Participants:
| Scene Title | Just Following Orders |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Matt has to swallow his pride and ask Phoenix to help him and Molly. |
| Date | July 1, 2009 |
Despite it's name Coney Island is a peninsula, and only formerly an island. This small piece of real-estate is the southern-most point in Brooklyn, with beachfront property abutted by the Atlantic Ocean. A neighborhood of the same name is a community of 60,000 people in the western part of the peninsula, with Seagate to its west; Brighton Beach and Manhattan Beach to its east; and the Gravesend neighborhood to the north.
This area was once a major resort and site of amusement parks that reached its peak in the early 20th century. It declined in popularity after World War II and endured years of neglect. Since the bomb, Coney Island has fallen into a tragic state of disrepair, most prominently evidenced by the closing of the amusement parks on the island, notably Astroland and Deno's Wonder Wheel Amusement Park. The latter of those two serves as a rusting and monolithic ferris wheel that overlooks the decrepit state of the island. It's once bright carnation red paint peeling to reveal rusted steel.
Much of the amusement park areas surrounding the beach are now closed off by chain-link fence, though some portions have been battered down by vandalism and portions of the closed amusement parks are now used by gangs and other unsavory figures as meeting sites. With the NYPD stretched to its limits, police rarely have the availability to respond in a timely manner to this small and remote penninsula, making it a relatively dangerous part of Brooklyn.
As the sun sets over the water surrounding Coney Island's run-down peninsula, Matt Parkman sits on bench that once eased the tired feet of the amusement park's patrons, young and old. The suit he wears is wrinkled in spots, and there is quite a bit of hair-growth on his face. It's not quite a beard, but it's getting there. The man has unfurled a newspaper in front of him, one side lifted up while the other flutters with a soft breeze from the east.
Though his eyes are glued to the printed words on the newsprint, any close inspection will reveal that the man with the bags beneath his eyes and the wrinkles on his forehead is occupied by something within himself.
Helena is behatted and sunglassed, her hair tucked under a dark wig. Pretty much done as much as can be to prevent initial notice by anyone loitering who isn't her intended target. She hangs back though, waiting for Leo to tell her the area seems secure, and she won't so much as move until he tells her it's alright. At this point, Helena is a well-trained body to guard. Mostly.
Leonard is in dark t-shirt, army shorts, combat boots. Rather clean for the gutterpunk he otherwise seems to be. He wanders up, flops down on the bench, lazily drapes an arm along its top, looks over at Matt in mute expectation.
Matt hadn't expected Helena to come with someone, but it's hard to pin down why. Of course a woman like her in a spot like this would bring protection. That she thought she needed it from him brings the smallest of smiles curling into one corner of his mouth. Moving his eyes from Leonard to Helena, Matt nods to each of them.
"Thank you in advance," he says in a soft voice, wanting it to reach no further than either of the two Phoenix members. "I need your help."
Once Leonard gives the all-clear, Helena moves to stand near the pair, her tone conversational. "From what I understand, Papa Petrelli managed to get his hands on you and Molly." she says without any to-do. "I'm assuming he power-raped you?" Her tone is casual, but there's something kind of awful about the word power-raped.
Leo's face is utterly impassive. He looks almost sleepy, in fact. But the fingers of the hand draped along the top of the bench curl momentarily, in tension. He still remembers Verse. Will never forget him, in fact. He looks between them both.
It is quite an awful word, so awful that a sour-faced Matt can only nod, his jaw and neck tight as if trying to prevent losing his meager lunch. "I'm trying to get as much info on him as possible - useable information that I can take to the authorities and get him shut down and locked up." With the amount of venom in Matt's words, it's as much a personal issue as it is a duty-driven one. "But…if you know a way to… to fix us…"
Helena lets out a chuff of disgust. "The authorities. You really think the authorities have anything that could stop that man, even if you had proof? He's managed to take every power Gabriel Grey had in his arsenal, not to mention a few others." Then, "Yeah. I know a way to fix you."
That's news to Leo, by the quick cut of his eyes to Helena. He says nothing, still. There's an odd eddy of breeze around them, however, despite the stillness of the evening air.
"So you're just going to let him keep at it?" Matt asks with narrowing eyes, his lips curling into an angry snarl. "I'm doing the only thing I know how to do, Helena. If you've got a better idea, have at it. I won't stand in your way.
"But whatever happens, he has to be stopped."
"Oh, I'm so sorry." Helena says, going wide-eyed. "I think it's really interesting that now you're looking at me and mine like you expect us to do something about it, when as soon as you turn around, we're being publically condemned as terrorists and tossed in the fed pen where we get regularly tortured by telepaths. Back off a little, slugger, and don't make assumptions. Let's talk about you and Molly first."
And now there's that weird, oppressive flatness in the air, like a storm gathering. Though Helena seems to have a handle on her powers. Leo juts his jaw forward a little, giving Matt that patented pit bull stare. No overt threat, no need.
"Do I look like a damned Press Secretary?!" Matt's voice rises in volume, but after that outburst, he settles some. He's had this argument before, and it's the last thing he wants to get into now. Fine, yes. He and Molly. It's something that needs to be addressed, sure, but hasn't been exactly in the front of Matt's mind. In order to look at something that isn't Helena, Matt settles his dark eyes on Leonard, a bulldog to his pit bull.
"It's not my right to negotiate the services of another to my benefit." Helena says, and admits, "Though right now, I wish it was. We can make arrangements for you and Molly to meet with someone who can fix your present condition. Presumably, we have to trust you won't immediately bend us over and screw us once you've been fixed." Just because Matt is irritating her as much as she seems to be irritating him, she makes it sound like she's referring to some kind of impotency problem. Well, it's not altogether far from the truth.
Leonard offers Matt one of those smiles that patently isn't one, really. C'mon. Make my day. He's still lazily sprawled along the bench.
"I'd like to think you had a little more faith in me than that," Matt mumbles, his eyes and frown still fixed on the man she's brought along with her. "We all do what we're ordered to do, and the man dishing that out is Papa Petrelli's Golden Boy. And if his daddy voted for him, I doubt those things'll change anytime soon. Regardless, I'm not dumb enough to bite the hand that's wrapping my wounds."
"Matt, you of all people should know better than to spout we were just following orders at me." Helena smiles with faint bitterness. "It'll take a day or two to make the arrangements. Do you have a number for contact?" She whips out a disposable phone.
Leonard admires the state of his manicure, or lack thereof. "Just following orders," he echoes, faintly.
Not that comparison again. Matt grits his teeth as he recites the number of his own disposable phone - the only phone he has at the moment. He looks to Leonard and stands upright with a snap. "When you've got the proof that Evolved are being systematically worked to death and murdered, we can talk about Arthur Petrelli." Despite the tension in his muscles, Matt's voice is low, dry, and calm. He turns then, leaving his newspaper to the bench and breeze as he walks through the darkening landscape with his hands shoved into his pockets. If Helena passes his number along to someone who can restore his and Molly's powers? Great. If not?
Good riddance.
Helena grits her teeth. "Ungrateful jackass." she mutters, ungraciously. She rises as well. "C'mon. We have another meeting, and we have to pick Cat up for this one." With that, she beckons c'mon to Leo with her hand, and heads off in the opposite direction.
"Yeah, what a prick," Leo agrees, as he picks himself up and pads along side her.