Evil Preppy Young Republican


claire_icon.gif hana_icon.gif helena_icon.gif

Scene Title Evil Preppy Young Republican
Synopsis Claire meets Wireless and Helena convinces her friend to come home.
Date October 7, 2008

The Hangar

A wrought-iron fence borders several small garden beds and the stone stairs leading up to the house's front door. The house itself is a structure of old stone - not even concrete blocks, but quarried stone — with natural-color wood doors and window frames. The windows on the ground floor are barred.

Inside, the level is divided into only three rooms. The first is the foyer, with polished hardwood flooring, a freestanding coatrack on either side, iron-dark against soft-amber interior walls. The main staircase spirals up from one corner of the foyer, girded by a wrought-iron railing.

To the right from the entrance is the kitchen. The walls just off from white, the floor tiled in dark gray. In the center of the kitchen is a black-topped island, matching the counters that line the room. One wall is dominated by an eminently modern stove framed by an anachronistic brick hearth. Cabinets above the counters have glass doors; the windows above the sink are framed in light-colored curtains, the illumination they let in adding to the expansive atmosphere.

The dining room takes up the back of this floor. The far wall is brick and stone, with a facade of a fireplace mantle in the center. Interior walls have been painted a tone intermediate between amber and ivory, which is also the accent color in the dark rug beneath the long dining table.

Early afternoon paints the kitchen in warmth and light, perhaps all the more so for that it is nearly empty. Lunch has come and gone, and most of the Hangar's current residents have dispersed in its wake, returning to their own pastimes and errands. Which means Hana has it all to herself at the moment. The tall, dark-haired woman stands in front of a counter, currently in the process of preparing a sandwich — chicken, tomato, lettuce, a bit of cheese and a touch of horseradish sauce. For once, Hana isn't wearing her leather jacket — she wears a light blue shirt and black pants — and neither is she visibly armed. (The operative word, of course, being visibly.)

When you don't want to be recognized, you dress to blend in. When you really don't want to be recognized, you dress to blend in with a crowd that isn't your own. Dressed in a black skirt suit with a strand of pearls and matching earrings to accentuate, Claire passes through all the requirements to gain entry to the Hangar in the hopes of getting an update on the PARIAH front. She's almost surprised to see how empty the place is. She smooths her hands over her updo and lets the click of her heels on the floor herald her arrival as she takes a seat at the table. "Hello."

The approaching footsteps are noted — the tap of heels on hardwood is unmistakable. Nonetheless, Hana doesn't look away from her sandwich until she hears the movement at the table and the cessation of said other sound. She turns her head enough so the seated girl can see about three-quarters of her face, one dark brow arching after a moment's pause. I'm sure you aren't expecting me to serve you. "Hello." But she can be polite. It won't kill her to observe the forms. And Claire can't die, anyway. "Have you eaten?" the woman asks, more or less conversationally.

Fortunately, Claire isn't expecting to be served. "Yeah, I'm fine. I didn't think it'd be so quiet around here. Does it always clear out after lunch?" She peers about briefly and then back to Hana. It's polite to look at someone when they're talking to you.

Since the words 'I'm fine' are spoken, Hana leaves it at that. "I can't say," she replies, the words accompanied by a fluid shrug. "It's been… some time since I was last here." The power of doing everything remotely. Finishing fixing the sandwich, Hana then sets about tidying up the leftover ingredients and restoring them to the fridge — and cupboard, in case of the bread. The controlled grace of her movements gives away that she's well-trained in either dance or martial arts — given that this particular safehouse is run by people ex-military, it's easy to make a guess which. Picking up her plate afterwards, Hana relocates to the table, seating herself in the chair opposite Claire.

"I'm Claire," the girl offers. "You move like a soldier. Been out fighting the good fight if you haven't been here?" Her expression is mild enough, but with a hint of wariness. The Company employs people like her. Call her naturally mistrusting.

"Hana," the woman supplies. She gives her companion a bit of a sidelong glance, measuring her words — or perhaps Claire herself. "Would you rather I move like something I'm not?" Blunt and bold; in no way, however, is her tone hostile. For Hana, it's just a conversation. The sandwich remains on the plate, untouched, her attention focused rather intensely upon the teen.

"No," Claire responds quickly with a shake of her head. The lack of brown hair brushing her shoulder actually taking her a little by surprised - evident when she brushes one hand over her blazer near her neck. "It was just an observation."

Helena makes her way into the safehouse, passing through all the protocols until she finally ends up in the dining room and kitchen area. She's got a baseball cap on her head into which her hair is bound up, and a pair of patent leather boots — belonging to you-know-who — are on her feet. There are other clothes too, promise. "Hana," she greets, but then lights up. "Claire!" The bottle brunette gets promptly hugged. "What are you doing here? Ol Granny Crankypants lets you out of the house?"

"Hm." Hana picks up her sandwich, but pauses before lifting it to her mouth. "A good one," the woman allows. It is a remarkably prosaic scene — Hana sans both leather jacket and guns, eating a sandwich and sharing a table with her sometimes-partner's daughter. Dark eyes flick to the hall at the sound of Helena's footsteps, reflexively scanning over the other girl. Wireless offers a brief nod in greeting, and for the moment continues to eat.

"Don't call her that," Claire reprimands with a rueful chuckle as she hugs her friend back. She pats the table next to her, indicating that Helena should have a seat. "I know the trained ones when I see them," the non-blonde remarks mildly. "…Are those my boots, Hel'?" Of course they are. "They look better on me." It's defensive, but hey. Helena does make them look good.

"But they look damn good on me too." Besides, she's now obligated to keep borrwing Claire's clothes. It's a safety precaution! "I don't suppose your dad's around? I kinda need to talk to him. Though it's news for you too." Disengaging from Claire, she heads to the fridge. She pulls out a bag of bagels, and sets to sticking one in the toaster.

Is Noah around? Helena's probably asking the wrong person. Hana watches the two girls go through their greeting with a rather impassive expression, continuing with her eating. Eat while you have it. She does pause at Helena's inquiry, setting the remaining half of her sandwich back on the plate. "One of the northern houses came under suspicion; he was helping them relocate." There's a very slight pause, perhaps consulting some memory. Or something remote. "He might be back tonight if there aren't difficulties."

Claire shoots Helena a flat look. She doesn't want to see her father. When does she ever? "News for me?" She glances to Helena and then raises both brows. Oh, of course. "You must be Wireless."

Helena gives Claire look right back. She'd be happy to trade dads, like some kind of reality show. Claire can have the apathetic car salesman who thinks his daughter's a freak, and Helena can have the dad who takes a bullet for his little girl. But! She nods in agreement to Claire's assumption of Hana's alias. "I had a round of crumpets and tea with Sylar. Alex went with me."

That dark brow arches once more. Observant, yes; able to correlate information, no. Duly noted. Some would be flippant in response; Hana merely inclines her head. I am she. Picking the sandwich back up, she looks between the two girls. "Dangerous company to keep." But so are she and Noah, in their respective ways. "He wanted something from you?" It only resembles a question.

"What?! And you didn't tell me?" Not that that Helena's fault. "I really have to get out of that house," Claire admits with a shake of her head. "What happened?" Obviously no one is dead, or Helena would have said 'Alex is dead' rather than 'Alex went with me.'

"You were out with Grandma." Helena protests faintly. "He knows the situation has changed. With Peter working for the Company, he's not exactly someone they can hostage swap. But Sylar's claiming he can get Peter for us without harming him in exchange for us finding Adam and enabling his capture for him. I'm not exactly keen on that. I've got some ideas about it, but I'd really like someone with a bit more knowledge about this stuff, especially where the Company's involved." She casts an apologetic look at Hana (her hero!), but it's not like the woman worked for them.

Even though she did — but the less said about that, the better, really. And it's barely a candle compared to Noah's experience. "The Company," Hana observes, "is very good at planting and pulling strings." Is that a bitter note? "And Petrelli has lost the past two years of his memory, probably through their meddling. I imagine that's made him quite receptive to their stories."

"Wait. What?" Claire stands up from her seat, staring incredulously at Helena. "Peter is what?!" Yes, she has to get out of Angela Petrelli's home. The world is changing and leaving her behind. She drops back into her seat when Hana explains that Peter's lost his memory. "Oh, my gosh…"

Helena looks baffled. "Claire, I told everyone. I sent out messages." She seems shocked. "Peter's apparently been mind wiped. He doesn't remember any of us. He's willingly working with the Company. We need to get him back and try to fix it. There's got to be a way. If we can tap him into Cat's power somehow, or jog his memory…I don't know. But I was thinking - if we bypass Sylar entirely, and try to strike a deal with the Company, it's just exchanging one devil bargain for another."

The sandwich is, at last, consumed, and Hana rises from her seat to appropriately dispose of the plate. "Perhaps. But if it was done to him— " She nods towards Claire, possibly expecting her to recognize the implication. " —I do not know if the memories can be recovered."

Dark eyes slide to Helena as the girl continues, both they and the expression around them gone shuttered. "They'll use you and then discard you," she warns. "I will never again deal with the Company." The bitterness is not just a note in her voice, this time — it's outright cold animosity. And while the sentiment isn't directed at Helena… it wouldn't take much to make it splash over, either.

Hana fixes Helena with that intense regard, then glances to Claire, before stalking out of the room. She's going to go empty clips at something — and fortunately not either of the girls.

"West didn't…" Claire's foot stomps under the table. "I'm going to kick his ass." Her misguided boyfriend was apparently making an attempt at sparing her feelings. "We are not making any sort of deal with the Company," Claire insists after Hana makes her exit. It wouldn't faze her much if the woman did empty a clip into her, but she does appreciate the consideration. "Sylar may not be much better, but we're not working with the Company."

Helena blanches at Hana's exit, but turns a determined expression back to Claire. "Sylar wants Adam Monroe in exchange for delivering Peter to us. Have you thought about how we'd do that? God knows where Monroe is, we don't have any way of tracking him whatsoever! And let's say we did find him, and we delivered him to Sylar - that makes Sylar unkillable, and no doubt his method of getting and delivering Peter would only make it that much harder to convince him to even listen to us! But if we offer to help the Company get Elle back and cut Sylar out entirely, everyone wins except the one person we don't." Sylar.

"And then Sylar decides to come after me instead." Claire presses her lips together and frowns. "I'm not saying we need to… I don't know what to do." She folds her arms on the table top and rests her head there. "I haven't got any answers anymore. What's happened to me?"

Helena gives Claire a surveying look. "After he got what he wanted he'd start coming for all of us anyway. We've got to come up with security measures so he doesn't pull that shapeshifting stuff on us again." She frowns, dismayed at Claire's anxiety. "You aren't expected to have the answers. At least not all of them. But we are stronger together than we are apart. You need to come home to us. Too many gone. We'll just fall apart if we all keep going separate ways." Then sullenly, "Besides, you look like an evil preppy Young Republican."

"Is it the pearls?" Claire looks up at Helena with raised brows. "Angela gave them to me. I kind of like them." She considers for a moment, "The hair? I don't do the up… swept thing much."

"Where do I start?" says Helena. "Seriously, come home before she destroys what semblance of fashion sense you got left." Because Peter being captured by the Company and Sylar on the loose pales in comparison to the frightful prospect of Claire looking like the cover of Fox & Hound.

"Sure." Claire smiles. "I'll go back tonight and get my things. Have we set up shop somewhere new? Or is this it for now?" She glances around appreciatively. "It's not bad."

"We're working on some locations." Helena admits. "I doubt any will be as fancy as the Petrelli Mansion. For now folks are crashing here, though. I know West will feel a lot better. After you finish killing him."

"I wouldn't kill him," Claire says with a smirk. "He serves some uses. Getting to the mall, for instance." She nods after a moment. "I'll move in over here tomorrow. It won't be a big deal, right?"

Helena shakes her head. "I don't think so. You might bump into your dad, though. Can you handle it?"

"I don't have much choice, do I?" That draws a frown. "I'll just ignore him. It won't effect us. We have work to do." Claire sighs heavily. "If he's smart, he'll stay out of my business."

Helena can't help herself. She's kept silent out of respect for her friend, but her curiosity gets the better of her. "Why do you hate him so much?" she asks. "My dad hopes I'm dead. Yours would tilt the axis of the earth for you if he could."

"My dad did some stupid things for that Company. He made my mother sick trying to cover up his lies. He was altering all our memories." That's clearly something that doesn't sit well with Claire. "He would sit there, all sanctimonious about how he was doing the right thing by keeping us hidden. But that was all lies, too. We were all supposed to be laying low. But he just kept right on with his old ways." The girl actually sneers. "Same shit, different organization."

Helena looks at Claire a long moment. She knows better than to start a fight about it, so she just nods. "I need to catch some sleep." she says in a neutral tone. "You going to be okay getting back to Stately Petrelli Manor?"

"Yeah, I think I'll manage." Claire rises from her seat and forces a grin. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" She gives her friend a tight hug before stepping back toward the way she came in. "Take care of yourself."

Helena nods. "I will." she says. "If I hear anything more, I'll let you know. Or let West know. After you beat him up, he should be better about it." She smiles, and they're done for the night.

October 7th: The Cliff Notes Version
October 7th: Open Door Policy
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