Lying Liars Who Lie


brian_icon.gif helena_icon.gif munin_icon.gif

Scene Title Lying Liars Who Lie
Synopsis Helena interrogates Munin while Brian looks on. She's not very good at it!
Date December 4, 2008

Undisclosed Location

Eileen has been left in the care of Brian. That could be very scary for some who know him. He once had to take a dog to the vet because he just figured someone else was feeding him for three days. He was wrong! The young man has had copies bring some things from the library. He has nailed up sheets over the windows so that Eileen has privacy. And is currently in process of carting a plate towards her little cell. Two copies walk side by side. And one waits at the door. Opening the door copy number three ushers the two in.

One is carrying a large pucket of warm water, a towel folded in his arm and a few pieces of clothing piled on top of that. The other Brian carries a tray, a plate with eggs, bacon, grapes and a glass of orange juice. "Morning." One says semi-cheerily. "I hope you're not vegetarian. And I brought you some fresh clothes. They might not fit.. But I was kinda hoping you would gain two hundred pounds overnight." He makes a tsk sound. "Dream ruined." He sets down the bucket, the other Brian brings the tray forward.

"Sleep alright?"

Teo told her late last night that they had the bird girl. Since that time, Helena's had very little sleep. But once it seemed like a reasonable hour, she showered and dressed and made her way to where they've been holding Eileen, hair still damp and skin still flushed from the hot water. She approaches the guards outside the prisoner's door, the air warming as she draws near. "G'morning, Brian." she says to them a bit tiredly. "I need to talk to her. Is she awake yet?"

"Eileen" doesn't look as though she's slept at all. Her sallow face is defined by a pair of dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, still slightly puffy from shedding tears throughout the night. She sits on the cot with her back to the wall, legs drawn into her chest, arms hugging her knees. Visibly tensing when Brian enters the room, she lifts her chin and fixes him with a stony stare devoid of any emotion — chances are good she's still too exhausted to feel much of anything except for a sinking sensation in her stomach. If she's experiencing even a faint rumbling of hunger, it doesn't show. The only thing she appears to be is strung-out.

Moving forward the tray is set on edge of the cot as he tilts his head at the woman. The other Brian places the towels and clothes at the foot of the bed. "You can take a kinda bath if you want. And I put that sheet up so no one can eye your goodies." He says with a solemn nod. "So you can—."

"Hey Hel." Brian greets softly. "Yeah, she's awake. I don't think she slept at all. She looks all sicky and whatnot. Her name's Eileen, if Teo didn't tell you." The outside Brian comments. "Want me to leave one in there with you? In case she knows kung fu?"

Helena grins. "She's smaller than me." Hel says. "I'm pretty sure I can take her, but I don't mind if you stay." She taps on the door with her knuckles before she heads in. "Hey." she greets to the Brian inside as the door is closed behind her. The blonde then reguards the other young woman, taking her in, the tiredness, the unease. Her nod is more solemn, and at first she starts to put her hands behind her back, and then opts to keep them where Eileen could see them. "Hello, Eileen." she offers, a bit awkwardly.

A flicker of anger appears in Munin's eyes as Brian brings up her 'goodies' — but, like lit match struggling against the breeze, it's abruptly snuffed out before it really establishes itself. She gives the food the same sort of look she might give a plate of dirt. The bucket of fresh water, on the other hand, receives a marginally more interested look. So do the clothes, though this almost certainly has something to do with the state of the threads she's wearing. The front of her coat is spotted with blood — most of it hers, some of it Alexander's — while her sweater has a large horizontal tear in it where the fabric got caught on the fence she tried to scale, only to have the telekinetic violently wrench her right back off it. "You're pretty new to this whole taking-prisoners thing, are you?" she asks, the question directed at Helena. It's the closest thing to a 'hello' the other girl is going to get.

One Brian exits. The other remains inside the room with the two girls. Pivoting somewhat, he goes to lean against the wall. He slides down it a little bit and remains silent for now. He smirks at Eileen's answer to Helena.
"Yeah." Helena doesn't bother to hide her admittance of that. The room begins to grow warmer - comfortably so for what is a cold winter day outside, without being stifling. "I didn't exactly think my life would put me in a situation where it would be necessary. I bet I could say similar to you." She walks around the cell a moment, taking it in. Then she turns and looks at Munin. "Peter Petrelli. He took your ability. I'd like to know what he did to you. Did he hurt you?" Her tone is careful, expression carefully neutral.

Munin narrows her eyes at Helena, lids heavy, her expression taking on a vaguely catlike quality. She picked one of the few topics of conversation their captive is willing to talk about, and it shows in the way she slowly pushes away from the wall and straightens her back, squaring her shoulders as she begins to work the kinks from her aching muscles. "If I were you," she says, voice soft and a little bit hoarse, "I wouldn't make a habit of gambling. You don't bet very well, and the stakes in this game are higher'n you realize." As for Peter Petrelli, she lets out a short snort. "He hurt me, sure. So did your people."

At the mention of Peter Petrelli, Brian verbally reacts. His hands clench, brows knit. He would growl, but that would just be too cartoony. Even for him. That name still causes him to get quite angry. Frowning deeply, the man takes a moment before returning his focus to Munin. When Eileen accuses them of hurting her, then Brian speaks up. "That was an accident." He says quickly. "Alex..He.. Uh.." How do you explain away a cracked head. "There were a lot of birds."

"What did he do to you?" Helena asks. "He was hurting you not just to get your power, but to get to someone else." It's not a question, and Helena stops, looking Munin right in the eyes. A hand strays to her side, indicating her acknowledgment of Brian's words, but she keeps her focus on Eileen's face.

"Did you expect me to leap into the trunk of your car? Duct tape my own hands and feet and then dunk my head in a bucket of chloroform?" With every word, the subtle edge in Munin's voice grows sharper and sharper, honing itself on her anger. "It wasn't an accident. Neither was what I did to him." She reaches up and tucks one blood-encrusted strand of hair behind her ear, most of her ire directed at Brian. What little she reserves for Helena rears its head when she turns her attention back to the blonde, eyes dark, lips twisted into a furious scowl. "Petrelli tried crucify me with pieces of a broken chair," she states, flat, "pin me up like a dead frog in a dissection tray for some kid to poke around with. He wanted to leave a message."

"Well, that would have been helpful. Maybe next time we kidnap you, you could do that. Tips to remember." Brian suggests with a small smile. Though his humor dissipates when she talks about Petrelli. There comes the whole angry dog thing again. "What a douche." He says nigh under his breath. "Fuckin' hate that guy."

There's the faint tightning of Helena's jaw, though whether it's from what Eileen said or what Brian said is unclear. "And who are you to Sylar that he felt it was necessary to make you his message?" She's still keeping her gaze on the other girl with scrutinizing eyes.

"Nothing." Munin's response is immediate, without hesitation. "I was convenient — wrong place, wrong time. If Sylar gave a flying fuck about me, I wouldn't be down here right now. I'd be outside, walking free with the birds."

"But he's part of your organization." Helena prompts unflinchingly. She takes a step forward toward Munin. Perhaps coincidentally, there's a faint rumble of thunder, like a low rumbling drum.

The peal of thunder, however faint, does not go unnoticed by Munin. She clenches her jaw, small body stiffening, bracing herself against the sound in case something else should follow it. When nothing happens, she balls her hands into fists and then stretches her fingers back out again, joints popping in quick succession as she works the tension out of them. "Yes," she confirms, no use in denying what Sylar himself has already made obvious, "that doesn't mean he cares. If you'd ever met him face-to-face, you'd know that."

Tilting his head to the side. Brian leans back against the wall. His grey eyes resting on Helena for a moment. Then they roll back over to Munin. He keeps silent.

"Sylar cares about nothing but himself." Helena replies. "You're preaching to the choir on that. But Peter wouldn't pick someone random. He'd choose someone…relevant." She switches topics. "And you say your people don't have an agenda involving wiping out all the Evolved?" She knows it's what Munin has previously claimed, but she wants to hear the insistence of it again herself.

Even though Sylar is supposedly the one who has killed thousands, Peter is the one who causes an emotional reaction everytime his stupid stupid name is stupidly mentioned. He glances to Munin. "All the Evolved. How can you be Evolved and want to kill your own kind?" He asks with an expression of confusion.

"My people." Munin lets out a thin, rasping laugh with absolutely no mirth in it. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you Americans have an obsession with categorization. Every bloody little thing has to fit into a box, or your world starts coming apart with the seams. That's what this whole registration movement is about, isn't it? What tier you belong to? What social circles you travel in? Do you really believe that all of my people share the same goals? Or does it simply make what you're doing to me easier to justify?"

Helena shakes her head. "You are whole heaping helpings of wrong." Helena says softly. "And either one of you is a liar, or is being lied to. One thing I can tell you that I do know about Sylar - the truth is far more convenient for him to use to inflict the type of pain he enjoys inflicting then a lie. So I guess the question is…are you a liar, or are you being lied to? See, I don't care who you are - a bunch of dumb Americans trying to fight against their civil liberties being taken from them, snotty Eurotrash establishing themselves as an economic union, or crazy Arab terrorists determined to convert us all to Islam - individuals may have their own agendas, but groups have goals. Otherwise, such organizations wouldn't exist. Maybe Syla was lying about this flood to wipe away all of the weak he claims is coming thank to you and your posse, but given my circumstances at the time, I don't think so." With that, Helena steps back, and back again, and turns toward the door. The action is deliberate, and she seems unafraid of the prospect of Eileen attempting to assault her.

That might be because the large thick frame of Brian is right by her, watching Eileen's every move. Though he doesn't seem to worried either. He remains silent, letting the girls sort this one out for themselves.

Helena has every right to be unafraid. Throughout her tangent, the expression on Munin's face does not change. There is no remorse in her eyes, and unlike Brian's earlier comment it fails to so much as ignite even a spark of anger. She may as well be telling her that the grass is green and the sky is blue — these are things she already knows. Of course she and Sylar are being lied to. He knows it, she knows it, and they have the prophetic paintings to prove it. They don't need Helena to open their eyes for them — Munin's have been wide ever since that night at the warehouse when Kazimir introduced the Vanguard to Adam Monroe. As the blonde retreats, she leans back again, resting her head against the wall behind her as her body resumes an entirely neutral posture. "If your plan is to keep me around so you have someone to gloat at," she murmurs to Brian, listless, "you may as well shoot yourselves now."

Helena catches that last murmur, and by the door she pauses, looking over her shoulder. The comfortable warmth is slowly leeching away as she makes her exit. "No," she says quietly. "That's not our plan." And with that, she steps out of Eileen's cell.

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