Draw The Blinds


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Scene Title Draw the Blinds
Synopsis After returning from somewhen else, Odessa Woods is given new orders.
Date November 20, 2014

It feels good to be back in her own world again. Her own skin again. Odessa took more time at her dressing table this morning than she otherwise might have done. She never thought she took for granted having a full array of cosmetics, or a curling iron. She was wrong.

If she’s wearing just a bit more eyeshadow and liner than usual and her dark red lipstick seems a little louder than usual, maybe she’ll be forgiven after the time she’s had. Odessa Woods has lost a year of her life to that interloper, and she’s not going to take any of this for granted again.

Odessa doesn’t even bother dealing with Dirk this morning. “He’s expecting me,” she offers as an explanation as soon as the elevator door opens, before she freezes the poor man in place before he can spout off some quip. Opening the doors to Arthur’s office, she enjoys the sound of her boots on the polished floors. Dressed in black trousers with a matching vest over a blouse made from silk the color of blood, she’s ready to work.

“Good morning,” she greets with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. While she’s grateful to be in one piece so soon after the encounter with Nakamura, she isn’t happy. She settles into the chair across the desk from Petrelli and crosses one leg over the other, hands resting on her knees. “I believe we have much to discuss.”

Arthur does not look like himself. The lights in his office have been turned off, vertical blinds over the windows are slats only partly drawn shut, sending long rays of light and alternating shadow through the room. The stink of cigarette smoke fills the air, and as Arthur looks up to Odessa there is fury in his expression, sourness, and a resentment she has never seen.

“There was a terrorist attack last evening, right after I left your hospital room.” Arthur slowly lowers his hands to his desk, lips downturned into a frown and a deep breath drawn in through his nose. His cigarette rests limply between forefinger and thumb, ash on the desk. “My home,” Arthur says with a tightness in his throat. “They… they killed Peter, Odessa. They killed him and Gillian in cold blood. Like animals.”

One hand instantly comes up to cover her mouth at the news. Blue eyes grow wide and fill with tears as she processes what’s happened while she was recovering. Those tears spill down her face as her hand falls back into her lap slowly. Disbelief is soon overtaken by sorrow, and sorrow by anger.

“Who did this?” There’s a sick feeling in the pit of Odessa’s stomach that has nothing to do with her vanished wounds. Her eyes close, squeeze out more tears, and in that space of time she says a silent prayer to a higher power she doesn’t truly believe in, except when the convenience of such an existence strikes her. “Why?

“Who do you think?” Arthur says as he throws one hand into the air and an origami crane flies out of his hand and lands at her feet. “Hiro Nakamura.

Odessa stares down at the paper crane in horror, like it might burst into flames and take her with it. Her whole body shudders with a sob that she can keep quiet but for the grace of god. She wants to say that it doesn’t make sense, that Nakamura’s fight wasn’t with Peter. That it wasn’t with Gillian.

But she remembers the look of hatred in his eyes, and she believes he could have done this to her friends. She believes that he could even have missed his mark entirely, and that they were caught in the crossfire.

Her breath comes in quickening little pants as she finally makes her way to guilt.

She should have killed him when she had the chance.

“Arthur, I—”

“I don't want excuses,” Arthur says in a hushed tone of voice, setting his cigarette down n the ashtray. “I want you to do the job I hired you for. I want you to find, and kill, Hiro Nakamura and his father and whoever else of his family we missed the first time!” When his voice raises, a rumble spreads through Arthur’s office. With one simple gesture, Arthur pulls the Kensei Sword he has taken from Odessa’s hospital room from the shelf it was sitting on, and makes it hover in front of her.

“Or so help me God,” Arthur clenches his first and the sword unsheathes and spins around, stopping when it gently touches Odessa’s throat. “I’ll take your ability and do it myself.

The tears dry up, if not on her face, because they have to. Odessa didn’t get this far in this organization by being a simpering mess. The appearance of the sword is a sure sign that she needs to fix this error of hers. She startles when it moves toward her and closes her eyes when the blade touches her skin.

After a hard swallow, she opens her eyes again, now red from her crying. “I’ll destroy them,” she vows, holding perfectly still, hands gripping the arms of her chair. No more second chances. No more mercy in exchange for a promise of answers. Her desire for answers has cost her friends their lives. There’s no bargaining or pleading. Either Arthur will release her to do the job she should have done right in the first place, or he’ll change his mind and finish what Nakamura started. She doesn’t have much say in the matter one way or the other.

“I've already informed your husband that you're about to undertake a long-term assignment,” Arthur explains with a twitch of his fingers, sending the sword back into its scabbard and turning it around so as to be taken from the air.

“Don't worry about him, either. Goodman has a special project he’ll be working on that will keep him busy.” Arthur’s brows lower, anger visible in his expression and in the simmering tone of his voice. “Maybe I'll even find some time when you two can see each other again… when I have what I want.

There’s a flash of worry that Odessa can’t keep out her eyes when her husband is brought up. She woke up this morning hoping to accept her latest assignment and mention that she’d like to start thinking about scaling back.

Now she realizes that will never be allowed to happen.

“You’ll have it, Arthur.” Holding hostage the things Odessa holds dear has always been a strong motivator for her. If she was toying with the Nakamuras before, all that ends now.

Slowly, Arthur leans back in his chair and takes his cigarette with him, sucking down a slow and ashen lungful of smoke that drifts from his nose and mouth, hangs silently in the shafts of light spilling through the partly drawn blinds.

“You best see to that,” is Arthur’s resolute order of absolute certainty.

“You best see to that fast.”

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