Snow Come Down


gillian2_icon.gif helena_icon.gif

Scene Title Snow Come Down
Synopsis After leaving the Dispensary, there's a weather disturbance that a certain weather witch goes to correct. Namely snow in late May. This scene can also be known as: Peter's Secret Plan Comes to Fruition, Part I
Date May 29, 2009

Staten Island

There's something about the fringes of Staten Island that will always inspire sentiments of unease. After the bomb, much of Staten Island has fallen into glorious disrepair, so much so that places that were already in stages of decay look more like monuments to entropy than once urban settlements in decline. While much of the island was suburban residential areas before the bomb, there were two crowning moments that drove this borough of New York into an early grave. The first was the mass exodus of survivors and panicked people fleeing Manhattan. They came by foot, bicycle and car across the bridges to Staten Island, all manner of desperate and frightened people flooding into a crowded place. While some fled through to New Jersey, others simply couldn't — or wouldn't — go further. This, like in Queens, led to an eventual chaos that would in time eclipse the pandemonium in the eastern edge of New York after the bomb.

Staten Island was in the direct path of the fallout from the explosion, and after thousands fled to the island, the entire populace was forcibly evacuated. Those few that managed to stay, clung to their homes desperately, and those few who did would suffer from radiation sickness and the ever-escalating crime rate. By the time Staten Island got the "all clear" from the government, the damage had already been done.

What was one suburban neighborhoods and parklands is now a monument to decay. Houses lie in various states of disuse and ruin, and like much of New York has seen property values nosedive. Few want to move out to a formerly irradiated zone, and even fewer want to return to a place so rife to violent crime. Now, much of Staten Island lies in various states of decay. Houses abandoned by families that fled the city, were forced into foreclosure and were never resold, or simply places where entire families went missing and are now squatted in by any number of transients line the once peaceful streets. Staten Island is a home to crumbling infrastructure, spotty electricity, and people who wish to remain undiscovered by law enforcement. Few police will willingly go into this now infamous island.

In a very small area of Staten Island, something is messing with the weather. Patterns shift to drop the temperature to freezing, rain turning to freezing rain for a few moments, then shifting to snow flurries instead. It's all centered around one limited area, but spreads out a couple blocks. A couple miles south of the Dispensary— between two buildings is where Gillian's found a place to stop, to lean, to curl up. One good thing about unconsciously tapping into this ability… the cold doesn't bother her. The rain that's soaked through her clothes doesn't make her shiver as much as it had for a time.

But she's her dark head is lowered, hair sticking in the collar of her shirt so it doesn't have around her face to act as a shield. Knees drawn up, head lowered towards it, while she hugs her own legs. Everything is colder and heavier in the center of this storm. Small and isolated as it is, the area of disturbance almost seems to have a bull's eye on top of it.

After a while, the storm starts to die down, but not because of any effort on Gillian's part. The brunette can feel the outside influence, even if she doesn't necessarily know how to interpet the data of what she's experiencing or put it into words. But if she wonders why, the answer comes in the form of a small wet blonde, who also carries her own personal heating and cooling system. She puts her hand on the building wall as she turns the corner. "Gillian," she calls out softly. "Come on. I know you're here."

Even though there's a correction, something seems to be fighting against it. A less controlled struggle, so the well-versed manipulator does better with it, so the micro-storm dies down.

Gillian doesn't even really notice, barely having been aware of what she had been doing in the first place. The rain washed away a lot of the blood on her hands, but it's stained her pants, her shirt, her light jacket— and when she looks up at the voice, there's a slash across her left cheek. Fairly fresh, though no longer bleeding badly. Eyes are puffy and red, make up cried or washed away. There's a brief moment where the surge comes stronger than the uncontrolled moments before— nothing she can't handle. Reaching up, she rubs at her eyes. "What?" she rasps, hints of anger, but the anger seems very much forced.

"You know what." Helena says. "You know what you're doing, even if you're not actively trying to do it." Helena squats opposite Gillian in the alley, frowning at her. "How did that happen?" she asks, drawing her finger across her own cheek to indicate what she's talking about. "You need to take a breath. Calm down, because you're making some really funky weather systems develop. Even in New York, it doesn't snow when it's almost June, yeah?"

The hand wiping her face touches her cheek, flinching a little at the pain. It's not bleeding, but still hurts. The skin is red and puffy around it. Gillian could probably use to clean it, but she had to stop and… "Actually I don't know what I'm doing. It's all about emotion and I can't…" She shakes her head, laughing a little. "Our boyfriends did this." That surge again. "But they did a lot fucking worse to each other…" she shakes her head, that anger coming into her voice without needing to be forced.

"Will you come back with me to the Dispensery?" Helena asks. "Your cheek needs looking after. If not…there's a doctor in Little Italy, he's a healer. I can give you his address, but you could use some first-aid." She frowns a little bit. "Why would Peter and Gabriel hurt you?" She tries to hide her skepticism, except it's bolstered by the understanding she has of who has who's ability in this scenario.

"I'm not going back there," Gillian says, trying to calm herself down, so the surges stop, but they don't quite. It's going to take a while for her to push her emotions aside enough to stop accessing the ability she absorbed. It's better than some of the ones she could access… at least someone here can fix the mess she's making. "They were hurting each other— I just got in the way," she adds. "We went to see Peter— finally. I thought maybe they would talk. That it wouldn't… I'm an idiot. They've met up a handful of times and something bad's happened every single time… Peter started— saying things— they started fighting… And Gabriel used my power on him… and— Peter tried to cut his head open with a garden tool. And when I tried to stop him, he hit me with it."

Helena winces - it hardly helps to confirm that yes, that wasn't a very smart idea, but she's not entirely unsympathetic. "It takes a really extreme situation for the two of them to work in accordance." She sits back suddenly. "He tried to cut Gabriel's head open. Like Gabriel used to." She looks away. "So when Gabriel hit him with your ability, Peter finally…it triggered something, I guess?"

"Yeah," Gillian says, touching the healed scar on her own forehead, the relic of an encounter with Gabriel, pushing her bangs aside so it's visible in the low light. "I was augmenting him when he did this to me. It was how he figured out that it was something in his… in what he had that made him feel the way he does." Looking up at Helena, she doesn't really need blame, cause it's obvious she blames herself more than enough for what happened. Self-blame is the hardest thing of all. "Peter— he left. And Gabriel told me to go away— so I did."

"The dispensary's big enough for you to come back without bumping into him, if he's even still there." Helena says. "It's meant to be a safe place. Besides, who's he to tell you to get out? We get to tell them to get out, when it suits us." Helena's sudden smile is wry, yeah, she knows the joke is full of shit. Doubly, given the serious circumstances. "Just come with me to get patched up, you can even stay in my room if you like. We can ship you over to Manhattan in the morning, get you to see that doctor."

There's a long moment of silence, before Gillian finally nods. The surges of weather control have settled quite a bit, but they still fluctuate a bit. A lot less. Like minor ripples in a pool, rather than large splashes that had been going on moments before. "All right— if— he's on the couch. If he's still there, God I can't imagine he got too far yet, but… if I can get inside and avoid the couch on the bottom floor… If I can't get your power under control I shouldn't go anywhere…" She at least recognizes that… "Control's gotten enough people in trouble tonight…"

"If he's as damaged as you say he is? I doubt he's getting up from the couch." Helena assures. "But we'll get you treated first, and then I'll go see Gabriel, or get someone else to take care of him." Then, softly, "I'm sorry Peter hurt you."

"I don't really need anything— I've hurt a lot worse than this without getting any medical attention," Gillian says, prodding at the skin a bit before shaking her head,"I don't want a healer either— one cut— a couple scrapes and bruises… but I'll live. He's a lot worse than I am." Her apology for Peter hurting her doesn't earn an immediate response, but she does stop and turn to look at her, "He was sorry it happened too…" Those small splashes are starting up again for some reason, but they're not full surges. "At least at first. Then he told me to go to hell."

"I'm not going to tell you to go to hell." Helena says, rising to her feet and holding out a hand to help the other woman up.

The hand is accepted, squeezing it back gently. "I know— I don't think he meant it either, but… maybe he did," Gillian's been shaking her head a lot lately, so she does it once again. "But I really don't need much, just… grab me some bandages and I'll take care of it— Only reason I'm going with you is because I don't want to end up making it snow everywhere I go…" The snow has mostly melted now, at least.

"It's okay." For a moment, Helena can see now, how she and Gillian might - may? - become friends. "Some antiseptic couldn't hurt. We'll get you into my room wth some food and bandages and some neosporin and you can call it a night, okay? Sleep will help with this," she makes a vague gesture at the sky, letting Gillian's hand go after a moment.

"Sleep'll help," Gillian says with a nod, though there's still worry and pain painted across her face as she takes her hand back, finally pulling her hair out of the collar of her shirt and coat. "Thanks," she adds, looking at the younger woman's eyes for an instant. This ripple is very different than before. The air actually warms rather than growing colder, the clouds dispersing, rather than coming together. It only lasts a moment, even without correction.

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