Participants:
| Scene Title | Moonwalk |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | 40 years later, someone dreamwalks into the dream of someone very concerned with history in some cases, that might need a push to get concerned with history in another. Cat isn't pleased Gillian invaded her privacy, though. |
| Date | July 20, 2009 |
Cat's Chamber
This is the main bedroom. It's the size of an apartment unit on the lower levels, with more than ample walk-in closet space. She has separate ones for each type of clothing, in fact. It even has a private bathroom with a full size shower and an enormous tub to take baths in.
A full size Sleep Number bed covered with pink cotton sheets and a pale blue comforter rests at the center of it all. The other furniture; including a nightstand, a full length mirror, a dressing table, sixty inch HDTV set with cable converter and DVR under it, a tall set of shelves holding a large number of rock CDs on one side and a stereo system with equalizer, radio tuner, speakers, and an iPod dock on the other, are placed at equal intervals around the room.
She's alone in the bed, no one sleeps in or really is allowed to enter this chamber where Cat keeps her bed. It's a habit established when she moved in here after the actions against Kazimir Volken. In the times since when she'd been intimate with Kinson it was always elsewhere. A guest room elsewhere in the penthouse or on the fourth floor. Never here: she's unable to live in the apartment she still keeps at Dorchester Towers, where she and Dani lived. Memories are associated with that place, and to go there only triggers them, draws her down into the well of the negative. It would, she realized those months ago, be the same here if she shared this bed, this room, with another and that person died. She'd never be able to sleep in it again, and the business of the life she's chosen makes that a distinct possibility.
As she sleeps, a cotton sheet of a high thread count the only thing covering her body, there is rapid motion starting behind Cat's closed eyes.
A hamburger wrapper with writing on it, from a feminine hand, floats in midair.
Cat,
This isn't the best way to write a last message. But it's the only one I have. Don't blame yourself. And don't hold guilt. This is the result of my actions, and I'm more glad than I can say that you didn't have to pay for my mistake. My things are yours, not that there's much of them. There's so much I want to say, but I don't have a lot of writing space. And not a lot of time, I think. I won't ask you to remember me. I know you'll do that. But remember the good things. Remember the good times. And don't let my parents know the details, if you can. They wouldn't understand. I love you, Cat. And I'm sorry we didn't have more time together. Find someone else. Live well." The last of it dissolves into unreadable blur, where she couldn't hold the pen, anymore. For better or worse, a last memoir.
"I'm trying," she says softly. "Guilt still comes from time to time. The slightest of things brings out memories, they're all so clear. I just refuse to let myself wallow in them, your words help me do that." Some feet away is a vision of Dani from just days before they were abducted from their home, she doesn't speak. Instead, she walks, and suddenly the viewpoint has changed.
Cat is on Wall Street now, standing on the front steps of 26 Wall Street. Federal Hall National Memorial. From her viewpoint, a buttonwood tree can be seen down the block with a group of businessmen gathered under it trading stocks. They, however, are in 18th century clothing.
In front of the building itself are George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, James Madison, Thomas Jefferson, and Thomas Paine. Each of them, except the plainly dressed Mr. Franklin who holds a kite with a key at the end, is dressed for the period of their lives. Right down to the powdered wigs.
But it isn't all out of the 18th century. The building is as it looked before the Bomb, and Cat is dressed modern. A lawyer suit with skirt and two inch plain black heels, worn in a way that emulates Angus Young's stage attire. She's got her red Fender Strat plugged into a massive amp and she's playing the Star Spangled Banner Jimi Hendrix's way.
The dream itself comes off as personal right away. It shifts and alters, snippets fading out of sight as the scenerary changes from a more private location to a more public one. The public one feels safer, easier to access, and less difficult to integrate into. There are business men, at least, statues of great men. All men, really. The business men continue to trade and chat, speaking indistinctly with a whispered rumble of voices that doesn't carry all the way to Cat's ear. Even with a viewpoint right on top of them, the words are indistinguishable from normal sounds. It's no one's dream except Cat.
Or it shouldn't be.
One of the men dressed in business attire in a tophat suddenly turns away from the conversation. The style of the time allows for some ambigiuity of form, but as soon as "he" turns, it's obvious certain locations in the suit have been filled out in a way most men can't. A beautymark stands out darker on a powdered face, dark hair flowing out from the top hat. Only the man's attire has remained as it should. The rest got taken over. By someone most certainly not male.
Gillian could even be recognized, from her expression, her bone structure, her cheeks, the way she walks toward the lawyer suit woman with the Fender Strat. All of it seems very much her, except the clothes, the walking stick which sways as she goes. "Very patriotic," she says over the sound of the Star Spangled Banner.
The woman keeps playing as she's approached by Gillian in her Founding Sister attire; she's looked over quietly with an eyebrow raising, and suddenly Gillian isn't alone. To the left is Nancy Wilson, to the right is Ann Wilson. On either side of them are Joan Jett and Pat Benatar. It's Joan who speaks, laughing a little. "She is," the woman agrees. "She loves rock and roll too. C'mon, put a dime in the juke… No, that doesn't fit here." Silence settles in, as sheets of paper with handwritten words start to float around. The words are familiar to people who paid attention in civics and history classes. We hold these truths to be self-evident… We, the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect Union…
Then Thomas Jefferson is halfway between Cat and Gillian, uttering a single sentence as the four classic rock women watch. "The tree of liberty must from time to time be refreshed with the blood of patriots and tyrants."
With past experiences, Gillian's been in some weird dreams, and this isn't quite as bad as it could be. Dime in the juke— "No, that doesn't really fit here," she says, glancing over, but keeping her desired form, even if the walking stick mysteriously vanishes from her hand. The top hat rolls off as well, only to be held in her hand, the other reaching into a pocket to find thick large coins to drop inside it. A few steps forward and she sets it down near the guitarist, before looking back at Thomas Jefferson.
"I guess the question is who's going to end up bleeding more for it, and if it'll make a difference when it all ends. The world's changed so much in three years that it's very possible to change a lot in three years again, it's just a matter of which directions the bloodshed takes us, I guess."
Suddenly Thomas Paine is next to Mr. Jefferson, remarking about "these are the times that try people's souls… Yes, I know I just edited myself, but we didn't exactly treat women well in our time. I shouldn't have written men, as if women meant nothing, or had no souls to try… but I digress…" Jefferson speaks up again, agreeing. "It does read better as all people are created equal, I have to admit. Change happens, it's one of the only constants in the world, that things can and will change. But some things stay true. Governments are still instituted among men by the consent of the governed and get their powers from that consent. Even the worst dictatorship is a democracy, because people choose to obey the dictator. When they become willing to lay down their own lives disobeying and removing him," he pauses, "or her, the dictator crumbles."
The images of the dream shift again slightly. The Founders are still present, Cat is still playing, the four female musicians near Gillian continue to observe, but more people are on Wall Street now, approaching Federal Hall. The leader of them is a man wearing kingly robes and a large crown. He's dressed like George III, but he has Arthur's face. Behind him are a small group of soldiers in red uniforms with period rifles. They, too, have Arthur's face.
There's another male voice behind Gillian now. Not Arthur's, though. It's George Washington, suddenly changed from the attire he wore while serving as President here in this place to his uniform from the war. "Gentlemen, your assistance, please."
The Founders advance on the Arthurs, along with Joan Jett. A fight breaks place, and it's short. The Arthurs one by one are beaten down, laying dead on the ground with a Founder resting his foot on each chest. The last of them is shot at close range by Joan, who is suddenly carrying a guitar in the shape of a flintlock.
As the smoke clears, another modern clad woman appears, watching Cat where she plays guitar. It's Courtney Danielle Hamilton. "You're right," she tells Gillian quietly. "The question is who ends up bleeding, and if it makes a difference." She holds up her left hand, which has no fingers left, then lets it drop. "I bled, and I died. Cat and Helena let me die. They had to. It was too important. They couldn't trade Hana for me and let Vanguard have that victory." Followed by a rueful chuckle. "Not that they could if they'd tried. Hana'd not have stood still for that." A gesture toward Cat is next, she goes on speaking. "She isn't cold as she seems. She feels. If it could be done with no one dying, that'd be great beyond words. But it can't, and the memories of those who fall will eat at her… you know how powerful those are."
Onstage, Cat's fingers falter, her playing stops. She sets the guitar down and sinks to her knees, head going to her hands as weeping begins. "I'm sorry, Dani," she calls out. "I did, and do, love you."
A lot going on at once, but Gillian turns to focus on the clearing smoke, the modern clad woman nearby. Gillian only recognizes her from pictures, but she knows who the woman is from views of the Catabase. No— no they wouldn't have sacrificed so much, but she could say something in this case. They could have tried to go get her, could have attempted to save her, but that too would have led to sacrifice. Ethan hadn't turned on his boss at that point, he'd remained loyal. And vicious.
It's when Cat breaks down into tears, the cold facade she often wears cracked, that she moves even closer, stepping around the tophat until she can kneel down and touch the woman's shoulder. "I've used over a dozen abilities in the last two months… And I can honestly say yours has haunted me the most. So I do understand, Cat, I do… You carry a burden that… fuck, I don't think I could survive six years of this. Not if my whole life keeps being like the last ten months."
Glancing away to look at where Dani had been, assuming her phantom remains, before she says, "There's only so much you can do. Only so much anyone can do. You can't… hold yourself responsible for everything that happens. I could've saved my sister. If I would've visited the Lighthouse a day earlier maybe Brian wouldn't— wouldn't have gone through what he did."
Not dead. But not completely alive.
"If I hadn't told Peter to go see his father— if I hadn't believed him when he said he could help them. If I hadn't— there's so many things I should've done differently and I remember every moment perfectly and wonder how things would be different if I'd said something else, or stepped another way. It's— dangerous, I guess." And the knowledge of how things could have been, the sight of a child that may never be born… That's engrained in her memory for the moment as well. "I understand."
The imagery changes again as Gillian takes place next to her. Founders and musicians remain where they are, feet still resting on the chests of downed Arthur in kingly robes and Arthurs in red uniforms. More images are forming in the distance on Wall Street. Daniel Linderman. Angela Petrelli. Adam Monroe. Nathan Petrelli. And Nathan Petrelli again. Then Edward Ray, and Edward Ray. Everett Hicks. Matt Parkman… That one is odd, though. He's got a question mark on his forehead, perhaps a symbolism of uncertainty about where he stands. Len Denton in his cowboy hat. A man who might be Bob Bishop, however Cat pictures him looking. One might guess at the identity by the fact he's standing next to Elle who also has a question mark on her forehead.
Cat's head lifts, the eyes rimmed red from the tears and settling on Gillian's face. "What's done is done, it can't be changed. It's all about moving forward, staying busy, having a vision. The mind stays active to form new memories so the old ones don't always hold center stage. Facing challenges. No one can do it all. We fight battles like the one we won in January, we raid a prison, we go against Arthur. Those carry weight, achieve mighty goals. But they also change little. There'll still be those."
Images form from her understanding of Eve's dream as it was told to her, and from Else Kjelstrom's song about Munin and beaches on 34th Street. The words The Past Is Prologue appear in the sky written on dark clouds. "But we have to be bigger than those. Project a national leader, work to have people not fear us anymore. Not believe they need the Frontline Gestapo. That's why Helena outed herself, gave her face and name to the public eye."
Cat studies Gillian's face for a moment, then settles on the dream ghost of Dani. "This is how we honor the people who died, and will die. We keep going, so their ends aren't pointless. So we can remember them, and not feel shame."
Now Thomas Jefferson and George Washington are behind Cat, George speaks. "It was hard for us, taking on the world's largest army, trained pros against the rabble we raised. We had dark moments. Valley Forge. But eventually there was Yorktown." "And after that," Thomas adds, "the battle to make those words I wrote about being created equal more than just words. To hold this country we built to its founding document. The light always conquers dark."%rSomewhere in the distance a new image forms. It's Madison Square Garden, filled to capacity, with Cat onstage being a rock star and having all this behind her. "That's where I want to be. Maybe eventually I can get there," she states wistfully, "but now we have other work to do."
"The problem with having mighty goals is we've been ignoring some of the smaller ones. There needs to be a balance between politics and war. And there were a lot of things that could have been done differently— I don't think the timing was right for Helena to reveal herself," Gillian admits quietly, even as she listens to memorized quotes an imagined voices, sees faces she both knows and doesn't. Some get lingered on longer than others, but she looks back at Cat, reaching into the jacket pocket of the men's suit she wears and pulling out an embroidered clean handkerchief to hold out to the woman.
"You can do what you need to do, but it's not the right path for everyone, and right now… things are looking worse, rather than better."
The shifting images make her breath shake, even if the dream itself can't harm her. The voice is unknown, the song unheard, but the longer she looks, the more she sees Eve's most recent painting, and the more she wonders how the woman is connected to it.
"What's done is done, but I think if Helena wants to be a Queen, she's going to have to stop being distracted, or what she doesn't see while she's not paying attention will end up killing her. Again. She can't have everything." The dream doesn't shift, but she remembers the moment in another dream a while ago, in a forest, at the clearing, when she ignored the danger they'd just walked through and had nearly been taken for it. "And if it doesn't kill her, it'll kill people who didn't need to die in the first place, trying to protect her."
A slow breath, she shakes her head. "I'm not a politican. I'm not a leader. But they had something we don't— they had a proper mood. Things had gone on for long enough that they had support of enough people to gather those rabbles. We— we don't have that support. We're still seen as terrorists. And with Helena making herself public, we're seen as terrorists led by a kid not even old enough to buy alcohol. It would've been better if we'd have waited til the government did something publicly discrediting, with evidence, and with which we had no direct involvement."
"I recommended she do it," Cat replies, "because she's the most sympathetic figure we have. A young woman who just wants to attend culinary school thrown into prison without trial, from a modest background. Someone who could be like so many other people her age. Or, for older people, like their own children. While Helena was in prison, we discussed this, Teo and I. I discussed it with Elisabeth too. I would've discussed it with you, but you weren't around much then, not until we had enough data built up to start making real plans for moving on Moab. And now we have a Gestapo forming. Never before have there been plans to police this country on a routine basis with military forces. We've more to work with than you realize. There are groups like ours here and there around the country. The first step is uniting them, in much the same way as the Founders pulled thirteen states together on that common goal. We need more support still, yes. But we won't get it by not trying."
"We also agreed it had to be Helena. It certainly couldn't be me. I'm not the figure for that. A woman who grew up with privilege, had her way paid through Yale and is financially comfortable doesn't carry the same resonance. The underdog is always viewed more favorably, cheered on."
And she seems confused. "What details are we missing, Gillian? Which smaller goals have fallen aside, ignored?" The offered cloth is taken and used, as she pauses in her words. "Why are you in my dream? I must have doubts seated deep, to be sitting here debating part of myself, in your face. But, hey, it's a dream. They're supposed to be odd. And thank you," she offers, holding the cloth up briefly.
"Problem is she wasn't like any of the other people her age. She was already leader of Phoenix when she got thrown in prison. She wasn't just chosen off the streets at random. She put herself in the position that they took her in. She chose to be there. They retaliated, with the public having no idea what we'd actually been doing on the bridge. We're lucky they didn't blame it's collapse entirely on us." Gillian says, still disagreeing with the idea, even if she nods that it'd at least been discussed. It still doesn't strike her as the best idea in the world.
"I don't think it ever had to be Helena. It never had to be us for that matter." There's a small pause. "We haven't even been taking care of our own, much less taking care of the bigger picture. Teo could have been handled completely differently. A vague order to avoid the man who kept me in Phoenix while she was locked up wasn't anywhere near enough. Information is important. Your Catabase gives a lot of it, but I found out about Teo from Eileen for God's sake. Over a month after the order to avoid him. Fuck, Cat, he's the only reason I stayed on with Phoenix until Moab, and he fought so hard to get Helena out of there and when he's in trouble… no one did anything. I don't care that it turned out to sort of be him. We could have done something. And Gabriel wouldn't have ran off to try and help him on his own, and he wouldn't be in this situation too."
She shakes her head. "If Helena would've explained half of what Arthur did that was so terrible— I wouldn't have kept going to Pinehearst to get information… It doesn't matter now. This whole thing has been messed up. And there's really nothing anyone can do except minimize damages."
And there will be damage.
"No one is perfect," she admits, "and I won't claim to be. But clearly you and I need to be in closer contact, talk more often." Cat's silent for a time, musing, mulling things over. Why is Gillian in her dream? This has to be a dream, all these images she knows don't form in her waking hours. Is she trying to tell herself she's been overlooking Gillian's input? It doesn't occur to her that it might be the woman herself present.
"I'll have to come see you soon and talk these things over with the real you, the one that I didn't just create in my own head. And ask you if things will still be cool when or if we don't agree. Because life is like that, no two people ever agree perfectly on everything. We just have to hope the bigger picture is more important than the individual points."
Create in her own head. Gillian actually smiles for the first time since, if only cause of being called a construct of her mind. It's probably what Helena had assumed she was in that dream— only Elle really got to have a conversation with her, much to her shagrin. Perhaps the worst one she could have let know she was walking in her dream, but… "You didn't invent me. I accidently fell into your dream. It's one of the abilities I picked up, and I'm not very good at controlling it. It's harder to leave than it is to push myself in deep enough to communicate," she explains, not letting the missunderstanding continue.
"Course the more you realize it's real, the more likely you'll wake up and toss me out." Which is about the only way to leave once she gets deep enough. "The bigger picture isn't what I joined up for, though. Not that I'm planning to run off and disappear and stick my head in the sand and ignore what's happening. I just think there's situations that need attention just as much as the bigger picture. The more people suffer, the more they forget about the bigger picture, too."
"I invent a lot of things here," she replies dryly, eying the dream Gillian with some wariness now. "As you can no doubt see. There will be some ground rules," she adds sternly, "one of them is you didn't see me crack." Cat just doesn't do that in front of others when she can avoid it. "Second… if you can make images in the dream, I think you can since you're dressed that way, make a door and knock on it." Having stated that, she moves on.
"There's a lot coming up. Technopaths have been sending people my way, advising to prepare for a war, for surviving that war, the way things are going around the world. We're possibly coming to a Valley Forge point," there's the Founders reference again, "which could test us like never before. And there's all this business with bird feathers turning into nukes and beaches on 34th Street, earthquakes in New York. Did you see the articles about the Munin project too? I'm thinking maybe a connection. Bombs make the ground open up, alter the coastline…"
Through all of this, the various Founders, the four famous female musicians, and the others remain where they were.
"I've been made of steel, Cat. You don't have to be made of stone too," Gillian says, straightening up and backing away. "I can't make big alterations, and I would have been watching whether I forced myself to take over one of the shapes in your dream or not. I apologize for invading your privacy, but I could've pretended that I didn't and let you continue to think I was a figment of your imagination." There's a few steps put between them.
Small changes don't do what she's asking for. She'd have seen it all anyway— even if she didn't force herself in enough to be able to speak. There's a visible blurring of the edges of her skin, the coat remaining constant, but her hair shortening for a moment. She snaps back into place, rather suddenly. No leaving just yet. "I don't know much about the Munin Project. I think if we honestly believe that someone's going to nuke the city a dozen times more than it's already been… that we should try to evacuate people as well as try to stop it. Minimize damage in case of failure. Defend before attacking. Or do both at once."
She calls it all up then, what she's learned about all of this. Her conversation with Claire and Eve in the safehouse just days before (Hope And A Box Of Pictures), the talk she had with Else and everything she knows about Else, the information gotten from technopaths when she sought info about the project soon as it was announced. It takes some short time to call this up in memory and share it, but the sharing is done. Cat provides it in full detail.
"Nothing is certain," she adds, "but it's a suspicion. The Vanguard, after all, used Norse myths for their call signs, and Eve thinks a Vanguard remnant is out there planning something. Past Is Prologue. This one is stuck in the watch carefully and gather data stage. A theory that fits the dreams."
Past is Prologue. That draws up memories of her own, that don't shift or twist the dream. It might be fair if she could, at least then her thoughts would be an open book, too. Gillian doesn't know much about Vanguard beyond what little she learned in the last few months, but there is a small comment she can offer up, in reference to the past. "Maybe what we need to do is find out about the past. What Vanguard was up to, what things we don't know yet. We have a man in the Garden who used to be one of his top men as far as I could tell. Amato. He thought, without a doubt until the end, that they were doing the right thing. We also have Lucrezia, who I think was involved for a long time. Find out what happened before we came in contact with Vanguard. Cause I don't think the past as we know it is the past the dream had been referring to. Else we might have a better idea what the fuck is going on, right?"
Peter.
There's a shift in the dream suddenly, a shadow of a man in the background with blue eyes. Only the eyes really make it through, before it loses cohesion and breaks apart.
"And maybe the past isn't just prologue— maybe it repeats. Maybe we need to find out what the past was before we can hope to break away from the cycle that we're getting dragged into, kicking and screaming, practically."
The small exertion on the dream, involentary as it was, makes her edges blur again. This time they don't quite snap back.
"Lucrezia said Eileen wasn't the original Munin, when we told her about Eve's dream," Cat shares, "but didn't have more to tell us about who or what that might've been, save that she believes it had been brought here before they came to these shores. Amato…" She nods once. "Good point. Another thing that occurred to me in this was it could all be a machination of Arthur. That he might've made himself look like Kazimir and contacted someone who believes in his goal, to get it rolling again. Eileen said Arthur was after her memories when he attacked her. He didn't leave her wiped clean, so he had to have been looking for something specific through telepathy."
"Anyway, Tamara, who sent us Colette, says this issue doesn't become critical until we're done with Arthur." And it seems she's setting up to end the conversation. The Founders vanish, along with the musicians and the image of Dani.
Taking their place is the image of a full moon in the sky, and a large catapult with a mechanical trigger. "Buzz and Neal are waiting for you, Gillian," she remarks with a slight grin. "You can meet them anytime you're ready."
Not the original Munin. That's troubling, but so is a lot of things. Could all be about Arthur— but Gillian ends up shrugging her obscuring shoulders. "I don't know, but I think that maybe we should learn from things that have definitely happened rather than things that could happen. You're worrying about unsure factors, I know it's to keep your mind making new memories, but with your memory you can piece together what's happened more than you can piece together what hasn't, right?"
The edges continue to blur, as she takes another 'step' back. She's nearly floating her feet are so obscured. A glance up at the sky looks at the full moon. "Buzz and Neal— " That sparks a memory, a article in the newspaper. There's a sudden laugh. "40 years— see. You're already trying to learn from the past. Just maybe need to learn more detail about the past we don't know."
Eyes shift back down. "Want to take a moon walk?" It's a dream. They can breathe in space.
"Information is power," she answers quietly, "the more we learn about possible angles on the dream, the better prepared we can be to deal with whatever it means. It's possible the images Eve saw could be metaphor, but that seems unlikely. And you're correct. The past is prologue. First we need to read that cover to cover." Here, however, she lets it go for now.
With Gillian's offer of a moonwalk, Cat picks her guitar again and places the huge amp in the catapult. It's soon launched toward the pale image in the sky. Then Sting appears, and he's singing. "I hope my leg don't break… Walking on, walking on the moon…"
"Let's go."