jaiden in what is a much more hasty attempt to join Ygraine at the wall than before, with Remi in a modified carry over his shoulder. Not as particularly comfortable as the first time he'd picked her up. But this isn't about the ballerina being comfortable. "Let's get the hell out of here." There's a glance back to Magnes as Graeme carries Remi further towards the wall. If Magnes wants to join them, fine. But Graeme's not about to pause.

Unacceptable. What kind of idiot risks their lives for friends? That line there, that Magnes just used is exactly why she believes he doesn't have what it takes. There isn't much she can do to stop him, as she doesn't have an power that works immediately, and she is a woman, of lithe stature, not much of a physical threat, which means she is left standing there as Magnes goes off. However, she can get upset, and she does. "Magnes J. Varlane! I insist that you not be a complete imbecile and act like you remotely have sense and an innate survival instinct and get out of here!" she hollers at him. Nope no use, he is already engaging the dangerous guy, which means she can either continue to yell, or abandon him to his fate. Well… from a logical standpoint, if he wants to throw his life away… "Then stay. Your emotional attachments will be the death of you." Yana is going to get out of here now. Somehow. She is heading for a way out.

It's a few moment in which Audrey registers that the bullet hit, but didn't down Gabriel, and that the little Spurling hussy is on her as they ram into the floor. The gun goes shuttling off into the crowd as Audrey fights with Eileen on the floor to get on top of the slighter woman. A bird registers in the woman's hair, trying to get loose and knowing full well what the other woman's ability is, Audrey's one free hand closes in on the fragile creature. Between the two of them, there's that snap and rustle of feathers, the bird crushed in Audrey's hand and just like that, there's at least one life taken in this ballroom, even if it isn't human.

And thus she deprives the woman of her sight unknowingly, Registering the change in her outfit but not yet why she's suddenly wearing something that reeks of copper and is not the satin that it was supposed to be. The glint of steel on Eileen's leg, Audrey's going for it next, trying to beat the Englishwoman to her own weapon so that she has the upper hand in that respect and not having it buried in her gut or across her throat.

"Spurling, you have the right to remain silent."

Eileen's hips rise off the floor and her fingers catch around the knife's hilt. The blade makes a sharp hissing noise as she levers it out, but before she can bring it up to slash or stab at Audrey, the other woman's hand is closed around hers. It's no longer a struggle to see who can stay on top — the Englishwoman, being much smaller and slighter in terms of build, has already lost that fight — and instead hinges on who can dominate the knife between them.

She has the right to remain silent. Doesn't mean that she will. Her mouth curls around a snarl, showing teeth, and she lets out a low bleat of pain as old injuries are aggravated by the weight of Audrey's body pressing down on hers. "Ahab drowned," she hisses against her neck, her breath hot and rasping in her hair. Her throat contracts, tendons thick and swelling with the effort of turning the knife around between their hands so it's pointed at Audrey's midsection, and while she might not have the strength to force it up into her, she still has the use of her legs, which wrap around her hips, locked at the ankle, and pull her down onto it instead.

People getting thrown around and collapsing to the ground is enough to spur Quinn into motion, pulling Elaine with her. Not towards the source of these apparent attacks (even if she's mistaken in what the source may be) because she's not stupid, but rather towards those on the receivig end of them. Probably not the smartest thing either, since it probably puts her in crosshairs, but it wouldn't be the first time this month. "What the fuck is goin' on?!" she inquires rather loudly as she catches up to Graeme and Remi, a look offered over to Ygraine. Nothing much is said to her at the moment, more out of a desire to find out what's going on than anything else. She had been just out of range for the psychic scream, but a look is offered toward Remi. "Are you okay?"

As soon as Magnes' attack lands, the illusion is cast into shimmering uncertainty, even as glistening water begins to pummel the attacker, flooding her. Him. Jane Pak's visage rolls off the attacker like the water that isn't dripping away, revealing a masculine body, black leather over white cotton, blue denim, and if anyone is in a position to take note of subtle differences, this Gabriel Gray does not have silvery-grey aged through his black hair. On hands a knees and working to get up, Sylar staggers under the onslaught of telepathic screaming, and the water flooding his lungs, sucking the air out. He can't scream.

But Remi can pick up on thoughts, strangely detached from what he's suffering. His inner voice is slithery, male sounding, snaky. In the snare, twice over. Mine. Bucket of blood in the ocean and it's such a nice buffet. Can't see. See. Breathing.

Which is when the shadow— Gabriel— is making his decision, and leaving Sylar for the rest of them to deal with. He cuts towards Eileen and Audrey, moving like a demon, slithery inky shadow that seems to take heed of Magnes' warning and refuse to become corporeal.

As knife bites after the delicate flesh of Audrey's midsection, the shadow ripples over them. Judging that it's time to go. Tendrils of inkiness wind around Eileen, and under Audrey's hands and weight, she can feel the woman she's battling suddenly collapses into intangibility as Eileen is assimilated into the strange, morphic cloud. And then, together, it's zipping away — there are some things not worth getting arrested for.

And then it's like the water enclosing around Jane-turned-Sylar crushes him into nothing when he shimmers and disappears — but only for a split second, before the water explodes in all directions. There's a whining sound, shrill, and the floor vibrates as cracks suddenly appear in the marble, snapping beneath the sheer audiokinetic concussion of his sound mimicry form rocketing across it in a shark attack for where Graeme has yet against hoisted Remi over his shoulder.

Glasses of wine vibrate and burst, raining glass down on either side of Lucille's table. It vibrates passed Quinn, and the world suddenly goes deaf for Elaine when that sound demon passes through her in an effort to wing around, a sudden pop in her ears and a nausea wrenching through her gut. It takes only a split second to happen, as only sound does.

Split her open, bones go crack. Gonna get what I came for. Can you hear me, little dancer?

When Sylar appears once more, in the flesh, he takes a big gasp of air — and stunningly close to where Graeme had been fleeing with Remi, close enough that the reek of water and, strangely, infection can be as swiftly picked up on as the sight of him. The man and his damsel get a flash of a feral grin, before a hand goes out — and bone shoots past thick wrist, splitted through skin and stabbing out sword-like to pierce suddenly through Remi's thigh and into Graeme's shoulder.

Elaine moves with Quinn, or rather, is dragged by the Irishwoman. The redhead isn't entirely sure what is going on, still, a bit lost as to who is who and disguised as who and in whose head. What she does know is that Remi seems to be in the midst of all of that, and since Quinn has dragged her over, her gaze moves to the French redhead. "We should all probably get out of here, I don't know who—"

What she was going to say was who is attacking who. She doesn't get that out because there are suddenly cracks in the marble. Elaine is momentarily worried that the floor will open entirely wide and snap them all up like some kind of monster when she feels… something. A sharp gasp, swallowing back the urge to vomit, and Elaine's now grabbing Quinn's arm with both hands. "W-What.. what… what…" She keeps repeating the words, mostly because she doesn't think she's actually gotten them out. Because she can't hear herself saying them. "Quinn?" She only barely catches what the hell is going on with Graeme and Remi, her brain trying to comprehend the lack of audio.

Luci withers on the floor at the scream and only nods her head as she climbs to her feet shakily, hair a mess now and a couple scratches on her arms and legs. "I'll do more than that." She says with a growl, rubbing her temples and then she's kicked her heels off. Holding the straps in one hand, she charges out from the table as the glass vibrates and bursts. Her eyes wide as she is closer to Remi, Graeme and the weird dude.

With a deep breath and a throwing of her expensive shoes on a nearby table she takes off, sprinting on barefeet towards the three, more so towards Sylar. She's reminded of gymnastic days as she gathers speed and leaps over a table, rushing closer to him. One touch is all it would take.. one graze..

Light grey eyes are intent on her target as she weaves in and out of the tables, moving fast. Thank you mommy and daddy for gymnastic classes. I love you.

"Fuuuuuck." Much bigger ow. "Right then." The words are coloured with a soft drawl, hissed out as much as anything else, as everything sinks in. There's a wince, and Graeme's hand that had been mainly supporting Remi falls, partially to one side, grip retreating. His free arm, though, wraps around Remi's leg. "This is going to hurt," he mutters, trying to ignore everything that already does and as much for Remi's benefit for his own. And then he's taken three steps backwards, pulling both of them off the bone protrusion. It's another moment, not really that long, before he's used his good arm to pull the not so good at the moment one tighter around Remi, holding her where she is, and then Graeme takes off at a run for the wall. Past Jaiden. Past everyone, running is something that Graeme has nearly muscle memory of by now, even when injured.

The thoughts that roll into Remi's head as Sylar makes his move are the things of nightmares. Feral, wild, dangerous. Her eyes widen as she watches all that's happening, clenching tight to the back of Graeme's shirt. She'd grab his butt, but that doesn't quite have the same clenchability as his shirt, and now is hardly the time to be thinking about grabbing her gay room mate's rear end.Then he's disappearing. Yes, she can hear you, Sylar, and it's fucking terrifying.

Then, he's appeared, and that beautiful turquoise dress is suddenly stained black as her leg is run through by a bone spike. It takes a second for her to realize what's happened, and then, the pain hits her like a wave. With it comes another scream, this one coming both from her throat and from her mind itself, words echoing into the minds of those around her, with loud, garbled french audible in the minds of those around her.

But while nicely impaled, she manages to do one thing. Just one, while she fights off that pain. Another advantage of ballet. This hurts like a bitch, but she'll live. Right? Her mind snaps toward Sylar's, and she does the one thing she knows she can do. The bone intruding in her flesh is plenty of contact for her. STOP! GO AWAY! Putting every last bit of will she has into this shriek of a thought, directed into Sylar's mind in an attempt to mentally deter him from his hunger. Not that she has any hope of it actually working.

Then, Graeme is pulling away, and she's screaming even more as she begins bleeding just a bit too much for comfort. Actually, by the blood coming from her leg, Sylar may have hit an artery. Tears stream down the woman's face, smearing her makeup, as screams become screaming sobs, the headache setting in just as surely as the piercing pain of her bleeding leg, soaking into her dress and Graeme's shoulder.

And everyone is hearing about it in their heads, as well, more garbled French that lends the impression that she's screaming about the pain. Control is lost even as she and Graeme approach the wall, Remi being able to hear the panicked thoughts of those gathered, even as surely as they can hear her.

So much for that false registration of hers.

When Jaiden told Lucille to blind anyone who came near her, he didn't expect her to run right at the guy who just shot a spur of bone through Graeme and Remi. She is a Ryans, though, so interesting things should be expected no matter what happens. The last thing Jaiden wants, of course, is to see his temporary roommate carved into cute roommate bits by the walking evolved swiss-army-knife over there, so he does his best to help. Chances are the water won't work a second time, but he tries again.

Upended glasses void their contents into the air, water that's spilled on the cracked marble floor and soaked into the soil below is pulled out, congealing into multiple orbs - five of them - that hurtle at Sylar from multiple directions, each aiming for his head. If one hits, the drowning will start again….hopefully. If not…hopefully distraction will be the order of the day. Go go Lucille!

Backing along with Remi and Graeme, doing his best to ignore the shrieking of french inside his skull, the trio make it to the wall where Ygraine is waiting to spirit them up and out by causing gravity to not really affect them in the same way. The gushing blood from Remi's thigh causes Jaiden, while on the move, to remove his belt - a nice one - that will wrap around her thigh and hopefully staunch the bleeding…

There's grunts and groans, hissing of shallow breaths that if taken out of context could quite possibly qualify as the opening scene of a skinamax. In this context though, Eileen pressed to the beautiful ground of the expensive hotel and casino with shattered glass around them and clothes soaking up the equally as expensive champagne that was floating about for the people who paid tidy sums for a front row seat to Sylargeddon with a side show of Betty vs Veronica on a completely different plane that an Archie comic.

Her hand closes around Eileen's, tied in the reach of the blade at her thigh and she's rewarded with a few shallow slices over her palm in the wrestle that is at least five tenths Magnes wet dream. But the Avian Telepath has the advantage in that she's pinned and can put all her energy and strength into commandeering the weapon and Audrey has to contend with staying on top - shut up - and and wrestle the knife out. She snarls in return, an exchange of hot breaths on ears. "But Ness won."

The knife slides home though, piercing through skin easily, her own hand on the handle and Eileen's use of gravity to get it in there. Gabriel succeeds the rest of the way, whisking away Eileen is a swirl of infernal ink that intensifies the howl from Audrey as she's spirited away and the knife slides further home thanks to no one underneath the blonde agent anymore and gravity taking over. A howl of outrage and pain, realization that the satin dress isn't satin but a hospital gown and Sylar is getting away.

Audrey turns over onto her side, pulling knife from abdomen and tossing away to look and see where Ink has reformed and instead sees all else. No. Not again. Not again.

There's too much happening at once. Eileen is being turned into… something bu… Sylar? And Sylar is attacking Remi? And now the floors breaking and air around her is vibrating and Quinn is just rather disoriented, stumbling forward unaware of Elaine's inability to hear. Stumbling, because for once in her life she's decided it's time to be fancy and wear heels and look awesome.

Heels just became decidedly less awesome.

In fact, one comes off as she stumbles, her foot coming down a bit awkwardly afterwards. Not painful, not bad enough to send her tumbling to the floor, but awkward enough to cease her forward movement. And possible at a good time too, as Remi's mental babbling has her bolting up right, the Irishwoman able to understand most of it - the perks of having a French mother. "No way," she breathes out, eyes refocusing a bit as she looks back at Elaine, and then ahead at the chaos in front of her. She's not about to get too close to Sylar if she can help it. But there's still something she can try to do to at least make the serial killer flint.

Both her hands raise up, glowing brightly. This'll be the second time she's done this in public and not at a show, but she's pretty sure she'll be forgiven for it this time. She forms fingers into circle in front of her, light between Graeme and Remi, and Sylar quickly condensing into a small ball - and then, when Quinn separates her fingers apart, it bursts, light flashing out into the surrounding area… and right into Sylar's face. It's not the sustained lightshow she put on when Elaine was shot, but hopefully it helps.

Graeme and Remi slip off the end of bloodied bone-sword without much in the way of resistence — telepathic lash has Sylar's head tilting back on his neck, teeth showing glossy and white in a noiseless snarl as he staggers back when light dazzles in front of his eyes, shorting out the visual world in a brilliant flash of light. The effort to resist draws lines next to his eyes, wrinkles his nose, but then he has more problems than Remi and Graeme simply getting away. He twists as water begins its second assault, that wicked blade lashing out aimlessly even as Lucille darts in to find skin.

Mental assault didn't say he couldn't react. With a wet snarl even as water slithers passed his teeth, smothers through nasal cavities, he blindly reaches out a hand to grip her by the hair, even as her power plays its assault on his system.

Time to go.

As if a hatch had opened beneath him (it hasn't, the ground solid marble), Sylar suddenly vanishes through it, falling. The grip on Lucille's hair maintains, dragging the woman down with him until her head simply smacks off the ground and he's forced to release her lest he lose his hand in transition. Water splashes in a puddle where he once was. He's gone, either to drop all the way down to hell itself, or break an ankle in a basement, wash up in the sewers. No one in the immediate vicinity seem keen to follow, the ballroom cleared of most of its patrons, save for those choosing to hide behind upended tables, curtains, statues.

Police cars and ambulances flash lights outside, and the march of authority. Cops are swift to flood the scene, to help escort people out as well as lock down the rest of the hotel. Everyone to your rooms. Proceed calmly to the exits.

"Woah, easy," says a voice, as a nervous looking cop spies Audrey and starts to approach her. Uncertain and a bit confused, but trying to grapple with what he's seeing. A deranged mental patient who has stabbed herself. "Looks like you're hurt." His shoe nudges the knife out of range. "We'll get you to where you're supposed to be, don't worry."

Elaine shudders. She releases Quinn as soon as the other woman starts working her ability, though her eyes shut for brief moment to try and clear her head. But shutting her eyes is scary. Not seeing and not hearing? Her eyes snap open, whimpering softly as she watches Sylar disappear. Everyone's safe now, right? She has no idea. It's over, but… "What's going on? Hello? A-Anyone?"

With the watery assault combining with the flash of light and Lucille's assault, the problem that the group was facing has suddenly vanished into the floor, hopefully never to be seen again. Going up the wall is unnecessary now, and dealing with the cacophony of thoughts streaming from the wounded Remi is getting a mite difficult. His belt is already off and, pushing her dress up, he cinches the belt around her thigh about three or four inches above the wound, giving Jaiden an idea if Remi is going Commando today or not.

Not the best thing to be pondering now.

"Clear a line!" Jaiden's voice carries, even through the ballroom, now quiet despite all of the carnage. "If you're injured, stay where you are. Paramedics will be in to treat you as soon as possible." Wow, he sure sounds like he knows what he's talking about. Lifting Remi into his arms - it's easy, she's little - Jaiden starts for the door, allowing Graeme to use him as a crutch if necessary, Remi's blood staining the arm of his suit jacket. Hopefully it'll clean off.

There's some relief as Jaiden takes Remi from him. "Thanks," Graeme murmurs. His good arm keeps a hold of the other man's shoulder, as much so that they don't get separated as to provide some measure of support. Really, he can walk, and he does so, the pain in his shoulder registering more as pain than as something that should possibly be impeding him, and keeping all thought off of the additionally sprained ankle. He's managed to adjust his right arm so that it's next to his body, hand in his pocket and he's trying not to jar it further. Miraculously, in his pocket, his fingers find the small glass bottle, and curl around it. "Not," he mutters, almost grumpy, "what I wanted for my birthday, damn it." There's a pause in his step, and then his grip tightens around the bottle in his pocket once more, and he continues.

The mental and physical sobs continue from Remi, who can feel her life draining out through her leg. Judging by the blood, that bone knife was kind enough to hit her artery. Remi doesn't know how bad it is, making it a point not to look. She just knows that it hurts like a bitch, and her dress is way too slick with blood for her comfort.

The only way that Remi will be leaving the Corinthian this evening is in an ambulance. She'll probably have to spend some times in the hospital…but at least she's alive, right? Still, she has a good deal to think about.

As Jaiden sets to work on his crude first aid, Remi's sobs renew themselves, mentally and physically, with the steady stream of pained, panicked French echoing through the thoughts of those around her. Then, she's being lifted once more, hands clasping weakly at the lapels of the hydrokinetic's suit jacket, sobbing as the pain washes over her like waves.

Remi would apologize to Graeme for the fact that Sylar stabbed him while he was trying to rescue her from him on his BIRTHDAY, but she's a bit busy sobbing.

Sylar's gone, there were two of them and one of them, disguised as her friend Jane. A palm closes on her stomach wound, blood seeping out between fingers and slickening the already red hospital gown that magically became her dress. She looks away from the ruckus caused by the retreating serial killer to the cop who's made his way to her. Torn pantyhose, heels somewhere in the party, her gun nearby and the holster strapped to her thigh, she looks up at him, half up from one hand planted on the ground. She won't be up for long though.

"My name, my name is Special Agent Audrey Hanson with Homeland. I need an ambulance, sent to the home of DoEA Agent Jane Pak. A shapeshifter has been—" She bites off what she was going to say, arm giving out and laying back in the mess she's created with the handful of others in the room. "Imitating her. She could be dead or injured. My badge is in my purse." The hand not trying to trap blood points in the direction of where she and 'Jane' had been a black clutch somewhere on the ground. "I need medical help, I've been stabbed."

Quinn lets out a deep breath, hands still glowing when the killer vanishes. Sucking in a breath, she turns back to Elaine with a sigh, watching as police and rescue squad begin to enter. She gives Elaine a funny look, though, when she hears her question. Remi's away now, it seems like, and there's really not much she could do at the moment to help her anyway, so attention is turned instead to her girlfriend. A frown forms on Quinn's face as she hobbles back to Elaine with only one heel remaining on her foot. A hand moves to Elaine's cheek, turning her to face Quinn while the other takes her hand. "Elaine? Are you okay?" she asked worriedly, looking over for someone with more medical knowledge than she possess. "Do I… do I need t' get one a' the paramedics?" She doesn't hurt look, but…. looks can be deceiving. "Excuse me! Sir!" she shouts, trying to wave one of them down - taking a single step before she almost falls over again.

This time, she doesn't keep the heel on, instead she turns and angrily kicks it off in the direction of the spot Sylar last stood, eyes narrowed on it for a moment before she turns back to Elaine.

"What an asshole…"

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