For Pete's Sake


gillian4_icon.gif hiro_icon.gif rhys_icon.gif

Scene Title For Pete's Sake
Synopsis The Time Police (Hiro and Rhys) have a new ripple in time to correct and Gillian gets a mission from the other side this time around.
Date November 3, 2010

Jittetsu Arms - Chinatown

He will need you, he has needed you.

Gillian Childs' life shouldn't have to be this complicated. When a letter arrived for her at the Redbird Security building depicting the face of Peter Petrelli tagged with that line, along with the address of the Jittetsu Arms building in Chinatown, there was a certain sense of disbelief on opening the paper-crane form it came in.

Hiro Nakamura has an impossibly poor sense of irony.

Maybe her heart has stopped beating so hard by the time she's reached the open back door of Jittetsu under cover of a rainy night, maybe that sense of nausea in her stomach has finished twisting her insides up. It's unlikely, though. This dusty old former antiques shop serves nothing but to up the ante, putting Gillian into an unfamiliar situation with unfamiliar dangers.

Save for one, but he's not a danger to her.

Not yet.

Life is rarely withut complications these days, and have been for two years and a month, now. Ever since she started meeting the people who would begin to shape her life in ways Gillian still doesn't quite understand. Each had a singular impact, and that face is one that she's never actually had a picture of, but one she kept fresh in her mind whether she wanted to or not. The photograph is tucked into the inside of her slick black raincoat, as her hair is darkened closer to it's natural color from the rain. The umbrella she shakes off before stepping all the way in, didn't keep all of it off. Nor did the hood. Because on much the trip, she'd forgotten she had either.

"Hello?" she calls out, whispered voice hoarse and raspy, but with a sound that's normal enough for her. Especially when her stomach is twisted in knots.

Some could even say butterflies, though in this case paper cranes may be more appropriate.

The back door opens up to the cavernous space of the backroom, and in the dim, dim light that struggles its way through, Gillian will be able to see the immense string web that touches wall to wall. A lightning flash accompanying a gut-deep tremor of thunder spills illumination through grimy high windows, splashing white visibility up a Japanese-art dressing screen, and more detail in the time-map — twines and reds and blues. A slight wind that follows Gillian through makes the clippings pinned to sagging strings tremble like leaves on branches.

"Gillian," is not intended to startle her. But Hiro wasn't standing near the corner just a moment ago. The subtle sound of displaced air pushing around his teleporting self drowned out by the patter of rain and the grumble of weather in the clouds. Flinty assessment of a would-be villain scours over her, but he says; "Thank you for coming."

"This doesn't look at all familiar," Gillian comments at the sight of the strings. Building may be different. The people involved may not be entirely the same, but networks of strings she's seen many, many times before. "I was afraid this was from you," she adds after a moment, looking at him squarely. There's been few times that they've met, and never for very long, but always time travel happened either before, or just after. Or both, in the case of her attempt to change her own strings.

Without thinking about it, she touches the locket under her clothes to make sure it's still there.

"But I don't know why me. I mean he's got plenty of other people more than willing to jump in front of elephants for him…"

Hiro's arrival may have been jarring, but when Rhys Bluther appears flat on his ass dressed in a suit of silver spandex with enormous shoulder-pads, a powdered wig and too much rouge on his cheeks it is perhaps one of the strangest sights Gillian Childs has ever seen.

" — get you killed you prick!" The outburst, too, is largely uncalled for as the man that Rhys is yelling at is about 12 years in the past by now. Unsure of when exactly he has landed in the timeline now, Rhys stares up at Hiro with wide eyes, then looks over his shoulder to Gillian with a hiccup or surprise.

"Oh good lord is it that time already?" Rhys is trying to play it cool, like he didn't just hop-scotch from October 8th, 2010 to January 3rd, 1999 to— well whenever here is— in a shiny silver Lady Gaga outfit.

"Gillian," is quiclly blurted out, even while Rhys is looking at Hiro, his pupils dark and wide as he checks his own position in the timeline by comparing it to Hiro's own personal knot of history. "Oh for Pete's sake Hiro— November 3rd? Seriously?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, stomping one foot and turning to look at Gillian, Rhys offers the redhead a frown. "Sweetheart you looked a lot better as a brunette, just— saying."

"I have been busy," Hiro tells Rhys coolly. "We are still on schedule." Just. Careening into the later ends of that schedule, during a time when everything could break apart or come together.

He moves out of the shadows and into the wider space of the room, headed for where oil lamps— very Ferrymen chic— are sitting to allow for some light where they is no electricity. There is the stop start of teleportation and condensed time, and so it's only within a few seconds that pale light banishes back the deeper shadows. "Perhaps because you have learned your lesson about what must remain unchanged. Or Peter Petrelli," and Hiro's mouth twists ruefully, "has less friends than you think."

"I'm getting hair care advice from a guy in a wig and spandex… But for the record, I liked my hair better dark too," Gillian says, touching the damp strands as they suddenly feel even more red than they actually are— which is still redder than a normal shade of red. "At least I didn't try to go blonde," she adds, which is what she would expect of the hair color of someone who might have been called on this particular mission…

"I did learn, so I'll do whatever needs to be done. I owe you for not leaving me in the past— or to the mercy of the people who sent me there," she says quietly, voice becoming more serious for the moment. Though that lessens as her hazel eyes wander back to the teenager in the outfit, "Did you come straight from a Halloween Party or do you always dress like that?"

"Sister I won the masquerade ball at Tartarus I'll have you know, but that little hussy in her body-paint probably got the prize money instead since somebody had to have me go harass a drunk in England." Rhys offers a quick stare to Hiro, hands on his hips and brows furrowed, before turning his attention back to Gillian.

Exhaling a weary sigh, Rhys lifts up a hand to his forehead and walks over to Gillian. When his hand lowers, his pupils have eclipsed his irises and he stares at her for a moment, then dips his head down into a slow nod. "Peter's got problems, Samuel Sullivan shaped problems. The man who hired you? He's gone back with a hit-squad lookin' to take your Peter in his youth, before… well, a lot of things happen."

Glancing askance to Hiro, Rhys' brows furrow, followed by a look back to Gillian. "You're going because you did. It's hard to explain, and I worry if I tell you more it will mess something up, but this is one of those instances where we… really can't afford to clean up the mess."

Biting down on his bottom lip, Rhys looks askance to Hiro, then Gillian. "Kaylee Thatcher is still missing, which means our one reliable source of memory alteration is— well— missing. So you're going to have to play this carefully. But, we're sure one person is going to be expecting you back then and… if everything goes well— helping you."

A lot of things garner a reaction, but Gillian stays quiet until the young man is finished, expression becoming more serious by the minute, as she hears things that she should expect. "I understand the 'did it' part— But I get not giving me an instruction manual. That'd make it too easy. And nothing in life seems to be very easy. Especially with time travel involved. Maybe my hair being red is a good thing, if I need to be extra careful."

Peter hasn't seen her with her red hair yet, cause she hasn't seen him since the escape from the Institute. When she needed it afterwards.

First time she went back to try and step on Butterflies, and failed, this time, she needs to avoid the butterflies as much as possible. Cause there's no one to clean up after her if she makes a mistake. No revealing the future— no matter how much she might want to. "When do you need me to go back?" She asks, looking toward the looming Japanese man. "If you don't have me back here by November 8th I won't be too disappointed." It's not a day she's looking forward to.

"September 16th, 1993," is Rhys' rather accurate assessment of timing and location, especially when it concerns time that close to where he is in the timeline. "The ripples I'm feeling are headed in the direction of a residence not far from Central Park, I figure the Petrelli's home. The problem is, it's… not going to be easy to do this without stepping on as many butterflies as they're trying to."

Rhys looks askance to the string web. "Two people went back, one of them must be Samuel, the other's probably either a woman named Linda who has a power similar to Peter's," Rhys' eyes flick back to Gillian, "or Kira, Samuel's assassin. She's— fast, likes guns. It could be either of them, I don't know which."

Biting down on his bottom lip, Rhys furrows his brows. "Your best bet is to just get Peter out of the house before they arrive. Take him somewhere, keep him safe and away from trouble… Coney Island maybe?"

Did Rhys really suggest Coney Island?

"I will try to protect you to the best of my ability." This from Hiro, standing off towards the side, making a strange triangle out of the three of their points within the room. Streaks of strings do minor attempts at obscuring him from vision, and send strange, thready shadows around the room beneath oil lamp illumination. His own shadow is painted unnaturally tall up the wall, making himself and sword both seem larger than life.

A formidable ally. "However, you will be largely on your own," is unfortunate. "I find it dangerous to remain in these sites of conflict, as their temporal manipulator tampers with my ability to get you home. But Rhys will be able to guide me, should you need me."

Someone who can copy powers or a sniper, and possibly the man who would definitely recongize her as someone who was supposed to do something to re-write her own destiny and then chose not to. Gillian bites her lower lip in worry as she thinks about the possible conflicts, and the fact she has to try and shelter a much younger Peter Petrelli from what's going to happen, as well as keep him from finding out too much, cause they can't mess with his memory anymore than it already has been.

"Certainly not giving me an easy assignment, Lord Gaga," she says, in response to the whole thing. "I'm going to need some money that'll work in the early 90s, so I'm not walking around waving the crazy monopoly money we have these days with the huge president faces." Especially if she's going to be hiding in him Coney Island…

Of all places.

"I'll trust you to be there if I really need it," she adds to Hiro, eyes darkening a bit at the intimidating shadow he casts— and the sword. "But I'll do my best to take care of the timeline for you. And not get killed." Though it wouldn't be the first time she nearly died because of him. …Even if chronologically speaking it would be.

"The mint is going to be very cross with us," Rhys explains as he reaches down for his back pocket where a wallet is normally kept, but instead finds a tightly wound silver spandex posterior. Brows furrowing, Rhys looks up with lips parted and eyes wide. He'd left his wallet— probably back in October somewhere.

Clearing his throat, Rhys looks up to Gillian with a sheepish smile. "Don't worry, darling, I'll be watching out for you from up here in the future and if anything goes wrong and you need to get out, I'll— well Hiro's getting good at this." Even if that assessment earns a worried look from Rhys to Hiro.

He is getting good at it, even if every jump through time shaves off the length of his life.

"Hiro," but Rhys can't let the time-traveler know he's worried, "can I borrow some money?"

Humor's a great way of hiding concern.

"'Borrow'," is all Hiro says, musing over the word choice. Rhys doesn't borrow — this implies Hiro will see his money again. He has his focus on Gillian, moving forward, ducking and weaving through the string web with the skill of someone who navigates it far too often, hilt of his sword nearly taking out an article about a village-consuming fire in Egypt, before he comes to stand before her. Up close, he is smaller, has to tilt his head to meet her gaze, and the shadows aren't working for him then.

The money from the nineties is taken from a pocket — separated from English pounds — and offered for Gillian to take. Once it does, the remaining bills are slipped away, and Hiro squares his shoulders and offers a hand. He looks like he's about to take a plunge, or endure a needle, his shoulders tense.

The money is pushed into her pocket, as Gillian quickly realizes that it's now or never— she's going to be walking around in a time she only barely remembers as the early years of her life, when she teased her younger siblings and was just starting to be a little rebel of the family. It's the man's expression, the squaring of his shoulders, that draws her attention for the most part, as she returns the now empty hand to take his.

Even without him asking for it, she unravels the small knot in the back of her head to give him a small flow of energy. She may not know what it's doing to him, but she can tell when a little extra wouldn't hurt.

"Time to make sure your string map doesn't break."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License