Out Of Antarctica


gillian_icon.gif peter_icon.gif

Scene Title Out Of Antarctica
Synopsis Those who were stuck in Antarctica return~ and quickly part ways. Peter Petrelli needs to learn manners.
Date April 13, 2009

The Lighthouse

From the outside, the Lighthouse looks as if it has had better days. The massive tower rising out of the house has fallen from its former glory. It is no longer a shining beacon, guiding wayward ships in from the lost harbor — though some may argue its purpose now is even more admirable. In its current state, the lighthouse seems to be in disrepair. Though upon closer inspection it all seems to be in the details. The paint has chipped away, leaving a discolored patterns of grays, whites, off-whites, and more grays. The occasional graffitti tag is here or there along the large building. One would notice that the doors, the windows, and the integrity of the building are all quite sound and newly repaired. The lighthouse has just been left with the look of abandonement.

Inside is a completely different story. Upon entering the main door, one will find a completely furnished and cozy arrangement. A spacious living room lined with two large blue sofa's, facing each other, a coffee table between them and several large bean bag chairs have been planted in the room. Shelves have been hung on the wall to display various different pictures of the occupants. A large bookcase is against the wall, holding a large variety of books from Dr.Seuss to the Bible, and even a copy of the Qur'an. The living room is focused on the fireplace a small black fence encloses it, the wood stocked on the bricks in front of it.

Connected to the living room is a kitchen, complete with a large rectangular table capable of seating around four on each long side and two on each end. A sink, a stove, an oven, a microwave and two refrigerators complete the look. Several low and overhead cabinets line the kitchen. At the edge of the kitchen are a pair of doors, one leading to a bedroom and the other, which has a padlock on it, leads to the basement.

At the back of the living room a glass sliding door leads out into the backyard of the Lighthouse, but just before it a staircase leads to the upper levels of the structure.

A slow creak accompanies the door opening, followed by a hushed voice calling out to the interior of the spacious building, "Hello?" One foot in front of the other, winter boots treading on the welcome mat of the Lighthouse. Given the late hour of evening, no sounds of anyone come to paint this floor. Peter's dark brows lower, turning towards a silhouette behind him in the black of night, before he moves in a few more steps. "Who runs this place, anyway?" Peter Petrelli's gait is an awkward one as he walks inside, cradling a young and unmoving form to his chest as he walks, the motionless shape of Tamara Brooks, her dirty blonde hair spilling over his shoulder.

Moving deeper into the main floor, Peter's eyes trace across the television turned off, and then to the sofa and the table in front of it, quietly walking towards the couch to crouch down and lay Tamara's still form over the soft upholstry. "She still hasn't woken up yet…"

Who runs this place any— shit. This might have been a bad idea. After he asks the question, there's a sudden look of being struck between the eyes, like with a rubberband. Gillian's managed to remain relatively unfrazzled, except for the shin kicking, but something has seemed to strike a nerve. "Um, well… maybe she'll wake up soon. She's probably been through a lot, but there's beds and stuff here. I've never actually stayed but I know I'd be invited to if I needed— you know, after the whole…" She trails off.

Who runs this place? That's the kicker. That's where there might be some issues. "Brian actually runs it— the guy who… replicates himself? I didn't even think about it until you asked, but you know he kinda… hates you. For the whole— you know." The killing thing. She got enough details about that to know it was an issue, and that it didn't even cross her mind until she spotted it. The poor unconsious girl needed to get inside… And she needs to shed these winter clothes. Worked good for Antarctica, doesn't work so well for New York in "Spring". She starts to undo the coat, upper layer, at the very least.

Brian. Peter's back straightens, shoulders squaring as he turns to look back at Gillian with a scowl. Though thinking on it, he has no reason to be upset with her, only himself. There's a weak, tired sigh of resignation as Peter brings a hand up to rub across the scar on his brow, turning focus back to Tamara. "She should be fine here, then, at least. So… is this place tied to Phoenix?" There's a spurious look in Peter's eyes, one brow raised, but his voice remains low as to not disturb anyone from the Lighthouse staff that might be sleeping.

"Hey, you're the one who missed," Gillian says after a moment, with that scowl that he turns on her. Her voice is also just above a whisper, not even much beyond a quiet rasp, but more than enough for him to hear even as she sheds stolen winter clothes. She kept those on even when walking through the station. No matter how warm they tried to keep it, it wasn't quite warm enough. Not for her. "It's… connected in a way? I think she will be safe here, though. They take in orphans, and… well… she's young enough to qualify for it." As she says that she tilts her head, as if trying to figure out the girl's age.

Once again, Peter's hand lightly moves to Tamara's forehead — as it had in Antarctica — to brush away an errant lock of her dirty blonde hair from her face. "Something's wrong with her," he mumbles, trying to focus more on the young woman than his own shortcomings. "I— She's not sick," he notes with narrowed eyes, "but when I listen to her thoughts, it's just— it's static, like a television that isn't tuned in right." Swallowing tensely, Peter turns to look over to Gillian, "I'm… not going to stay here, not tonight." Not ever if he has anything to say about it.

"I've… got some things I need to figure out, but I'll be around." Just like that Peter stands up, looking down to Tamara with a weak smile, before turning his dark eyes up to Gillian. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet, but I'll find you again, and we'll talk. Just— " he shakes his head slowly, "I'm not sure about what."

The fact that he talks about what's in the girl's mind seems to disturb her mildly, glancing between them. Gillian can't help but wonder how often he tries to listen into her thoughts. She knows he did it the first time they offically met, not counting the lobby of an apartment complex. As if to test, she starts thinking his insulting nickname over and over, at least for a few seconds. It doesn't last too long. Just a test of the telepathic broadcasting system. Without her having the telepathy to do it. "I'll make sure that they set her up somewhere. And that they call for a healer to try and fix her."

After shedding the top layer of clothes, she looks down at her left hand. New thoughts, concerns, worries, and then some kind of weird decision to not do anything about it. Yet. "It's fine. I have things I need to figure out myself…" And she's a little notorious at avoiding things herself. It's just the way she works. If it doesn't take her a few weeks to get around to something, it's usually because she was forced into doing it by other means… And there's a conversation she's not really looking forward to later. Not even the one with him. "As long as you actually come find me. Cause even if you're not sure what we'd talk about, I have a few ideas." Pinehearst being one, and… something else.

Peter closes his eyes and nods, no reaction given to the litany of assface going on inside of Gillian's head. Seems he isn't listening all of the time after all. "If you see him," Peter opens his eyes, looking back to Gillian in the dimly lit room, "Brian," he adds, "just— for what it's worth— tell him I'm sorry?" Crouched by the sofa like he is, there's something vulnerable about the way Peter looks. Not in the helpless fashion he looked when he was imprisoned in Moab, but something more emotionally pinned down, something broken in him that hasn't been fixed yet.

"I need to go find Helena," and that would be it, "that's top on my list." Peter swallows, tensely, and begins to rise from where he was crouched. "You'll be safe here?" His head cocks to one side, a dark brow raised, "I mean, it's Staten Island." Yet, somehow, he doesn't seem as worried for Tamara's safety, maybe it's because he's fairly sure the sybil won't go looking for any just yet.

The lack of expression lets her calm down, because Gillian rather likes the idea of her thoughts being private. Maybe she'll just have to test him every so often, to make sure that he isn't crawling around inside her head. There's a nod in response to his request of her with Brian, though it isn't likely to be something she'll jump at the opportunity to do. Even if she and Brian get along… some of the time. And losing control of one of his clones may have made him a little more likely to understand what the man here had been going through.

It's the vulnerable look, and the mention of Helena that makes her expression lighten, looking up at him and nodding. "I expected you to. Have to go look for Windy." His Wendy? She's got many a nickname already, but that's the one she adopted for the woman, based on their first brief meeting, and her use of wind to slam him against the ceiling. Because of something she inadvertedly did to him. "I've been living here for over a month. I think I know this place better than you," she adds, not seeming to be worried about her safety. "I've managed to take care of myself just fine." No thanks to him. She doesn't say it outloud, but it's in her glance. He'd made a promise… half of him did, at least, the one who got shot in the head.

"She could be back safe with Phoenix already— but I'll give you a head's up. Avoid the Library. It was compromised. As were a bunch of other places. So just be extra careful while you look for her. I don't want to have to rescue you again."

That much elicits a laugh from Peter, a quiet and resigned one. "Yeah," he looks around the room for a moment with that word lingering on the air, until he finds where Tamara lays again, "I don't think anyone wants to have to do that again." Rubbing at his cheek with one hand, Peter turns to look up to Gillian, brows tensed, "If you see her before I do, just— tell her I'll be there soon. I just— I need to figure some things out, and there's someone I need to talk to who can help me do that."

Raising one hand, Peter gives a half-hearted wave, teeth gently pressing into his lower lip. No real goodbye, much as there wasn't one when they left Antarctica. Instead, it's just the rush of air and the absence of a man where Peter once stood.

Leaving Gillian alone with the silent seer.

<date>: previous log
<date>: next log
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License