Something Very Tragic


angela2_icon.gif magnes_icon.gif

Scene Title Something Very Tragic
Synopsis Three words that could be used to describe Claire's situation in general. A chance encounter in Chinatown drops breadcrumbs for Magnes.
Date April 2, 2010

Chinatown: Canal Street Market

Day or night, Canal Street is busy in Chinatown. Perfumes, purses, produce, pork, and poultry are all sold side by side in busy open storefronts. One entire portion of the street is dedicated to nothing but jewelry stores catering to various price ranges. Box vendors sell all manner of sizzling foodstuffs to passing pedestrians, some of it identifiable, some of it better left unexplained. The ambiance is one of business and pleasure.

Early in the afternoon, Magnes is in Chinatown on a simple errand. His short black leather trenchcoat is zipped up, falling just above the knees of his blue jeans with Super Mario World level designs going down sideways on the outer portions of both legs. He's just left Mu-Qian's clinic after dropping a homemade pizza off, and now he's just taking a general walk as his black snow boots crunch against salt on the sidewalks, hands in his pockets. "Always, I wanna be with you, make believe with you, du du du…" he idly sings under his breath, barely audible enough to hear.

Although it isn't snowing, temperatures are low enough that most of the people who would otherwise be visiting Canal Street Market today have opted to stay inside and warm themselves by cast iron radiators, stoves, space heaters, or whatever provides the most heat in their homes. Those who are out and braving the streets are all bundled in extra layers of fleece and wool, including an older woman whose white overcoat is several shades lighter than the grimy filth that covers the streets and contrasts sharply with her leather gloves and the black fur hat she wears on her head.

Chinatown is not the sort of neighborhood Magnes would usually find Angela Petrelli, but New York City's circumstances are far from usual. When she appears in the mouth of an alley, designer purse clutched under her arm, Magnes sees her before she sees him; he has only a few moments to act before she makes a beeline for a black car with tinted windows that's waiting for her at the curb.

Magnes' good eye locks on to the woman, quickly heading down the alley and waving a hand. "Miss Petrelli!" he calls out rather urgently. With a few unreliable exceptions, he's run out of people to ask about Claire. But something he hasn't forgotten, despite having to pretend he has, is that Claire is a Petrelli by blood, and they probably keep an eye on her.

Angela stops just as her fingers are hooking under the exterior handle attached to the rear passenger door. She makes a small gesture at the driver with her other hand as if to assure him that yes everything is all right before lifting her eyes from her reflection in the tinted windows and turning them on Magnes. They've never met, and yet: "Mr. Varlane."

"Ah, uh." Magnes straightens up, posture suddenly improving as he speaks in a more respectful manner. "Ma'am, I know you're connected and probably know a lot of what's going on. I'm a friend of Peter's. I'm sure you saw in the news, what's going on with Claire Bennet. She was my girlfriend before something very tragic happened. I know there's no way the story in the papers is the whole story, but no one seems to know anything, or aren't telling me, and she's not answering my calls. I'm really worried about her."

"I know who you are," Angela returns, not without some sympathy, though her face is comparatively hard and frozen in its stoic expression. Blame the weather. Lips pursed, she looks past Magnes' shoulder to where a pair of men are standing at the alley mouth where she emerged, a fat silver tabby winding between their legs on its way from one dumpster to another in search of discarded food or mice unfortunate enough to have gotten turned around during their own foraging expedition. It's the cat rather than the men who receives a hard look, but the attention she reserves for it is only fleeting.

"Claire is a survivor," she tells Magnes. "If you want to be worried for someone, worry about whoever it is who's harbouring her."

"But what's going on? Is someone trying to set her up? I know I shouldn't worry, but… she's Claire, y'know? We don't talk much at all anymore, but she's still the first girl I ever loved, I've gotta worry about her sometimes." Magnes sighs, calming down a bit. If Claire's her granddaughter, then this woman must know what she's talking about! "Is there any way I can help at all? I work for Tracy Strauss, maybe there's a way to put spin on the story or something…"

"You are Tracy Strauss' intern," Angela corrects him gently, and while her words could stand to be kinder her tone is very soft, tired. "I could fit the amount of political sway you possess in a thimble." There's a pause, however, followed by the sound of breath being released in the form of a thin, hissing sigh as she pops open the rear passenger side door with a glance at the Sylar-brand watch she wears on her wrist, studded with what looks like white crystal and designed with a woman's more feminine wrist in mind.

"The individual you want to be speaking with is called Rebel," she says. "My granddaughter is responsible for her own actions, and should she be apprehended there's very little I will be able to do for her after what happened with Mr. Lemay, but he'll be able to tell you why Claire has chosen the path that she has. All Peter and I have to offer is speculation."

"I hope Peter's doing better, I heard what happened." Magnes quickly adds before a slight sigh, beginning to ascend a few feet above the ground. "Rebel, huh? He's the guy who keeps defacing news articles, but I never really looked into it. Um… I don't suppose you have any idea how to contact him? If you don't, I'll find a way."

"I'm under the impression there are several websites on the internet that have been established in support of groups Phoenix and PARIAH." Angela disappears behind the door as she climbs into the car's heated interior and pulls her seatbelt across her willowy frame, shoulders flush against the leather upholstery. She offers no further mention of her youngest son or how he might be faring. "Try their message boards."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am. I really appreciate the help. I'll do everything I can to protect Claire." Magnes politely nods his head, then says, "Please excuse me, ma'am." before flying off into the cold winter sky.

The door slams shut, pulled closed from the inside, and as Angela leans back in her seat and folds her gloved hands in her lap, she fixes her gaze on the driver's reflection in the rear view mirror, daring him to ask what that was about.

Wisely, he does not.

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