Family Reunion


edgar_icon.gif samuel_icon.gif

Scene Title Family Reunion
Synopsis Edgar gains back his freedom and a chance at home, while Samuel gains a formidable ally.
Date October 29, 2010

Thomas Jefferson Trailer Farm

When Edgar's head throbs its way back into consciousness, he is not where he was last, if he can actually remember the last few minutes before he was clocked in the head with a sailing rock. There is a touch of familiarity anyway, of his surroundings, with the shape of the trailer's interior opening up to his eyes, the light knifing in through windows that are curtained with some whimsy, mispatched patterns that attenuate the light rather than shut it out entirely. Personal touches and items aren't plenty enough to drown out the modern living angles of the trailer, all panelled wood and claustrophobia.

The door is partially opened, and a light rain patters acoustics on the window just above his head. In comparison to baking Utah midday, it's cold. Quiet. Beyond, there are city sounds, distant conversation, and then, abruptly, the sound of foot steps as someone enters.

Samuel doesn't look towards the cot immediately, as if expecting Edgar to be still passed out. There is a grimness to the set of his expression, a harried energy in his movements, the barest hint of things not being all as well as they could be that he wouldn't normally portray in front of others. A book gripped in his hand is set down on a modest dinner table, set into the wall of the trail. Back to Edgar, he sits, and the sound of rustling pages follows.

When Samuel sits again Edgar tests his fingers, wiggling them as fast as he can before he sits up at about the same speed. The knife thrower knows that Samuel had found Lydia long before, for all he knows, Samuel came to rescue him from either the past or from prison. He reaches behind his head with one hand and touches the tender spot, wincing when contact is made.

The speedster doesn't say anything right away, had Joseph or even Lydia had been there, they'd know right away that Edgar's emotions are conflicted. Overjoyed at finding another member of his family, betrayed at being left in prison for so long, but still… "Samuel," he emits, finally. "You came." A simple statement that covers pretty much every base on the emotional scale.

Still dressed in his stolen shorts, the marijuana t-shirt that was won in a poker game, and a pair of battered work boots, Edgar finally stands. Looking down at himself, he suddenly feels self conscious, under dressed for a reunion.

Samuel goes still for a split second, but twists to regard Edgar after that, something strangely defensive in the angle of his shoulders beneath crisp, grey shirt and houndstooth waistcoat, satin backing the approximate colour of oil. But a smile breaks, as it must, and he's getting to his wingtip clad feet with enthusiasm befitting a reunion, leaving the book on the table. It lies opened to the ceiling, and Edgar can see that it's all blank pages with inky images drawn into them — Samuel's hand, by the looks of it.

"Edgar," sounds warm, hands going out, now, to clasp the younger man's upper arms, vaguely paternal. "Don't be foolish, it was only a matter've time before I did. Welcome home." Because while this might not be the carnival, a carnival is a roaming thing anyway — the terrain beneath ones feet does not have to be home, just the people that populate it.

Edgar's eyes squint for the briefest span of time, something that only another speedster or Hiro could detect, if he stopped time at the right moment. What can be noticed is what follows, the twitch taking over his left eye, a tick he developed while in custody. "I's waitin' for you Samuel, all those years.. Wha' 'appened? I saw you runnin' inteh the woods, an' Arnold goin' fer Joseph." The twitch works at a fantastic pace when he mentions that name. A definite tell on where the younger man's feelings lie on that front. "Glad you din't ge' caught, s'an 'orrible place. Wouldn' wish i' on my worst enemy… Well.. No, no' ev'n 'im. Moab ain't fit for no man, woman, or child…"

There's a sudden smile from the knife thrower and he claps his hands up on Samuel's shoulders, relief flooding through him. "Lydia told me you'd found 'er, I should've asked for you then. I was… confused. Though' I'd found a family again."

There is a brief bro-hug that Edgar finds himself trapped in, Sam's hand clapping companiably on his back before he breaks apart again, the lines at his eyes showing more smile than his mouth does. "Brother, I went into that forest to die." Moving off, he heads for the table he'd sat at, perching again on the opposite side to face Edgar this time, flipping the art book around to consult again. It's silent invitation to be joined. The rich smell of rain on grass is currently airing through the open trailer door, which might be why it's kept open despite the chill.

"That's what Arnold told me, in any case. He says the injuries took me under, but then he used that amazing talent of his to rescue me." Though Edgar is no Lydia, he might still be able to detect a twitch of tension in the tilt of Samuel's head as he talks of their oldest friend, fingertips drumming on a page. "I've been adrift ever since, for all those years, as you say. Only recently started finding my way again."

If there's something Edgar knows about, it's twitches and tension, having lived in that very state since his release from the penitentiary. Spinning the other chair backward with one hand, he sits down on it leaning his arms on top of the back and resting his chin on top of them. He stares down at the book for a moment before sucking a squeak of air between his teeth and glancing up at Samuel.

"Sum'then wrong wi' Arnold? Where's 'e now?" The trailer certainly looks too small for two to inhabit, cozy rather than cramped as they used to say. "It's no wonder you didn't come for me then… You found anyone else? The Bowmans? 'Ow're they… Y'know 'ow they're doin'?" Edgar's eyes furrow and his lips draw tight into a thin line. "I wish I could'a stopped it. I could've if i' weren't for tha' damned negator."

"Arnold— " There's a small noise in Samuel's throat, a grunt of annoyance as he toys with the edges of pages with the side of his thumb. "Y'know how sick he was. He got better, for a wee while, but now he's even worse off than before. I'm worried, is all. We did find the Bowmans," is good news, mildly delivered, and a good way to curb away from the fact that the terrakinetic isn't telling Edgar all of his woes in relation to the elderly time traveler. "And a few new faces."

He places a paw on the table between them, not touching, but it's a gesture of assurance. "What's done is done," Samuel says, before he shrugs a little. "To a point, in any event. What is it you were doin' for Nakamura, Edgar? He bribe you with your freedom?"

"Nakamura? Y'mean tha' Japanese fellow? Hiro? Freedom would'a been a good enough reason… Bu' no. Aside from tha' I's goin' teh save a.." Edgar's jaw clenches tightly for a moment, flaring out a bit at the hinge. He looks down at the book, his eyebrows still knit together in a frown. "A woman tha' promised me a fam'ly, she didn' deliver on tha'. But I ain' one teh turn my back when I owe a debt. Debt's been repaid now, s'far as I can tell."

Drawing in a deep breath, the speedster shrugs his shoulder and glances toward the trailer door and out to the fresh air beyond. "'E should stop smokin', Arnold, I mean. Damage is done but 'e could blow one'a them oxygen cans up." Reaching one of his hands behind his head, Edgar rubs at the back of his neck before jerking it to the side and letting off a loud series of cracks.

There is mute, unpleasant surprise in the lift of Samuel's eyebrows, to know there was something personal involved with Edgar's mission. He nods, however, in compassion, and keeps his attention on the man in front of him rather than wander it away. Long consideration that blots out suggestions about Arnold's unhealthier habits. How to spin this.

"I've been working with Lydia and Arnold, to do somethin' big. For years, people like us, we've been living on the barest fringes of society, effecting no change and making our honest living. And then the world finds out about us, and look what happens." Samuel allows for a pause, letting Edgar's own memory of the raid fill in that point. "We're reinventing the world. If Arnold's power can bring someone back from the dead, than what else could it do, I asked myself. So we've been using Lydia's power as our compass, and going back in into history using Arnold's ability, and redirectin' the courses of history. It's no small task.

"Your friend— Melissa— seems like she got in the middle of it. For that I'm sorry, I should never have sent Maeve on such a delicate mission. She was only meant to make sure that Melissa was out of harms way, so that I could talk to her myself before Homeland Security hunted her down, out there. As unfortunate as it is, I'm glad you were the one to stop her."

"Melissa… she's a part've…" Edgar's mind doesn't work quite as quickly as the rest of him does, though not a dim man, he takes a little while to draw conclusions. "So she's part've wha'ever keeps us from bein' free. Tha' group she brough' me into, Messiah, the ones tha' lef' me teh DHS again… 're they part've the thing tha' keeps us from bein' free as well?" More often than not, without a guiding hand, his conclusions work on their own little rail of thought.

"Sorry abou' you're friend… If I'da known, I might've … ehn.. I likely would'a brough' 'er to you, Melissa tha' is." The knife thrower shrugs apologetically, giving the ringmaster a bit of a grimace. "If you need'er, I can prob'ly find'er so you can talk to 'er."

Samuel nods his thanks, allowing a small smile to play at the corners of his mouth, rubbing knuckles beneath his own jaw in a scritch at the stubble growing in. "You've got a mind for this kind of work," he observes, as he watches Edgar come to his conclusion. It's a pretty good one. In Samuel's humble opinion. "As for Miss Pierce— later. Nakamura's been giving us some trouble, and anythin' I touch, all the work I do, he seems to be unravelin'.

"He's got someone workin' with him — I suspect she must be a telepath of some kind. Using her, and others, they've been patchin' over the changes I make. Memory is such an important thing, when it comes to history. I went after her, but it didn't take. Hiro's hidden her somewhere in time." If he's lying, it's delivered as sweetly as truth. "I'm going to find her, and once I do, I need you to collect her.

"Or at the very least, stop Hiro from retrieving her himself. Do you think you'd be able to do that?"

"Jus' collect 'er? Yeah, I can do tha'.. Avoidin' tha' 'Iro fellah's goin'teh be tricky work though. Anyone tha' can stop time…" Edgar's eyebrows shoot up a little as he comes to yet another one of those conclusions. "Unless I stop 'im at the same time as collectin' 'er… I done the job 'e wanted. S'long as 'e don't know I'm no' playin' 'is game no more… Should be an easy grift. Take ou' the time traveller, then you go' your telepath free an' clear, eh?"

There's a small smile and a nod from Edgar, "You can trust me to do the job, Samuel. They won' be patchin' nothin' up… 'cept maybe a time traveller. Bu' the telepath ain' gonna 'ave nothing to do wi' that."

Samuel's eyes go a little crescent in contained mirth at just collect 'er. Nothing is very simple anymore, but expounding on the details seems like a stupid idea around now. Later, there's time for that later. "That's the kind of thing I like to hear," Samuel says, and deals a glance to his book, considering leaving it there or not. Ultimately, he swipes it up to take with, as he goes to stand. "C'mon, I'll introduce you t'some've those I've gathered since we began.

"I'll have you an' Maeve shake hands proper-like, maybe," is reasonably good humour, as he steps for the door and stands beside it. Gestures, with a hand, invite for Edgar to rejoin the present. "Then I advise y'go see Lydia. She's been worryin' somethin' terrible."

"I dunno if I can, Samuel… I can leave 'er a message, bu' I don' want them DHS gettin' anywhere near 'er. They'll be lookin' for me again." Not that it was easy for them to get the speedster the last time. Getting up from his seat, Edgar whirls the chair back into its proper place and then saunters toward the door. The mention of Maeve has him wincing a little and a grimace of distaste forms on his features.

"Which 'and? I sort've gibbled one'a them." A high speed stomp on asphalt tends to make appendages useless for a little while. Stepping out of the door, he turns back to wait for Samuel and offers a touch of an easier smile. "Y'think I should pick'er some flowers'er sum'then… Ladies like tha' sort've thing."

"Maybe no handshake, in that case. And for that matter, it's effort that ladies like," Samuel corrects, hopping down outside and leaving the door open. Around them, the Thomas Jefferson Trailer Farm extends in a sprawl landscape, with a graveled road just near, and so many other near identifical trailers making permanent homes. It's not quite home, but it'll do for as long as it must take.

A clap of a hand to Edgar's shoulder is silent sympathy for his predicament with Lydia, and mute agreement. Relief isn't detectable, because by then, Samuel is turning his back to lead the way.

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