Participants:
| Scene Title | Sanctuary |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Magnes outs himself, Deckard is wired but unhelpful, Munin and the Fed bargain. |
| Date | November 17, 2008 |
Cathedral of St. John the Divine
The largest Gothic cathedral in the world, the Cathedral of St. John the Divine remains partially unfinished to this day, despite its construction having begun in 1892 - true to form for buildings of its type. Nonetheless, it is a grand and imposing sight; possessing the characteristic rand arches, pointed spires, and beautiful stained glass windows, including a large and striking Rose window. Where the walls aren't covered with old and meticulously preserved tapestries, they are often ornamented.
Guided tours are offered six days out of the week. Services are open to all. Since the bomb, the main nave is open at all but the latest hours, though the smaller subject-specific chapels close in the evening. The cathedral is also a site for major workshops, speakers, and musical events - most especially the free New Year's Eve concert, which has been held without fail each year since the bomb.
St. John's has long been a center for public outreach and civic service events, but since the bomb, those have become an even greater part of its daily affairs. Services include a men's shelter, a twice-weekly soup kitchen, walk-in counseling, and other programs besides. These are open to everyone - non-Evolved, unregistered Evolved, registered Evolved… the philosophy is that they're all children of God, and that's what matters.
At this hour, the nave is a dim and echoing place, with not much beyond the lights of vigil candles flickering here and there. An image of ages past. There are very few there - a lone verger attending to one of the altars in the side chapels. And a man in a dark overcoat, sitting in one of the pews near the crossing, head bowed wearily. He's not, at first glance, praying or telling beads. Merely watching one of the banks of candles glimmer, with a rather morose and blank expression. Fel's battered-looking - one whole side of his face is bruised, with little stitched wounds, and a corner of his mouth is swollen, as if he'd recently taken a very severe beating.
After making his last delivery for the night, Magnes begins exploring the neighborhood to get a bit more familiar, something he usually does after making his last delivery in an unfamiliar place. When he enters the church, he seems pretty worked up, gradually calming when he removes his skates and begins walking close to where Fel is sitting. On his feet are sneakers made to fit into his inline skates, the same color and all. He stops in front of the man, giving him a concerned look with a skate in each hand. "Hey, are you alright?" he asks with a hint of caution, not sure what a man with /bruises/ might do.
Felix glances up, lenses of his glasses glinting in the candlelight, as he blinks over at Magnes. "I'm fine," he says, quietly, though his voice is not entirely unfriendly. He's sitting in an awkward slouch, as if the face weren't the only part that pained him. "But thank you," The curious looking-over Magnes gets is reflexive.
Magnes sits a few feet away from the man, laying his feet into his skates and removing his glasses to wipe them on a cloth from his pocket. There were tiny bugs on them. "You look kinda beat up, I got beat up once, I don't really know how to fight so I try to stay away from people who wanna do that."
Felix is sitting in one of the pews, apparently contemplating a bank of vigil candles at one of the smaller altars. He looks like twenty miles of bad road - his face is bruised and battered and stitched all along one side, and by the way he's sitting, the rest of him isn't much better off. "I didn't have much choice, this time," he says, rather wryly. "I can fight. Just not against certain powers."
Magnes seems surprised by this, suddenly appearing more interested with slightly wide eyes. "Wait, you mean, you were fighting people with real powers? Like, fireballs and stuff?" he curiously asks, not seeming like much of a threat, more like an enthusiastic civilian.
That earns a cock of the head from Felix, that almost avian gesture. "Yes," he says, simply, eyes suddenly hard behind the glasses. "A telekinetic, specifically."
Deckard is tired. Bone tired. The hollows around his eyes have gone a bit purple, and there's a jerky sort of…electricity about him of the sort generally associated with very little sleep and very large amounts of coffee. Or a small amount of cocaine.
Whatever the case, he clearly had enough of it to be capable of doing whatever he was doing with a nun that requires him to still be fiddling with the zipper of his pants when he fast-walks into the nave. She skitters off in the opposite direction behind him, more aware of the fact that there are like…actually other people here. Upon hearing conversation, he looks up to take note of the same thing. Awkward.
"That's really cool! I mean, I wouldn't want to have to fight a person even if they don't have powers, but it would be so cool to have superhero fights and stuff." Magnes pauses, looking Felix over a few times before rubbing the back of his head and staring at his feet in embarrassment. "Sorry, I didn't mean to like, make light of it, it just sounds really cool…" He doesn't suffer the awkwardness of seeing Deckard, he's too busy suffering an awkward situation with Felix and trying not to stare at anything but his feet.
Felix frankly snorts at Magnes, eyes narrowing. "Perhaps it might be, if you're the equal of your opponent. But i'm just a….normal human," he lies, blithely. "I damn near got my neck broken by a fucking terrorist. Cool," He shakes his head, ruefully. And then those two people have him looking keenly past Magnes. Deckard gets a peremptory motion of the hand, little more than the crook of a finger. "I have what you asked for," he says to the other man, without preamble.
It takes Decks a second to place Felix with his face all mashed to hell, but the voice helps. His mind in all kinds of other places, it takes him a twitchy, wide-eyed second or two to shake his head. Not a good time. Exnay on the alkingta. He cuts a hand loosely over his own throat, and sets to tucking in his shirt under the swing of his suit jacket while he eyes Magnes, which. Serves no apparent purpose.
Magnes jerks his head over to Deckard, nodding to him, then looking back to Felix, and to Deck again! Possibly trying to figure out what the situation is, he just shrugs after a while. "Oh, my name is Magnes by the way, I work at panucci's pizza, we're one of the few delivery places that still does long distance delivery in an hour or less, or your pizza's free." If that aids or makes the moment more awkward, only time will tell.
"And I am Felix," Fel says, with oddly complete aplomb. "Yes, like the cat." Deckard gets a scowl, but he nods, faintly. He can hardly give orders….and it's not the time for more direct questioning, not with the pizza boy here. But he does get a quizzical arch of his brow.
Do cathedrals have those little blank cards and tiny pencils behind the pews? Hopefully this one does. Towards the front of the massive room, Flint winds his way around an unoccupied pew to pick up one of each. Shirt tail still only half in, he flattens the card over the palm of his left hand and begins to sketch something furiously across its surface. Scratch, scratch, scratch, goes the stubby pencil, with a couple more wary glances shot up at both of them as he goes.
"I like Felix the cat." is all Magnes says to that, but, being a pizza guy and all-around delivery boy, he sees a lot of faces, some faces he doesn't remember so well… but he takes a closer look at Deckard, and something suddenly dawns on him. "Hey! You're that guy who shot at me!"
"Did you do something to deserve it?" Felix wonders, in that glass-smooth deadpan. He's watching Deckard intently now, trying to determine what on earth he's up to. A rather odd hour and situation for a request for intercessory prayer, though presumably the saints in heaven never sleep.
"Did you do something to deserve the state of your face?" Subject change! Subject change. Deckard blinks hard, trying to focus on what he's doing, but the drawing still comes out with some shaky lines by the time he's added on the last leg. Oh well. He's not an artist. Down the aisle he goes, freed left hand tipping lightly over each pew in passing until he's close enough to hand the card over to Felix. On it is a picture of a roach. Or a fly. Or — a spider. It has seven legs. A spider who had a terrible accident, maybe.
"No, he just started shooting at me when that scary woman came!" Magnes straps his skates, standing up to slowly roll away from the two, backwards so he can keep an eye on them. "Why are you guys doing criminal stuff in a church? I'm not stupid, you're all being secretive and stuff…"
"Of course. I got up close and personal with the one and only Peter Petrelli. I'm alive because he thought smashing me into the wall like a superhero having a temper tantrum was enough to kill me," Felix's voice is quite calm. He frowns at the image he's handed, and pulls a pen from his pocket to write, -Bugged?- on the card. -Who's listening?- He eyes Magnes, lazy amusement in his face. "Criminal? Nothing criminal about seeking sanctuary in a church. The House of God is always welcoming," he says, mock-piously. "What scary woman?"
"Keep it up," Deckard mutters towards Magnes while Felix writes, shoulder twitching back and up while he lifts a hand to scratch at his nose. "Next time I shoot at you for being obnoxious I won't miss." When Felix is finished, he retrieves the card and leans over into the next pew to scratch down in impossibly compact handwriting, 'A whole bunch of scary motherfuckers.'
Magnes suddenly goes quiet, sitting two pews behind them now, a relatively safe distance he figures. "Fine I'll be quiet about that stuff, but who's Peter Petrelli? Is he related to that guy who made the whole city suck, Nathan Petrelli?"
Fel's voice retains that magisterial calm. "Yes. His brother," he explains, even as he finds a card in a battered missal. 'That's a lot of people in New York. Narrow it down.' To Magness, he continues, "The Petrellis collectively owe a very great deal to the city of New York," He doesn't -seem- like a criminal - despite the battering, he's in a beautifully tailored suit, under that overcoat. Albeit one to hide the gun that rides under one arm.
'IDK' is all Felix gets for that. "That's not what we agreed on," Deckard says aloud, which probably makes sense to him. Unfortunately his thought processes are a little more free and clear than is perhaps healthy, and his hand is shaking when it goes to a rest on the back of his head. "I asked for a tavor. I'm not giving her this. She'll cram it up my ass and use my liver for target practice." Magnes gets a sidelong glance over his shoulder, possibly because he's in such an unwittingly fantastic position to fuck him over.
Magnes is unwitting indeed, listening in confusion, and finding more interest in the Peter talk than anything else. "You fought Nathan Petrelli's brother? Can't you go to jail for that? And wow telekinesis, if they didn't mess the city up with all those laws, I'd wanna meet him." he says a bit excitedly, not making an effort to hide that he doesn't exactly like what Nathan has done to the city thanks to revealing the existence of Evolved.
-How'd they get it on you?- Fel wonders, fountain pen scratching over the dogeared prayer card. "I know," he says, in a tone clearly meant to mollify. "I have it, I have it. Just not on me, for the love of Christ. I don't have a permit to carry a squirtgun, let alone something that looks like it came out of fucking 'Aliens'," He's sitting in one of the pews, near a bank of vigil candles, in his overcoat. His face is half a ruin, courtesy of Peter, like someone made a point of trying to beat him to death just on one side of his body. "I had to deal with Papa Boris to get this jew gun for you, you could show a little gratitude," Fel is, half-consciously, already assembling a persona for the benefit of the listeners on the other end….and an accent is creeping into his voice. Vintage Little Odessa. "I have it for you tomorrow." And then he just laughs at Magnes. It's not vicious, but nor is it very kind. "No, you don't. I won't because he's a fucking terrorist, no matter who his kin may be. What're you, a little fanboy?"
Deckard is in a shabby grey suit, shirt tail half tucked and collar open beneath the jacket. He looks like he hasn't slept in two or three days and has resorted to unorthodox means to stay awake. Basically like a crazy homeless person in a suit who hasn't had time to grow in a full and proper hobo beard yet. He's standing in the aisle at Felix's shoulder, and he's doing a lot of fidgiting. "Put it in a cello case or something, you fucking idiot. Watch some TV for god's sake. This woman could squeeze my head off with her legs." So talented at arguing is Deckard that even cracked out he's convincingly annoyed and annoying. The card is taken back. He reads it and flinches a little before replying. 'Doesn't matter.'
Magnes just leans forward, watching the men from two pews back, listening intently and in confusion still. Seems like they're trading guns, but it could be code for drugs or something, he figures, because that's perfectly logical. "No way, I don't wanna meet a terrorist and get blown up or something! I just always wanted to meet people with powers, and see them used up close."
Felix turns a positively gimlet stare on Magnes. And that cool facade cracks, revealing real anger underneath. "Yeah?" he demands, making a motion as if he'd half-rise, though he flinches and sits back down swiftly. "They aren't a fuckin' joke, kid," he says. "There are more than a few who can kill you with a glance. It's not like some mutant circus for your entertainment," Deckard gets a snort. "Tomorrow, then. You name the time and the place, I'll have it there for you." -What do they want with you? And do you want my help?-
"Magnes is Evolved," Deckard mutters blithely, jaw clenched hard enough that his teeth might be in danger of cracking if he holds it for too long. 'Can't.' is his simple, cramped reply, forced into the remaining free space at the corner of the card before he tosses it back at Felix. The pencil too, for good measure. "He climbs walls. And I'm busy until Friday."
"Hey you can't just tell people that stuff!" Magnes says with his hands held out as if Deckard just did something totally rude, but he quickly quiets down when he remembers that Deckard shoots people. "And I know it's not a joke, but I can't exactly walk up to people and have a conversation about it, I have a really hard time. Sometimes things go floating away, sometimes I can't move, and every time I wake up I feel like I just fell down." he expresses his various problems, since it's all out there now!
Felix notes, deadpan again, "Yes, actually, you can. That's what Registration is about. Not to mention that you seem to be doing a beautiful job of telling us right now. Which is foolish. What if we're those anti-Evolved terrorists?" He nods curtly at Deckard, snatching pen and card deftly enough. "Then e-mail me, let me know when's good. I can make time."
"Whups. Did I just out you in front of an FBI agent?" Eyes narrowed into an expression a little crueller than his usual, Deckard snorts when Magnes keeps on going to fill in the blanks. Then he winces at Felix's anti-evolved joke. Not his night. "Great."
The soft sound of flats scuffing against the stone floor underfoot echoes lightly in the cathedral's rafters, accompanied by the creaking of the doors as a slim, dark figure — black hair and pale skin slick with rain — slips into St. John's. It isn't uncommon for people to take shelter here when the weather outside gets just a little too wet and blustery to brave, so it's probably not that big of a surprise when the young woman, if it is a woman, gently eases the door shut behind her, removes the cashmere scarf from around her neck and starts wringing it out. She keeps her back to the trio, only half-listening to the conversation occuring elsewhere in the church. It's not as though she can hear it very clearly from where she's standing, anyway.
"A government guy…?" Magnes suddenly stands on alert again, as if ready to dash away. "W-well, I don't even know what my power is, but I know I can get away if you try to catch me!" He suddenly jumps, very high, until he lands upside down on the ceiling, crouching and looking down at the two. His clothes don't hang down and his glasses don't fall off, as if /he/ were the one on the ground. "I don't wanna go to jail, I didn't choose to have powers! I'm just a delivery guy, I don't even know how my powers work!" He doesn't realize that he's just outed himself to a newly arrived /third/ person.
Fel is ….nonplussed to say the least. He chuckles, at first, before ending up laughing helplessly, though it's a rusty wheeze, considering the state of his ribs. "You little fool. I'm not HomeSec, I'm not an enforcer, and I'm after far larger fish than you." He removes his glasses, wiping at his eyes with a gloved hand, and notes, slightly more somberly, "That sort of indiscretion will kill you. Learn to keep your mouth shut."
Jittery as he is at the moment, Deckard half-turns immediately back to the sound of someone's approach, breath catching in his chest. Fortunately or unfortunately, Magnes provides ample distraction, and as the recently entered doesn't appear to be carrying a machine gun, he looks up. "Doesn't the term, 'evolved' inherently imply a forward step in general?"
The woman, catching a blur of movement in her peripheral vision, turns her head and glances up at the ceiling where Magnes, bat-like, appears to be hanging upside-down. She takes an abrupt step away, and though the sudden hitch in her breath can't be heard from where Felix and Deckard are, the resonating THUMP! of her backside colliding with the door almost certainly can.
"I don't understand, I thought the whole government was after Evolved?" Magnes asks, still not yet coming down, a bit startled by two guys he's sure he can't trust all that much. With the thump of the woman his head jerks, the surprise of the sudden sound causing him to begin a flow fall to the ground. "Wait, I wanna go up, up!" he yells at seemingly no one, moving his hands as if trying to swim back up, but he simply continues to fall. With the speed, it's by no means a deadly fall or even one that will hurt very much.
"It's a stupid term. We're just mutants, but apparently that's a bit too Marvel comics a name for it. We're not necessarily anything other than some bizarre variant of Homo Sapiens, and certainly not the next line bound to supercede it the way it did the Neanderthals," Fel's voice is bitter, as he wipes futilely at his glasses. He glances over sharply at the sound of the woman bumping the door and squints. "Come down from there," he orders Magnes, crossly. "You'll frighten the parishioners in the morning." To Munin, whom he hasn't yet recognized, he says in a tone meant to reassure, "It's okay, ma'am. He's not going to bother you. No one here will." He snorts, and rises stiffly, as if he intended to wander over and put a booted foot on Magnes's throat, once he's hit the ground. "The government wants the Evolved to register to keep track of the more dangerous powers. Not a very effective scheme, but nor has it yet gotten to the cattle star and yellow star phase,"
"I might," Flint interjects (unhelpfully) in the wake of Felix's promise that no one here is going to bother Munin. He looks the type, anyway, and his adjusting and readjusting his flared collar takes on a neurotic shade when he trails his way after the Fed. Closer now, he recognizes her first, once his eyes have lifted from the falling, falling, fallen form of Magnes. He stiffens, apparently subscribing to the Alan Grant philosophy of how to deal with Tyrannosaurs.
Felix may not have recognized Munin, but Munin has recognized Felix, and is currently torn between relief at seeing him alive and, well, terror — simply at just seeing him. She hesitates, one hand on the door, the other clutching her scarf between her fingers. It's the distance between them combined with the presence of one Flint Deckard that ultimately makes up her mind, keeping her feet rooted to the spot. Green eyes narrow, squinting, scrutinizing his face from afar. Where oh where has she seen him before?
Magnes hits the floor with a light thump, like someone who just fell from a bed, then he rubs the back of his head as he lays on the floor, looking around. If a booted foot is coming, he's obviously not prepared to defend. "I'm not dangerous, I don't wanna register and have people treat me differently!"
Deckard's reaction has Fel going still as well, hand sliding for the shoulder holster. He doesn't pull the gun - something in him balks at starting a firefight in a church. "You are following me," he says, with a calm that must be entirely feigned, and an utter confidence that there is no coincidence involved. "Eileen, what is it you defend that's so valuable you'd risk killing a Federal Agent for it? You're Evolved, Sylar will kill you when the time comes. What do you hope to gain with him?" He interposes himself gently between her and Deckard and Magnes, though even that motion is made with an old man's limp. "Boy, hush," he says to Magnes, with something almost like gentleness. "Not now."
Deckard is taller than Felix. But in terms of physicality the only other areas he's probably beating him out in are 'highness' and 'greatest resemblance to a zombie.' He makes no effort to step up for himself, and in fact seems more than happy to let Ivanov get in the way. His expression tweaks a little, and he glances down after Magnes's whining, but otherwise he's pretty intently focused upon Munin.
Munin raises both her eyebrows at Felix, clearly surprised that he would speak so openly and brazenly about their business in front of other people. "I think I'm starting to see why Petrelli decided to let you live," she replies, voice soft but steady. The cathedral's cavernous interior ensures that her words carry all the way to the men's ears, though they may have to strain to separate it from the rain pattering against the stained glass windows. She doesn't make any attempt to defend herself against Ivanov's accusation. Either she was following him or she doesn't believe in making excuses for herself — it's hard to say. "If it's information you want, we might be able to make a bargain."
Fel doesn't attack. He stands, slightly uncomfortable and hipshot, arms folded over his chest, head slightly lowered so he's regarding her from under his brows, pokerfaced and intent. "Really - why do you think that is?" His tone is polite. "What sort of bargain? What would you want of me, and what do you think you could offer in return?" No ranting and raving about Sylar's evil or the damage he's done. Not after what PARIAH's been up to.
Too big and too awkward to be inconspicuous even if he wanted to be, Deckard looks from Munin to the back of Felix's head. Aaand back to Munin. His mouth is dry. Nothing to swallow, but he makes the attempt anyway, uncharacteristically quiet.
Magnes goes quiet at the request, slowly standing and moving to sit in a pew as they all speak. He's quiet for a while, at least until he places a previously mentioned name. "I don't mean to interrupt, but you guys know the terrorist who tried to blow up Manhattan?"
"That depends." Munin's gaze shifts to Magnes on the floor, and she frowns. She's not sure what's going on here between them, but she thinks she has a pretty good idea. "It isn't my nature to go spilling secrets all willy-nilly, especially not to you, Agent Ivanov. If I'm to break one of my rules and tell you something you ought to know, then I expect you to break one of yours in return. You still work for the Federal Bureau, is that right?" Magnes, when he speaks up, receives a stern, reprimanding sort of look that might be considered intimidating if it wasn't coming from someone only an inch or two above five feet.
"I do," Felix concedes, nodding once. Magnes also gets a nod. He shifts his weight, doing his best to conceal his discomfort, and not succeeding.
All it takes to intimidate Magnes is either a stern look or being female, and Munin has both going for her, causing him to instantly lower his head. "O-oh, I see, well I don't know what you're all talking about, but—wait, work with him? Oh…" He goes incredibly silent now, not even making anything resembling eye contact with Munin now.
The expression on Munin's face softens when Magnes bows his heads, and for an instant she appears almost apologetic. It doesn't last, though; as she turns her attention back on Felix, and by extension Deckard, her jaw is clenched and her eyes are dark. "I want a favour," she says. "To be determined at a later date, whenever I deem fit. I promise I won't ask you to hurt or kill anybody for me, but anything else is fair game."
Felix raises his brows. "That's quite a boon," he notes, drily. "And to grant it'd likely be worth my career. What information could you offer me that'd make it worth it?" Since it's all he has, really. He casts a cool look at Magnes, but doesn't answer.
Deckard remains restless, which doesn't generally go well with trying to stand still and be as quiet as possible. He blinks a lot, and eventually turns his head down enough to fidgit with one of his cuffs, nose wrinkled while he listens.
Magnes, who honestly has no idea what he's listening to, vaguely points his head in Munin's direction, but doesn't look at her. "Am I supposed to be listening to this…?" he asks quietly, trying not to interrupt even though that's just what he's doing.
"I can tell you why Petrelli let you live," Munin offers, "and why he doesn't plan on allowing your people to bring Sylar before a court of law." She doesn't seem to mind that Magnes is listening — either she figures he's clueless, or this is something she wants other people to know about in spite of her caveat. "It involves his brother the Senator. Interested?"
"Not enough to give you carte blanche with me. I need information that will let me -catch- them. Take them down," Fel's blunt about it, at least. "I do want to know, but as offered, it's too unequal a trade."
"Shut up." Deckard's hoarse voice matches Magnes's for volume, indicative that he's still paying attention despite his growing fascination with the structure of the rafters overhead.
Magnes eyes Deckard, then is suddenly glued to Munin. These people really know Sylar, the terrorist, so that means… "Oh god…" he whispers, but tries not to let them hear. His look of pure shock is probably enough.
Munin drapes her scarf, still damp, back around her neck. "Fair enough," she says, leaning her shoulder into the door until she feels the hinges begin to creak under her light weight. "My offer still stands, if you ever want to change your mind." With a nod of farewell that isn't exclusively for Felix, she disappears into the shadowy gap, leaving gravity to pull the cathedral door shut behind her.
 November 17th: The Kiss Heard Round the Roller Rink |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 November 18th: Display |