La Mer



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Scene Title La Mer
Synopsis Eve awakens on the shores of the Empire State, the beaches of 34th Street.
Date July 8, 2009


La mer…

Sunlight filters through thick, heavy clouds the color of a tangerine's insides. The sky burns a soft bluish purple down at the horizon, where glittering waves look like a thousand diamonds strewn across a blue glass plate. The cry of gulls and sea birds echoes far and wide, their winged forms silhouetted against the clear skies as they pass between earth and sun.

Qu'on voit danser le long des golfes clairs

Sun-baked concrete ripples with warmth as sea surf crashes against the broken pylons of a bridge half sunken into the waters, only the dangling cables that once supported the great span and its tall rocky towers left. In the rippling ocean waves, the bridge looks almost like a grimacing mouth, when twinned against its reflection.

A des reflets d'argent

The warm sunlight is what first stirs the black-haired woman laying on her back on a large and dry piece of warm concrete. Her eyes have opened halfway, letting the golden rays of sunlight from the setting sun turn everything a fiery orange in her eyes. Here, atop a large platform of broken stone, twisted pieces of rusted rebar encrusted with barnicles and tangled with seaweed just barely poke out over the top of gently lapping surf.

La mer…

The mossy caps of buildings dot the horizon, little crumbling tops of once glittering skyscrapers of glass and steel, now mostly submerged below the rolling surf. Closer by, a seagull perches on what was once a window frame, pecking at something pinned between its feet — a small silvery fish. As Eve Mas pushes herself up into a seated position, the quiet serenity of these watery shores finally begins to take hold in her mind.

Des reflets changeants

Not far from her, out on a set of concrete steps that ascend up to nothing but open sky, someone is singing. Long, stringy blonde hair blows in a warm breeze, dark clothing covering pale skin. With her back to Eve, seated on the edge of those crumbling steps to nowhere, her legs swing back and forth, and she keeps singing that sweet song in French.

Sous la pluie

It's only when Eve spots a distant green shape on the horizon, that everything clicks together. It's an arm — an enormous, green metal arm holding a torch, rising up from the water, covered in algae and barnicles, gently crashing surf turning white sea foam against the oxidized copper surface. And the other woman, just keeps singing.

La Mer…

The dark-haired singer slowly begins to walk towards the blonde haired girl. Her light grey eyes travel around the area and they widen with shock. /New York/ is under water.. the gulls in the air.. the sound of the waves crashing around her.

"Beautiful voice." She calls out to the blonde girl, her head cocks to the side as a sea crab runs across her toes. Eve looks down for a moment and shoos the critter away.

The singing stops, wind blowing string for a moment. Tucking her legs under herself, the blonde puts the heels of black flats down on the concrete and slowly rises to stand, soles scuffing the worn stone. She turns halfway towards Eve, blonde hair caught in the wind and covering her face. It's only when the wind changes direction, that Eve is made witness to the fact that half of her face is missing, replaced by nothing but a bleached white skull, the rest of her face visibly unharmed on the other side, skin peeled away from bone like dry parchment paper, not a sign of blood anywhere.

Staring down at Eve, she pulls the dark fabric of her coat close to herself, and as her feet scuff further against the concrete, something small at the top of the steps is nudged by her foot, and comes rattling and bouncing with plastic clicks down the steps. Finally, it rolls to a stop against Eve's foot, an orange plastic bottle with a white child-proof cap. The text on the label is nothing but gibberish, and the bottle is half full of tiny white pills.

Mouth open wide with surprise at the woman's appearance. Eve can't seem to take her eyes off the woman until she hears and sees the bottle of pills. She bends down to pick them up. "What are these for?" she calls out to the other singer with studying look at the bottle.

"For the pain." The voice doesn't come from the blonde, but a familiar and long-lost voice that calls out behind Eve. The voice alone is enough to jerk her around, cause her to turn her back on the singer, where Peter Petrelli stands with his arms behind his back, a sleek ink-black suit covering him. Dark circles shadow his eyes, long hair swept down one side of his face, he looks healthier than she last saw him, but so tired. Notably, however, are his eyes. Peter's eyes are blue not brown.

"We all take something," Peter says in a quiet voice, standing on the opposite edge of the broken rooftop from Eve, "for the pain, don't we?" As he starts to walk, his hands come out from behind his back, covered in black leather gloves. The click of metal on stone comes only when Peter rests the cane carried in one hand tip-down against the concrete, evenly interspersing his steps as he walks.

A black-gloved thumb rolls across the notch on the brow of the wolf's head at the cane's top, and Peter's blue eyes drift from Eve to the blonde woman standing on the steps to nowhere. "She's got nowhere to go, Eve. Nothing's waiting for her," his eyes track back down to her, "nothing's waiting for you too, but in a very different way." The scar across Peter's face seems just a bit more prominent, deeper shadows on it.

"Haven't you done something for the pain, yet?"

"Pe- Peter?" Eve says softly.. but she quickly notices his eyes and shakes her head. "Who is she?" gesturing to the blonde woman behind them. Her eyes blink and then slide down to the cane. "How- Who are you?" Her gaze narrows at the man before her.

"What pain?"

"She's just the messenger," Peter says with an unusually slow cadence to his speech, every word carefully enunciated, "a herald if you will, of the coming storm." Tapping the cane on the concrete below him, Peter takes another few steps closed, reaching up with one gloved hand to brush a lock of Eve's hair from her face, and she can see tiny wisps of black smoke coiling in tendrils around his fingers.

Blue eyes stay locked on Eve, lopsided lips turning to a smile that bares white teeth in the light of the setting sun. "The pain of helplessness, because in the end, there's nothing you can do." His gloved hand lightly caresses Eve's cheek, fingertips trailing down to her chin, followed by a gentle tap on her nose.

The black smoke is something Eve recognizes and knows very well. "Shit." She says softly and stiffens as Peter touches her. Her eyes wide and breath caught. "What can I do nothing about?" she asks softly and her eyes stay focused on Peter's eyes. The blue ones that he doesn't have in the waking world.

"The End." The answer is simple enough, and it's unusually not the feeling of prickling extremities, but rather the sudden bite of steel in her abdomen that finds Eve's life snuffed out on the rooftop. With the sword unsheathed from his cane, Peter drives the blade hilt deep into Eve's stomach, wrenching it from one side to the other as he lets her slump forward against his shoulder, breathing out warm words into her ear as equally warm blood flows down from the wound.

"The past," his words echo her previous dream, "is prologue." And as if in punctuation to his sentence, the sun finally disappears behind the horizon, casting the world in an absolute blackness, save for the blue rings of Peter's eyes burning into the back of her mind, and silent save for the lilting voice of the blonde-haired siren.

La Mer…

Sweat beads down Eve's forehead as she bolts up from her bed, blankets tangled around her legs, halfway laying off of one side of her mattress. The night sky out her window sheds pale moonlight through and onto the room, lighting dully unpainted canvases and closed cans of paint. Still, in the back of her mind, as she struggles to catch her breath, she can hear that woman singing.

Au ciel d'été confond…

Her heart pounds and blood rushes in her ears, a faint tingle of an ache still present on her stomach where the sword had run her through in dreams.

Ses blancs moutons…

Eyes settled on the paint cans scattered around the bedroom, it's clear to Eve that she has some work to do. And as a headache begins to set in, throbbing at th eback of her mind, another truth dawns on her.

Avec les anges si purs…

She should take something for the pain.

La mer bergère d'azur…

Shouldn't she?


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