Mission Continued


marjorie_icon.gif molly_icon.gif matt_icon.gif

With a special appearance by…


Scene Title Mission Continued
Synopsis Matt signs his Yente of a daughter up for piano lessons with a trusting woman…who just happens to be just the terrorist he fears she is. Only he doesn't know that.
Date October 16, 2010

Le Rivage

As his administrative assistant is always quick to remind her boss, sometimes the best thing to do is leave the office.

But rather than go to the apartment in Dorchester to stew, Matt Parkman ends up steering himself toward the Petrelli Mansion to collect Molly. After all, what fourteen year-old doesn't want to spend a Saturday evening with her father? But after a dinner of comforting hamburgers, their talk swings around to the prospect of piano lessons and the need for Matt to meet Molly's potential instructor. And they're already out - so what the hey!

It's around six when Matt pulls up outside Le Rivage, and when he holds the door open for Molly, he glances at the two black sedans on the other side of the street. His security detail - something he wouldn't do without given the current situation, and especially given Molly's presence. But he squints slightly, sending a gentle telepathic message to the agents inside the cars. They'll be fine here, no need to come up.

It's a risk, but Matt is somewhat confident that if the woman Molly's picked as a piano teacher is a terrorist in disguise who would rather kill them than play Mozart, he's got bigger things to worry about. Pushing these thoughts from his head, he lifts a hand to rap his knuckles over the door of room 202.

"Dad, you're gonna love her. She makes the best sweets! You know that's hard for me to admit. She works at a desert bar on the side and she's totally awesome." Molly says as they trail up to the door of the apartment.

"She's single too! So.. you don't have to worry about a crazy husband who beats their wife and in turn will try to beat me." Molly grins up at her dad. Okay, so this is the fifth time that she's mentioned that her future teacher is single. Dressed today in a dark blue skirt and a off the shoulder dark green sweater. Her cowboy boots clunk on the floor as she walks.

Blonde hair loose and hanging down, her blue eyes twinkle in the light of the hallway as she waits for the door to be opened.

As it happens, the Mihangle family - or at least Marjorie and Owain - are just finishing up supper. Owain is bringing the dishes into the kitchen where Marjorie is putting the last of them away. "Well it's very nice that you and Marlena have become friends. At least something good came out of that whole earthquake," Marjroie says conversationally to her son. Tonight, her mousy brown hair is pinned back in waves. She wears a button-down shirt with the front tied in a knot above her navel, and some skinny jeans. Her feet are bare, but she definatly looks like something off a World War 2 Rosie the Riviter poster.

"Hey mom, can I play video games for a little while?" The ten-year-old asks, walking into the living room to collect a tea mug from before dinner so his mother can watch it. He slips it over the open bar-wall seperating the sitting room (and the piano) from the galley kitchen. It is important to note that the decor is a little bit feminine, there are flowers on the end-table and the like, but the apartment today smells like hot apples, cinnamon and cloves. Pie maybe? Could be, seeing as today the three glass covered dishes on the bar hold a cake, a pie and cupcakes each.

It will be Owain who answers the door, if there is a noise alerting him to do so.

"Hey there," Matt says with a smile that can't be helped when the door opens and reveals the little boy. "My name is Matt Parkman, and this is Molly. We're wondering if Marjorie Mih-angle is home?" Of course, Matt doesn't do so well with the last name he read off the mailbox downstairs, but at least he's savvy enough not to assume that the little boy is the woman's son. He glances from Owain into the apartment beyond him, his expression contemplative.

"Hi!" Molly waves to Owain and looks through the apartment. "We're here to see Marjorie?" Molly notes that this boy might be her son she was speaking of. "Great job with the posters by the way." She says softly and then she's looking up to daddy.

You be nice and eat all the sweets. They're gonna be fabulous.

Then she's grinning at Owain again.

"Uh, thanks," Owain says. He clearly doesn't operate well with strangers, and he blushes a little at the influx of new people. But he leaves the door open and turns for the living room, walking away. They can come in or stand there, the door is open either way. "Mom, you've got people. I'm going to go to my room." He doens't stop, but does head into his room to play video games.

Around the corner comes Marjorie, dressed as previously described and wiping her hands on the dish towel. As the door remains open, those sweet apple-y smells waft past the pair, almost curling and them adn inviting them in.

"Well hello Molly," she says politely, sweetly, smiling a dimpled smile. "I didn't expect to see you tonight. Is this your father?" She sets the rag aside walking to meet them, her bare feet making soft sounds on the hard wood floor. "Mr. Walker, is it? I'm Marjorie Mihangle. A pleasure."

"We should have called," Matt says with a sidelong glance to Molly before he looks back to Marjorie again and steps inside the apartment, holding the door open long enough to admit Molly before pushing it closed and holding out his hand to their host. "Parkman," he corrects with a polite smile. "Matt Parkman. Sorry to drop in on you like this, but we were nearby, and Molly kept going on and on about wanting to take lessons and me needing to meet you."

He glances up and away from Marjorie, looking once more into the apartment and narrowing his eyes slightly. "That smells delicious, by the way. Molly mentioned you worked in a bakery?" Sounds like a place Miriam must be sent (or for her to send someone else) to collect bear claws.

"Hey!" Molly says brightly as Marjorie comes to the door and then she's letting her father do the talking. Most of it, anyway. "Yeah, I told him how you make the most awesome bake goods. I think he wants some." She grins and clasps her hands in front of her. Her eyes widen at the smell and her mouth opens a little bit. "Do.. do I smell apples?" she looks like she's in a daze. Here comes the drool.

"Mr. Parkman. Forgive me," Marjorie doesn't seem terribly embaressed about her mistake - it was honest, after all - and she holds that same smile on her features. "Yes, part-time I work for a woman named Abby Beauchamp. I worked in a cupcake shop for about 12 years. But more to the point," she holds her hands lightly in front of her. "My brother was a professional conductor and pianist, and he taught me how to play. So I assure you I am qualified." She steps back, urging them both in to sit if they want, either in the living room or the dining room.

"And yes, Molly, very good nose! I made apple pie for after dinner. Would you like a slice? I think it's still warm. And maybe a slice and some tea for Mr. Parkman as well?" She asks, paused just beside the kitchen, ready to fetch these orders with a simple nod.

One eyebrow and one side of Matt's face quirk the rest of his features into a short-lived, amused sort of expression once the handshake is over. Politicians are far from celebrities, but her calm reaction to his name by a lay-person such as Marjorie is an interesting change. He nods politely and moves to the dining room to sit at the side, but not before pulling out a chair for Molly.

"No, but thank you," he says with a gentle shake of his head, putting a hand to his chest right where his suit jacket forms a V at his tie. "I don't have Molly's metabolism." Teenagers and their bottomless pit-stomachs. When he sits, he thumbs open his jacket out of habit and laces his fingers on the table before him. "I'm sure you're qualified, and I know Beauchamp. She's a good kid." Kid, not woman. Abby will forever be a kid in Matt's mind. And at 21, that's justifiable.

"Yes please." She says as she enters the apartment and takes a seat. Her gaze flicks to Matt really quick with a frown. He was supposed to find true love tonight! Through his tummy for crying out loud!

Plan foiled, Molly shrugs her shoulders. She's lost this battle but the war is not yet lost. So, she waits for her sweet and she looks at Marjorie and Matt. She doesn't know who these people are so.. it's kind of like. Yeah, where the hell is her sweets?

Sweets are delivered, young maiden! And there is a big old scoop of French vanilla ice cream to go with it too. And some tea. Decaf - don't worry Matt. "Here you are. If you change your mind about the tea, Mr. Parkman, the kettle is idling on the stove."

Content that her work here is done, for now, Marjorie finds it in herself to sit. She's very thin - even sitting, she has very little belly around her bare middle. "Well I do thank you for coming, Mr. Parkman. A lot of instructors only ask that guardians and parents sign a release form, but if I can I like to meet the parents as well. I don't want kids to be pulled in too many directions with school and friends and extracurricular activities. The best way to do that is to coordinate with the adults. And of course, parents tend to feel more comfortable when they've met the teacher. But like I said, I'm perfectly qualified, having studied my whole life with a classically trained pianist."

Marjorie has her own cup of tea, her red lips painted brightly, her smile never fading as her bright green eyes look over Matt. Well he does seem like a nice man.

Matt accepts the cup with a nod, and even lifts it to his lips for a sip. It isn't his usual forte, but he's been instructed to be on his best behavior - by the teen at his side. "Sounds like a good set of principles," he says, nodding in appreciation of the tea (but then, he doesn't know good tea from bad tea), and setting it down on the table once more. "You give lessons out of your home, then? Or do you have a studio?" He didn't see a piano when they came in, but that doesn't mean it's not tucked in a corner someplace.

"If we decide to do this," he adds, looking to Molly with that parental, 'no, I haven't made my decision yet' face before he returns his dark eyes to Marjorie again. "If we do this, it's only fair to tell you that I won't see you again. My work keeps me pretty busy, but I can give you a list of people authorized to have Molly in their custody."

Now that's a mouthful of jargon if there ever was one.

Oh he'll see her again. Molly will make sure of that.

Don't be so sure, bucko.

She then looks at the apple pie and swoons. "Heaven." She says softly to herself and she shivers, oh my god. The anticipation is killing her. Spoon meet apple pie. Apple pie.. meet Molly's face.

The teen eats a bite.. and then another.. and then another.. and then another. The sounds coming from the young girl might remind Matt of past videos he watched in his youth, probably stolen from Grandpa Maury's collection.

"This is amazing, I.." she says in between bites. "Never want to leave." Her eyes are glazed over and she seems like the happiest kid in the world.

Of course Marjorie isn't happy that she won't see the nice man again, and her smile fades a little, but remains pleasant. "Well that is a shame, Mr. Parkman. But I understand completely." She doesn't ask what he does - that would be rude and probing. "Holding down two jobs, running my own business and raising a son certainly helps me understand exactly what it is to be busy." She looks over at Molly with a fond smile, tilting her head just a little. "I'm glad you're enjoying it, dear. Personally October is my favorite time of year - best time for sweets."

She looks back to Matt, smiling again. "Well just to give you a brief explination about what my classes entail, I usually meet once or twice a week with my students. And yes, I have my own piano, but I can go to the child's house if that's easier. The classes start out with simultanious learning in hand and finger excersizes and music history, which includes learning notes."

Molly's reaction to the pie earns a raised eyebrow from Matt, who coughs softly at her. Is she punishing him for not accepting a piece?

He holds a hand up to Marjoie and shakes his head with a small smile. "That's fine. I'm not a musician, and it's Molly who wants to take lessons. I'm sure you have an excellent program." But even as he speaks, he reaches over to pluck Molly's fork out of her fingers and steal a bite of pie and a bit of ice cream off her plate. He can't deny that it's good pie - his eyebrows lift and eyes widen a moment as he chews, but then they narrow as he gives the fork back to the girl.

"You said Angela has a piano, right Molly?"

Score! I knew you'd love it.

Molly thinks aloud and then she's tearing back into the pie and then it's finished. Damn, that sucks. The teen looks to Marjorie and smiles, "We have to bake too. I mean.. you're recipes are amazing." She nods with excitement and then she looks towards her father.

"Um.. duh. Is that really a question? I mean.. it's Angela. She was probably making Peter and Nathan take lessons until they begged her not too.. and then she probably kept making them." When Angela says do something, you do it. Slogan.

Marjorie doesn't know who Angela is, but she doesn't seem to mind. She just continues to smile, tilting her head as she listens. One brown curl falls free from her clip, the milk-chocolate lock resting against her cheek. She doesn't seem to notice it. "Well I certainly wouldn't mind doing a little baking with you, if it's alright with your father and Angela. I do it most every night anyway, so you're always welcome to come over and help out. Heavans knows my son isn't very interested in it - but he is a boy, after all." She smiles, winking at Matt. Yes, you boys and your lack of baking!

Matt is chuckling at Molly's response as he reaches into an inside pocket of his jacket to extract a pen and a stiff leather wallet of sorts. "You know," he muses, looking to Molly with a lazy grin, "I'll have to ask him the next time I'm in D.C." He opens it and takes out a business card, resting it on the outside of the dark leather to write on the reverse. There is one thing they haven't discussed yet, after all. "Baking is fine," he says, dismissing the idea with a shake of his head. "At this rate, Molly, I won't be surprised if you start collecting brochures for pastry schools." Maybe he'll get her some DVDs of Ace of Cakes for her birthday on top of that other present.

"Twice a week for…what? An hour? What do you charge, Mrs. Mihangle?" Not that money is much of an issue.

Molly laughs, "He's the president, I doubt he has time to answer those sort of questions." She blinks and looks at her father seriously. "But if you get a chance, ask him. And please ask him to ask Angela to stop trying to make me wear nice people clothes. I don't wanna look like a well to do princess, okay?" she grins and then looks over to Marjorie. "That'd be so much fun!" The thought of baking makes Molly want to scream and shout, she loves it. "Maybe, I'll be a baker." Instead of a P.I., yeah right.

There is a certain paleness in Marjorie's face. "The President? Nathan Petrelli?" She asks, a little surprised. "Well! I suppose it's true what they say - you move to the big city, and you get to rub elbows with all sorts of rich and famous!" She still hasn't figured out who Matt is, though. "It would be a delight, dear. Actually I was getting ready to make some Apple Butter this week, just let me know when you' dlike to come by and we'll make an extra case for you to take home." How friendly! But now business.

"40 dollars an hour for lessons." Cheap prostitution, that. "But please, call me Marj or Marjorie, everyone does. I'm not quite grown up enough to be a Missus!"

"Well, from the looks of it, you've raised a fine boy," Matt says with a wider smile as he slides the card across the table. On the reverse is the street address to the Petrelli mansion, as well as the home phone number there and Matt's personal cell. But on the printed side is Matt's name, title, and the address and phone of his D.C. office.

"I'll have that list waiting for you when you two have your first lesson," he adds, sitting back as he slips the wallet and pen back into their respective pockets inside his jacket. "If Molly bounces between lessons at home and…well, other lessons here." His smile fades and is replaced with a more serious expression, one that comes with a slight tilt of his head that signifies the bit of concentration it takes to slip into Marjorie's head after a long day at the office to plant a command. "I can't stress the importance of this list. I take the safety of my daughter very seriously."

You will only release Molly into the care of people on that list. You will follow all of my instructions to the letter.

"But," Matt adds with a sigh and a weak attempt at another smile, "as a mother I'm sure you understand that."

When Matt tilts his head toward Marjorie, she has a brief look of blankness. And then it's gone, and then it's like it never was. Her smile is there, and she's giving it freely. "I'd greatly appreciate that, the list," Marjorie explains, taking the card but not looking at it yet. "And please, Mr. Parkman, don't be concerned. I am a parent myself, and I understand that they are our lives. More than that, our futures, our existences, our hopes and dreams and loves and…well there really isn't a way to explain it fully, now is there? I'm sure you quite understand, though. There is no end in the things I would do for my son."
And the things she has done.

"I completely understand," Matt says with a soft chuckle and a nod. "Is there a way we can contact you?" he asks then, back to business. "If we need to cancel a lesson, or something like that." Who knows? Matt may decide to kidnap Molly for a weekend in L.A. in the future. He glances to his daughter with a bigger smile, happy that he's once again succeeded in giving her something she wanted.

And you get an A plus for giving your daughter what she wants. "I'd love come over and bake the Apple Butter thing with you." She says with a large smile and then she notices Marj has a little bit of a blank expression for a moment. What was that?

Molly continues to smile though and looks around the apartment. She's bored, she doesn't really care about all the logistics, she just wants to start having lessons soon.

"Oh, of course. Here." Marjorie rises, moving into the kitchen. She opens a drawer, and removes a slip of paper, a little note card. On it is printed, from a computer printer, of course, her mobile and home numbers. "Here, I give this out to all of my clients. Just to make sure you cna reach me at all times." It also has the number of the desert bar where she works.

A sideways glance lets her know that Molly looks a little bored. "But I think that covers everything. I know you are a busy man, Mr. Parkman, and I am sure that you and Molly still have plans tonight. So unless you have any other questions, I look forward to getting Molly started on her piano lessons next week."

Matt stands when Marjorie does, taking a moment to adjust his jacket and button it before he rests a hand on Molly's chair, subtly inviting her to stand as well. He nods and takes the paper from Marjorie when she returns, extending his hand again to give hers a final shake to seal the deal, as it were. "Thank you, Marjorie. It's been a pleasure meeting you. And again, sorry to barge into your home like this."

He folds the paper, then tucks it into his jacket before he looks to Molly again. "What do you say we go rent a flick? We haven't had a movie night in awhile."

"Sure, why not." Molly says with a bright grin and then she's getting out of her chair and smiling at Marjorie, "See ya next week. Maybe you and your son can join us next time for the movie night." She says with a wink, that's oh to obvious and she's bounding to the door. When she reaches it, she's opening it and rushing into the hall before her father can stop her. MUAHAHAHAAHAHA. Operation Matchmaker.. is still in effect. Mission not failed.

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