Participants:
| Scene Title | The More Tenacious We Get |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Elle and Doyle talk. Doyle is generaly mean. |
| Date | January 31, 2011 |
It's been an hour or so since the pair of Elle Bishop and Eric Doyle parted company with their erstwhile companions, who choose to continue on to Roosevelt Island… which for their own reasons, both of them were wary of.
The puppeteer seems to have an idea of where he's going as he walks along through the oddly quiet streets of Queens; most people are shut away in their homes for fear of what's going on, hoping it'll blow over, but they're watched through windows now and then, and at one point were obligated to steer clear of a minor riot around a convenience store where some of the locals had gotten into a scuffle over who exactly got to loot the canned goods section. Just in case things didn't blow over.
"Alright, alright," he finally calls for a break, sinking against the brick wall between two buildings as he ducks into an alley, leaning forward and resting hands on his knees as he puffs for breath, "I need… a little bit've a break here."
Elle, not knowing this part of town as well as she would like, seemed quite happy to follow Doyle along to whatever safe place that he has in mind, her hands clasped behind her back as she walks. She looks like she should be cold, the threadbare jacket she wears left unzipped, as if it were just a cool autumn day for her. She's spent most of the trip quietly surveying Doyle, pondering on whether or not his face really does match with one of the faces she recalls seeing back when she was with the Company.
Because it would really suck if Elle has gained who she thinks she's gained as a travel partner. She really wants to be in denial.
Elle is also much more physically fit than her partner. Really not too difficult to keep pace with the man, and she knew that a need for a break was coming when his pace slowed. When he comes to a halt, as does she, slipping into the alley behind him and leaning against the opposite wall. "Take your time." She glances out of the alleyway, running a hand through her red hair with a thoughtful expression on her face.
"I didn't catch your name, earlier…" Doyle puffs out the words between breaths, glancing up over the edge of those fake glasses he's wearing, brows raising a little towards the edge of his newsboy cap as he offers with a tired and forced smile, "…I'm Jason."
He's been keeping an eye on his own travelling companion as well, surrepitiously. He's not sure who she is - it's been awhile, after all, and the hair's thrown him - but there's something familiar about her. And for him, familiar isn't good.
The little redhead blinks a few times, turning to peer at Doyle with an owlish expression for a moment. Jason? That's…a lie. Now that she's looking closer at him for the first time since all of this happened…yeah. She's pretty sure it's who she thinks he is, and not some guy named Jason like he says it is. Those creepy eyes of his give him away.
But…if he wants to pretend to be someone else, she'll play along.
"Madison." She offers up the first name, turning those contact-green eyes toward the man with a thoughtful look. "So what do we do now?" Like it or not, it's just her and him, and she's better off being friendly to him than she is not. "Just you and I out here, unless we find someone who isn't going crazy over all of this crap." She turns her eyes back to the mouth of the alley, frowning.
"I don't know." A breath's taken, and Eric straightens beside the wall, glancing worriedly down to the mouth of the alley, "I know a… place that should be safe to hide out for now. I mean… it was raided by the government at one point, but I think they've got more on their mind at the moment, y'know?" A nervous little chuckle, and he looks back to the other woman. "But I don't— I mean, I doubt there're any supplies left there."
He's silent a moment, then he says quietly, "Do you think— they did this on purpose? Herded all the Evolved onto Roosevelt… then locked it off? Maybe this is how it all goes down…"
"Well, we can get that place secure, make sure its nice and safe, and then we can go get supplies." Elle frowns at the mouth of the alley, shoving her hands into the pocket of the military jacket. Howard, if you're in here, it'd be really awesome if you'd swoop in and save the day again, somehow. Not that she thinks it'll actually happen. Just a bit of wishful thinking on her part.
Then, she turns her contact-green eyes toward Doyle, brows raising. After a moment, she turns her eyes toward the sky, toward the spot where the smoke gathers at the roof of the dome. "It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if this was the government." Knowing what she knows, it wouldn't surprise her at all. How much do you want to bet that the Institute agents were given a day off, or were conveniently out of town for this? Elle's willing to bet a lot.
"Yeah." Doyle closes his eyes, taking a slow breath, and then he starts to step along down the alley— pausing then, he slants a look back, "Why didn't you want to go to Roosevelt?"
Elle pushes off from the wall, moving to follow Doyle— all the way until he pauses and looks back at her. She comes to a stop, brows raised at the man for a moment, before she shakes her head. "I don't exactly see eye to eye with the concept of that island, or the people who run it." A shrug rolls over her narrow shoulders. "What about you?"
Not that she doesn't already know.
A smirk tugs a little up at one corner of his lips, as if a laugh almost but never came. "Yeah, well," Eric sweeps a hand through the air, "A lot of people don't like Walmart but it doesn't stop them from shopping there. You wanted or something? Lot've authorities on that island. Unregistered, maybe?"
Elle arches a brow up at Doyle, watching him for a long moment. "No, I'm actually registered just fine." Except for the mention that she's currently radioactive. "It's a bit more…complicated than that. It's also a very convoluted and confusing story, and one I don't exactly want to tell right now." She shrugs, turning her eyes back up to the sky.
As she looks skyward, Doyle watches her for a long moment through those simple glass lenses… and then he makes a dubious sound in his throat, stepping out into the street. "Alright," he says simply, chuckling a humorless chuckle as he heads on his way, "Keep your secrets, then, I'm sure we've all got 'em…"
"Hey, you didn't answer my question about why you're avoiding the In— Roosevelt Island." She frowns quietly, fussing with the jacket a little as she follows behind Doyle. Really, it's kinda scary. He doesn't seem as creepy now as he used to be, though. Time usually changes a lot of things. Maybe he's changed for the better. Who knows?
"You didn't answer me either," Doyle replies with a snort of breath as he walks, hands tucking into the pockets of his own threadbare jacket, "Don't see why I should answer you then, Madison. C'mon."
"Mine's long and complicated, but I'll nutshell it for you. They want to use me as a battery." She shoves her hands into her pockets a bit more, keeping up with Doyle rather easily. "And I really don't want to be used as a battery. That would suck, you know? I hear it's pretty horrible, being used as a battery." Elle turns to peer at Doyle. "Your turn."
At the mention that she's going to be used as a battery she gets a somewhat bemused look from Doyle… and then he misses a step, stumbling briefly, catching himself as he stares back at her, eyes widening slightly behind those glasses.
Batteries are electrical. The contact made in his brain brings her face into connection as well, recognition dawning in his eyes. Because that would make her…
"Bishop."
Oh. Well, shit. He recognized her. This was no in the game plan.
Elle frowns. Oh. Dammit. "Yes, Eric, it's me." She frowns, raising her hands up in a 'harmless' stance as he makes that accusatory statement of her last name. "I know that you and I don't have the best history, but that's totally not important right now." She frowns at the man, pointing up toward the bubble they are trapped in, and the smoke that is still gathered at the top of it.
"So let's just play nice for now, okay? Our chances are much better together."
Somewhere between 'Yes, Eric, it's me' and 'Let's just play nice for now, okay?' the puppeteer's hand swept up, fingers dangling down like the strings of a marionette — strings that, unseen, wind around her with a soundless shriek to seize her movements still. And perhaps more dangerously, seizing control of her ability as well, keeping her from activating it against him.
"You expect me to believe that you didn't have anything to do with… that?" A sweep of Eric's other hand towards the dome as he stalks towards her slowly, eyes narrowing behind those disguise glasses, "You're not with all those other ex-Company people, so you've got to be with them. What's your game, Bishop?"
She was expecting this. She remembers what he can do— what he's done with his ability. She flinches as she feels the control over her movements wrenched from her, a frown on her face. She wasn't going to use her ability against him, anyhow, but it's still uncomfortable.
"It's an easy assumption to make. But really…if I had anything to do with that," she raises her eyes up to the dome, then back to Doyle, "do you think that I would be stuck in here? And that I would even want to follow you around if I ha something to do with it?" She frowns at the man. "I may be an impulsive bitch sometimes, but I'm not that stupid."
She frowns down at her hands, frozen in the 'I am harmless' stance. "I'm with Redbird Security, and I have a hell of a lot of reasons to despise those people on that island."
"Oh, I don't know," Doyle rolls his eyes expressively, leaning back and looking around as if looking for approval or laughter at his words, "Maybe you were following me to keep an eye on me after everyone else went over to Roosevelt Island…? Hoping to get me to lead you back to my friends so you could round them up too?"
A snap of his head forward, and he stalks closer, moving in until his face is right in hers. "Redbird works security on that island," he smirks, "Why don't you pull the other one, Ellie?"
Elle frowns at Doyle as he moves closer, though there's no real contempt for him in her gaze. More like impatience. She promptly snorts, rolling her eyes, since she can't quite shake her head at him at the moment.
"I work for Endgame, then. With Richard Cardinal." She frowns. "We work with the Ferry." She snorts. "And if I were after you, mister Doyle, I would have brought negation gas and hit you with it before you even had a chance to recognize me, or I would have fucking attacked you before you got suspicious and did your little trick. Implying otherwise is an insult to my intelligence." Basically, 'You are dangerous, and I know it'.
"Let's be honest here, Ellie," Doyle's brows raise a little, one hand lifting to pull the fake glasses off and polish them on his shirt; watching his hands clean them off, eyes lifting then to regard her, "You were never exactly the brains behind the Company, were you?"
A slow smirk curls to his lips, and then fades as he glances across the street— turning to start down the block, hand raising to 'walk' his fingers through the air, her legs moving as he compels her to follow, "We're walking and talking, walking and talking… Endgame, huh? And why the hell should I believe that one?"
Elle grimaces. She's going to kick him in the shin for that one, one of these days. The grimace only grows as she's suddenly walking along with Doyle. "You really don't have to use your ability. I don't want to hurt you, and I would have already done it if I had any intention of it." She frowns.
"Reach into my purse, pull out my phone, and call Richard Cardinal. Or use your own phone." She frowns over at the puppet master. "Look, I used to be part of the Institute. I betrayed my daddy and everything, and now he's sitting in a cell somewhere because of me. Probably thinks I'm dead. I defected when I realized they're no better than the Company that my dad used to run. That they're worse than them." She turns a small scowl to the ground in front of her.
Then, she speaks in a much quieter tone. "I suppose if you don't believe me, you could always give the Institute exactly what they want. They'll perform surgery on me, stick metal rods in my chest like they did to Aric Gibbs and who knows who else, and then they'll use me as a living, breathing battery to power their god machine that will send messages to the past." She turns to frown at Doyle.
"Maybe I deserve it."
"Christ, you just don't stop talking do you?" An exasperated tone of voice from Doyle as he walks along the street with her forced to walk with him, a throaty little chuckle rising up past his lips, "And I don't know this Richard guy. I mean, I've heard him mentioned in passing, but he's not exactly somebody whose word I'm gonna take. Try again. And less drama next time— seriously, you're all but Shakespearean here, Ellie."
"Fuck, Doyle, what the fuck do you want?" Elle scowls over at Doyle. "I know Elizabeth Harrison. Claire Bennet. Abigail Beauchamp." She grits her teeth. "Amid Halebi. The nuke guy that you guys are watching right now? I helped save him. I was there when Sylar attacked us and tried to kill us all. Brian Winters. He was there, too." She glares over at the obese man. "I'm the one who fucking shot Sylar in the back along with Brian, scared him away."
"Halebi." A rough snort from the puppetmaster, gesturing with one hand, "I warned them, you know. We all hate the idea of being locked up by the government, but if there was another Bomb…? It'd be all over. All over for all of us. But they just had to fucking go and do it, didn't they? I warned them it'd come to this. The only way we're getting to the future is through a river of blood…"
There's silence for a few moments from Doyle, and then he says flatly, "When we get where we're going, I'll call Brian, if I can get a call through. If he vouches for you…" What happens if he doesn't vouch for he goes unspoken.
"I was just doing what I was told, rescuing him." She doesn't mention that her ability is, in theory, like his. It's better that she avoid that part. "Sylar showed up and nearly killed us all. I think someone tipped him off that we'd be there." She scowls over at him. "Hurry th'fuck up. I'd like to be in control of my facilities again when Winters tells you that I was there." Winters better tell him, or she will haunt him SO HARDCORE after Doyle finishes making her kill herself or something.
As they walk, the edge of one of the bridges comes into view; cut in half by the dome, the two sides sag against it, pavement and stone and steel having collapsed from lack of support. A sizable chunk has fallen into the water, perhaps sliding down the curve of that invisible dome to where it rests somewhere below. The buildings are more scarce, now, the run down factories and warehouses of Long Island City around them like brick corpses.
"Maybe Sylar realized what you were doing was fucking stupid," the puppetmaster replies in deceptively cheerful tones, glancing back to her as they walk and saying, apropos of nothing, "I liked you better as a blonde, Ellie."
Elle scowls. "No, Sylar was there to hunt. To get Amid's ability. He was going to be there whether we were or not— and if we hadn't been there, Sylar would be running around with that ability." The woman glowers over at the collapsed bridge for a long moment, lapsing into silence.
"…They're going to say terrorists. They're going to use this as an excuse to keep everyone in. To villify the Evolved even more." She winces, turning her face toward the ground. This is all just so much bullshit, and she's busy trying to persuade Eric Doyle that she's not a bad guy. That she's not going to go and turn him in to the government.
"You can blame the Institute for my red hair. I was trying to hide from them…even had a bodyguard who got separated from me. Everyone says they liked me better as a blonde. I think I agree." She would shrug, but she can't right now.
"Of course they are," Doyle says with a shrug of one shoulder, "I've been telling everyone that trying to stop the inevitable isn't going to work. We've got two choices. We hide… or we fight. Evolution isn't a pretty thing, but the newcomer on the block always has to kill what came before it. Or it'll be killed in turn."
"So you're suggesting we should get rid of non-evolved?" Elle turns her contact-green gaze toward Doyle, one brow tipping up as she regards the man. "If you are, that's kinda fucked up…" She frowns, turning her eyes down to her feet, which are still walking of their own accord. Does he have to be so slow while he's walking her?
"I'm not saying that we should," Doyle replies with a shake of his head, one hand lifting to wave the matter off dismissively as he steps away from the street and into the lot of an empty, boarded up old factory-style building in brick, heading along past the side of it through overgrown grass and uneven dirt, "I'm saying that no matter what we do… that's what it's going to come down to. I don't like it. It's just what's going to happen, eventually…" He sounds almost sad about it, head shaking a little.
Which means that he's not really paying much attention to where he's making her walk. Oh hey, a gopher hole!
"I don't think it's going to come down to that…I mean, two evos can have a non-evo, right? I think that what's going to happen is that eventually, the normal humans are just going to d—MOTHERFUCK!!!" Elle's remark is cut short as he is kind enough to make her walk right into a gopher hole. If she wasn't under his control, it would be rather easy to sidestep.
As it is, her foot catches, and she promptly falls flat on her face, banging her forehead against the concrete with an unhappy-sounding crack. Ohh, she just popped her stitches from her head wound that Sylar gave her, and she's starting to bleed again.
"You don't really think they'll let that happen, do you? They'll fight for their own survival…" Doyle's stopped once she lets out that yelp of panic and pain, looking down at her with a faint smirk just lingering upon his lips. He steps over slowly, dropping down to a crouch beside her and asking quietly, "So. Ellie. How do you think all those people felt that you tortured because Daddy told you to? Do you think it felt like that? No… probably not." His hand lifts, and she starts to move jerkily to put her hands under her, to push herself to her feet and climb up again, "…you don't feel helpless enough yet."
Elle lets out a groan as the blood begins to flow from the two popped stitches in her head. Red stains the snow beneath her, and she quietly watches as it spreads into the white, turning the snow red. "Mother—" She grits her teeth for a moment as her hands push her back up to her feet, bloody and in pain now. And then…she doesn't register him with a response, which is obviously what he's after.
"You didn't let me finish," she mutters, gritting her teeth against the ache in her head. "I said that they would die off, as in…eventually, there won't be any more non-evolved kids born. They'll go extinct. This is evolution, after all. One day, only God knows when, everyone is going to have an ability. We probably won't even live to see the day, but it'll happen." She scrunches one eye close, to keep blood from dripping into it, purposely looking over at the bridge.
"Not if they kill off all of us first," Doyle points out, his hand lifting to draw her up to her feet, and then he turns to walk along into the overgrown back lot; the edges of a foundation visible here and there beneath mounds of dirt, grass and tall weeds that stand obscuring the ground, "Which is their plan, I guess. Round us up, keep us from breeding with non-Evolved, give them time to isolate and eliminate the gene…"
Elle lets out a snort, rolling her eyes. It's as if he never tripped her, as if she's not got blood streaking down the side of her face, save for that scrunched up eye. "That's the thing. They can't kill us all off. Two non-evolved parents can have an evolved child, out of nowhere. And if the Institute and everyone is dumb enough to believe that they can kill all of the Evolved off…"
"It won't stop them from trying," says Doyle quietly as he steps along over to a particularly tangled mass of brush— pushing the nettles aside, revealing a heavy hatch that he grabs hold of, hauling it open with a protesting groan of rust and metal to reveal a passage downwards into the earth.
"But we're like cockroaches, we are," the puppeteer decrees darkly as he walks her down into the shadows, "The more you try and kill us… the more tenacious we get."