dina_icon.gif munin_icon.gif sylar_icon.gif

Scene Title Gifts
Synopsis They come in a variety of different forms.
Date November 11, 2008

Eagle Electric

Most notable business collapse in Queens was that of Eagle Electric, a major manufacturer based out of Long Island City for decades, comprised of acres of warehouses and manufacturing plants designed to produce electronic components to suit all sorts of needs. The western warehouse of the Eagle Electric lot is an enormous and foreboding red-painted building made entirely from sheets of ridged steel. Amidst the grass growing up through the cracks in the pavement and the burned out cars in the parking lot, it seems just as uninhabited as the rest of the area. A large and ruined sign at the top of the office and manufacturing building prominently reads, "Eagle Electric—Perfection Is Not An Accident."

I see trees of green, red roses too

I see them bloom for me and you

And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

Early morning finds the warehouse at Eagle Electric occupied not by men cleaning their firearms, but by the throaty voice of Louis Armstrong reverberating off the walls and echoing in the rafters. An orchestral track accompanies the singer's lyrics, fills the empty space between the floor and the ceiling and lends the room a strange sort of old-time ambiance — though you don't have to be as old as Kazimir is to appreciate the welcoming affect the music has on the property's otherwise desolate and somewhat hostile environment.

I see skies of blue and clouds of white

The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night

And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

Sunlight streams in through the cracks in the warehouse's windows, illuminating the particles of dust in the crisp November air and the slim, diminuitive figure standing in one of the brighter shafts. Munin has no formal dance training, but dancing is exactly what she's doing — even if it doesn't look that way from a distance.

The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky

Are also on the faces of people going by

I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do

They're really saying I love you.

Her movements are slow and laboured, and while this fits the song's swaying rhythm, the slightly pained expression on her face suggests she she doesn't have much of a choice. Posture yogaesque, she raises her arms above her head, one leg held out behind her body as she stretches out, warming up in morning glow.

I hear babies crying, I watch them grow

They'll learn much more than I'll never know

And I think to myself what a wonderful world

Dina comes into the warehouse herself. She hears the music, rather surprised, and it isn't till she draws closer that she can get a look at the other woman in there. The fact that she's dancing surprises her, and Dina's quiet a long moment. "That's very good." she says, looking back to her.

Munin darts a quick glance over her shoulder at Dina, pitching her body off-balance in the process. Her leg comes down and she stumbles forward a few steps — directly into a nearby crate. Her small hands, thrust out to break the fall, collide with the crate's side and produce a mighty WHUMP! so loud it startles the flock of crows in the rafters, launching them into flight.

By the time the furious flurry of wingbeats has subsided and the birds have all settled into their new perches, Munin has hastily crossed to the boombox on the other side of the warehouse and ejected the cassette tape inside. Her cheeks appear to be tinged with pink, though this might just be a trick of the light. That's not to say she isn't embarrassed — sheepish, she closes her hands around the cassette and holds it to her chest, fixing Dina with something of a bewildered look. Clearly, she wasn't expecting anyone to show up until later.

Dina takes a step closer as Munin starts to fall, but she more or less catches herself. Her own expression is a little bit confused. "What's the matter, wee bit? I don't bite. Y'r very good at that. I'm not so limber."

And people are showing up now rather than later. Sylar looks up towards the birds exiting the high windows of the warehouse, coming to a contemplative halt as he notices the sound of music, and the presence of voices. The metallic sound of the doors opening adds to the ambience, now, and he even uses his hands this time to achieve it, slipping inside the shadowy interior of the building. He's dressed neatly, in grey slacks and a dark green button down, tucked in, and over that is a rain-resistant trench coat. In his hand, a plastic tube - the kind paintings are rolled into and kept safe.

"Th— Thanks." Munin swallows, hard, and glances down at the tips of her toes. She's barefoot, which might not have been such a good idea if she hadn't swept the warehouse clean before starting her routine; a discarded dustpan and broom are propped up against the door, and several large piles of dead leaves, broken pieces of glass and other debris sit scattered around the room, testaments to the completion of such a task. "I was supposed to be— I mean. I mean I thought— It's early, so—"

Dina looks back at Munin. "So is that what y' did before y' got caught up in all this? Dancin'? Y' look like you had some practice at it. I don't think I could get m' legs to go that far if I tried."

"She looks like a dancer," Sylar muses, now walking slowly towards the two women when he doesn't see anyone else in the immediate vicinity. Of course, Eagle Electric is a large place - perhaps his meandering back to Queens isn't entirely for naught. He's also clean shaven, for once, as if to match his neat attire and sensible shoes, which become a little less shiny as he walks across the less than clean floor. "Is Kazimir here?" he asks, looking towards Munin, now.

Munin shakes her head. "They're just exercises is all. I've never even set foot in a dance studio." Much as she might have wanted to. Although she's careful about the words she chooses to answer Dina with, she has a hard time concealing the wistful note in her voice. "You don't have to get your legs to go that far. You're— " Whatever Munin was about to say next is cut abruptly short when Sylar's voice rings out and she realizes that, no, she and Dana aren't alone. "He's not," she tells the man as he approaches. "Off on some errand, I expect. Word around Ethan's is you and your friend had an exciting night. That true?"

Dina turns to look over at Sylar as he approaches. "I've not seen him this morning. Funny thing, other night. He called y' Gabriel. Hero of God. So which is the real one?" An amused look. "Y' look good all cleaned up like that, though." Is she -flirting-? With -Sylar-?

So his meandering back to Queens is entirely for naught. In vague irritation, Sylar glances down at the tube container in his hand. Maybe if he just sticks around for a while, Kazimir will come back eventually. He's tempted to turn and wander the facilities, but inevitably pulled into conversation, he moves to stand within a suitable distance to the two. He looks side-long at Dina, and if he recognises the flirting, he doesn't acknowledge it. "Sylar," he answers, flatly, the painting container coming to rest against his shoulder casually which belies the severity in his tone. "My name is Sylar. Kazimir just likes to liken his followers with angels." Munin, in turns, gets more of a hesitation, before he says, "Yes. It was an interesting night." So informative.

Munin doesn't press for more information. She's curious, but any questions she has for Sylar can also be saved for Ethan; judging by the tone of his voice and the brief pause before his response, what happened last night isn't a subject that's presently open for discussion. And that's just fine by her. "What've you got in the tube?"

Hmph. Well, so be it. "Sylar then. And sure'n the wee bit's got a good question. What've y' got there?" She leans up against the nearest boxes. Lazy morning.

Too late to hold it behind his back and ask 'what tube?' But then, he has no real reason not to tell them what it is, aside from details. And he'll readily talk about this than an incident that knocked him off balance not just in front of Kazimir, but in front of Wu-Long and Ethan too. And, for that matter, Odessa. "It's a painting of the future, for Kazimir," the killer states, plainly. "I'd show you but it's not very good." Was. That a joke? Maybe. You'd have to squint to pick up any indication of such, as his expression is as stoic as usual. Perhaps to reward Munin's tactful dropping of the subject, he adds, "Odessa, the woman in the park. She's one of ours now."

The expression that settles over Munin's features is difficult to read. Whatever her true feelings are, she keeps them closely guarded, hidden behind dark lashes and a rueful smile bordering between two very different sets of emotions. On the one hand, she's glad to hear Odessa is still alive. On the other, she can't say she's too happy to find out she'll be seeing more of her in the near future. "If you won't show us," she murmurs, knowing Sylar can hear her no matter what the volume of her voice, "how about you tell us what's so special you want to show Kazimir?"

The Irishwoman looks amused. "Y' never know. Maybe it's a present for him, wee bit." This is what he gets for failing to notice her. "Maybe he's got a thing for our fearless leader." Oh, sure. She's teasing. But she does that. She moves to approach Munin while they're all chatting.

"The future isn't special enough?" he asks of Eileen, and Dina gets a narrowed look. Possibly too seriously, Sylar says, "Or maybe it's just imperative we communicate important information to our superiors. Things they should know before it becomes common knowledge." No one ever said he was easy to get along with.

"Hard to imagine anyone with a 'thing' for Kazimir," says Munin, completely serious. "Least of all him. He's already got a lady-friend." Or so the state of his apartment at Siann Hall has led her to believe. To Sylar, she raises both her dark brows. "I guess that depends on your definition of 'special'. I am. You are. Dina is. Stand two of us together, though, and one ends up looking a little less shiny than the other. Do you show him all your paintings? Or just this one?"

Dina blinks. "Ohhhh. I get it. He's got a thing for some other bint. Ahh, well. Lucky girl, she is." She looks back to Munin, as if Sylar and his painting are somehow much less interesting now. "So tell me, what were y' about to ask me before we started down this road, wee bit?"

"…no, she's not— " And Sylar gives up on explaining right there. Right there. Because while the rest of Vanguard thinks that bringing up his non-existent love life in conversation is a good idea, he's not about to encourage them with confirmation or denial. "Not all paintings," he says, and watches Dina turn away from him with a flicker of irritation, even as he continues to answer Munin with, "Just this one. Might make his day."

"Might?" Munin decides to leave it at that. If Sylar wants to ponder the implications of such a succinct question, he can do it while she shifts her attention back to Dina, dark-haired head tilted at an angle that is decidedly bird-like. "Whatever it was," she says, "it couldn'ta been that important, seeing as I don't remember." She sets the cassette tape down on top of the boombox where she'll remember to pick it up later and glances out the doors, toward the chain-link fence and the distant ebb and flow of Long Island City traffic. "I can go look for Kazimir. Sun's up, so the birds'll fly."

Dina nods. "Fair enough. I'm goin' t' go hunt down some breakfast. See the both of you about soon." And with that, she turns to head for the warehouse entrance. Food beckons.

Sylar inclines his head to Munin, surly demeanor clearing some at the offer. "Thank you. Has anyone ever said you have an amazing gift?" As for Dina, Sylar glances her way when she heads out, and decides to toss a "goodbye, Dina," over his shoulder as she goes.

Munin watches Dina depart, eyes trained on the woman's retreating back. "Plenty," she tells Sylar, "but it means more coming from someone like you." Telekinesis, superhuman hearing, precognition, pamnesia — with such a varied plethora of abilities at his command, Munin believes that Sylar knows what he's talking about when it comes to gifts. Should anyone be watching the gate beyond, she waits until Dina's shape has disappeared before she too starts walking towards the exit. Unlike Dina, though, she stops on the threshold, spreads her arms and looks back over her shoulder at Sylar. "You wanna see something neat?"

Patent leather shoes squeak just a little as he follows Munin towards the exit, the tube still leaning against his shoulder as he goes, and Sylar tilts his head to the side slightly. "I always like to see something neat," he confirms.

Munin draws her arms into her chest and folds her arms across her chest, bowing her head until she feels her chin touch against her collarbone. There's a short moment of silence in which she stands motionless save for the slight rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathes, but just when it seems nothing is going to happen, the crows explode into a raucous whorl of motion, filling the warehouse with sound of powerful wingbeats, rustling feathers and the hoarse vocalizations for which they are named.

The black horde surges past Sylar and toward Munin, dozens upon dozens of wingtips clipping his ears and generating a wind that rustles through his hair and clothes; within an instant its feathery mass has swallowed her whole, engulfing her body like a wave crashing up upon a shore. When the flock clears, only a few discarded feathers remain at the mouth of the warehouse, each one glimmering a multitude of colours in the early-morning sun. There's no sign of the girl, or any indication of where she might have went — only that she's gone.

That's unbelievably loud, but Sylar takes it as he's learned to take it - although he can't help but cringe away when the masses of crows whip past him too close for it to be natural. He doesn't even hear the clatter of the carrier tube dropping to the ground under the sound of beating wings, and by the time the mass has cleared, his ears are ringing. And he's alone in the warehouse. Slowly, he picks the painting back up, and ponders the reality behind the smoke and mirrors… but some things are best undiscovered.

For now.

November 10th: Hello, Goodbye
November 11th: Closing In
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