There Is A Musical Here Somewhere


helena_icon.gif huruma_icon.gif

Scene Title There Is A Musical Here Somewhere
Synopsis While another part of town experiences some explosive difficulties, Huruma tracks Helena down for little reason other than self-interest; the former once again makes an impression upon the latter, in several ways.
Date August 19, 2009

Piece of Cake Bakery

The back room of The Piece of Cake is wicked warm in the middle of summer, but for her part, Helena always seems comfortable and cool. It allows her to work almost tirelessly, which she does, having come early and gotten Mrs. Hadley's permission to throw herself into a baking effort designed to take the world off Helena's mind. Her hair is tied back with a kerchief, her face smudged with flower, and her hands gloved in plastic while her tank top and jeans are covered by an apron. On occaision she's called to help in the front - mercifully, no one's recognized her.

The world is off of Helena's mind, but surely that does not mean it is the same the other way around. Not by a long shot. People are in and out of the bakery as always, sometimes stopping at the tiny tables to eat their treasures and have a cup of coffee. Everything is as it should be.

For the most part. The next time that Helena chances to come to the front, covered in remnants of the bakery to help with the counter- there is a tall, darkly silopuetted figure at the farthest of those little tables. Huruma has not even made an attempt to put her knees underneath, instead sitting almost sidesaddle as she finishes off what looks like one of the finely baked meat pasties. Even her eating seems too calculated- she takes her time enough to make anything seem too purposeful. Perhaps a blessing, she is not wearing something that would draw even more attention to her; a square-necked black shirt, long enough to cover a pair of light blue denim capris past the pockets. Silver sandals, quite possibly not made of a material that sandals are usually made of- how hard do you think it is to find shoes in her size? To hold her up, no less.

Her eyes are fixed on the kitchen entrance, watching, waiting, quiet and certain.
The moment Helena steps outside of it she pauses, looking like some modernesque extra from A Fiddler On The Roof, spotting Huruma, and what's left of the Amazon's meatpie. There's a musical in this, isn't there? Resisting the urge to hum 'A Little Priest', Helena calls back to the ovens, "I'm takin' a break!" and comes around the counter, but not before snagging a pair of snickerdoodle cookies. Walking up to Huruma's table, she takes the opposite chair without asking, presents one of the two large cookies on wax paper and says calmly, "Hello, Huruma. Is Adam here?"

One leg slung over the other, that same foot bounces slightly as Helena appears and subsequently excuses herself from duties. All for me? Must not be too busy. The last bite disappears as the blonde takes the seat across from her, and Huruma takes a moment to wrap her lips around the thumb that had been holding the food. Even things that seem to exclude manners don't seem too much so when she does it.

"Why woul'I bring him…? So tha'he can complain tha'th'French pastries are not French enough?" Huruma says this without changing her tone; it is on one hand a rather kind truth, and on the other hand she takes a rather friendly jab at her associations. She does not seem all too interested in being offered cookies, though does inspect the one that Helena presents. "No, he is not. Only me."

Cookies are safer. If Huruma is chewing on a cookie that Helena knows the ingredients of, she doesn't have to think about what would be in Huruma's ideal meat pie. "I'll not insult your intelligence by assuming this is coincidence." the blonde says equably enough. "Nor make an assumption as to why you've tracked me down. What's going on?"

The corners of Huruma's mouth turn upwards, and it feels like she is an inch away from a pleased sort of noise; the cookie is accepted eventually, probably just before Helena decides to give up on it. "If this were a coincidence… well-" Her lips part slightly, and she lets out a throaty little laugh before plunging her teeth into the edge of the unsuspecting snickerdoodle. Huruma has the decency to chew her food, providing a short, unnecessarily dramatic pause. "-I woul'no'tell you tha'it was. But for th'record, I did find you.

"Nothing is going on. I have no'spoken wit'you f'some time, even when there seems t'be a myriad of connections begging us t'do so."

"Is this a social call?" Helena says with faint, uncertain surprise. She picks up her own cookie, nibbling a bit at the edge.

"I am not a completely solitary creature, obviously." Huruma's answer does not help the idea that she didn't come for something, but it does not appear as if she is going to outright say what that is. Perhaps many things. Her lips smile again, a cue of an incoming drawl, potentially a bomber. "Did you'ave fun at Pinehearst too?"

"I don't know that I'd precisely call a rebar to the gut fun." Helena says a little wryly. "Or nearly having my skull sliced open. I suppose it's fair to say I recovered from it." Her brows lift. "I guess Adam found a way to join the fun and games, didn't he? Did he get what he wanted out of it?"

"No. But we did no'leave empty handed. Did you keep it?" The dark woman's eyebrows lift in idle curiosity as she bites off another chunk of cookie, her tongue crawling over her bottom lip in search of rogue sugar crystals. "And was that before or after the experiments got out?" It is beginning to sound like they are talking about a video game, should anyone be listening in.

"The rebar? Actually, yeah." Helena says, her tone a bit wry. "But I'm not sure what you mean by 'experiments'." It's New York, chances are no one's paying attention to their conversation anyway.

"You did no'run into them…?" then they must have come after. "They were doing human experimentation…" Huruma begins, leaning back as if it were something age old she was about to pass on. "…they were released. All o'them Evolved, all o'them driven mad. If I wished t'be truly crude-

"I woul'compare it to Silent Hill. Or, zombies. Though, they were still alive, o'course, but infected. With something, I am sure, t'ave driven them mad. W'killed them all. It was quite interesting t'see bodies dissolve like that…" And for a split second, she laughs, visibly. "Left such a mess everywhere."

Helena winces. "Like cobbler?" she asks softly. "That's what Pe - that's what I heard someone call it once. Like cherry cobbler. I wonder if they'd been guinea pigs for Arthur Petrelli's ability formula, poor souls."

"Tha's right." Huruma cants her head, voice softening past her sharpening smile. "That was as much as I coul'figure, yes." How far Huruma was into things is yet to be decided, but it is clear that she knows quite a bit already.

"He never perfected it… possibly one reason tha'he so quickly spiraled downward. Even Parkman was late in getting away." Oh, those Petrellis. "Most of the staff, aside, was dead too." And Helena even saw Doctor Meier die, to boot.

Helena suddenly puts her cookie down. It's less appealing to her now. She may not be able to manage any pie anymore today, either. "So you came to talk about old times," she prompts instead. "War stories." Would Helena call herself a warrior? Perhaps not when she's sitting next to the likes of Huruma.

"No'quite." Though Helena's uneasiness makes her smile more broadly. "I did say, tha'we did no'come out empty handed. Given tha'it is already being pandered, I am probably late about warning you…" Thankfully, that fact does not bother her much.

These are good cookies.

"Refrain. Keep yourself an'your people away from it. Th'addiction rate is on par with …heroin, as I recall."

"I'm aware of it." Truth be told, Helena's been tempted to use it, but the whole needle to the arm thing squicks her like nobody's business. With a sudden inspiration, she asks, "Did it come from Pinehearst?"

Huruma knits her eyebrows for a moment. She has to ask? After that sentence so kindly set itself up? The look on Huruma's features- something between disappointment and silent confirmation- should be enough. That, and the snip of white teeth through snickerdoodle dough.

"We brought it out. Adam sold it all t'the Flying Dragons. I hear they've go'a sweet litt'e thing tha'thinks she is quite th'devil." Huruma's upper lip curls, her shadowed eyelids tilting over her eyes. Her jaw sets solidly, so that her already razor cheekbones practically pop.

Helena is young, and has not learned subtle dealings yet. Even more, she doesn't understand the innate nature of such things, the reasons why. "Why would you do that?" Helena asks, her expression momentarily growing stiff. "Why would Adam do that? It weakens all of us for that stuff to be out on the market. And weakness is the last thing we need right now. There's so much against us, and God help us if a group like Humanis First got their hands on some Refrain."

"In the short term, money. As for the long term, miss Dean…" Huruma is still sitting straight, though seemingly making an effort to lounge in a somewhat curved position. Her more formal- or more disapproving- title as she addresses Helena is followed with a sidelong tilt of her head. "You shall see." While Huruma does not say that she is correct, she does not say what might be truth.

"As for Humanis First." An inexplicable smile plasters itself all over her face rather than simply growing from a seed. It flashes out of nowhere obvious, and the African woman's eyes have gone past Helena at the air behind her, out the window, eventually up towards the cloudy blue sky. "I would b'simply astounded if they would b'able t'reverse engineer or frankly- engineer Refrain at all. Not only are th'cells disconnected from one another an'each prefer t'ave themselves in charge, th'potential leaders here are… not th'most… cerebral of thinkers."

"All they need to do is buy up some of the supply that's out on the street and utilize it according to their agenda." Helena points out. If her stock is sinking with Huruma, well, that's sad, but it's also not something that Helena's going to bend over backwards to restore. But then there's a surprisingly subtle shift in her expression, a tightening of her jaw and a stiffness of her posture. "One of them's a man named Bill Dean." That's all she says.

"Everything will fall into place." Huruma's assurance comes with an exuding of that same calming emotion, and her voice is disturbingly gentle.

"Mmm. Your father." It is not a question, for one thing. A statement, already saying what Helena is probably thinking. "Like I said." Not the most cerebral leaders. She allows that to drop away without a finish.

"I don't care what happens to him." It's not a lie. It's also not the truth. She doesn't expect Huruma to care, though the shadow of her recent encounter with her father, even if it was just over the phone, is still etched into the girl's expression. Softly she adds, "I'm my mother's child."

Perhaps it is the several other things that remind Huruma of someone else, or perhaps a need to remain undistracted- but the cool air that is doubtlessly floating around Helena meets silently with a similarly cool wave from Huruma, far from literal. Nothing in particular comes to Helena- only the feeling of calm slipping back as it was before, when the girl was still in the kitchen baking to her heart's delight.

"And I, m'grandmother's grandchild." Huruma's hand now lazing on the tabletop flexes slightly, long fingers rubbing against one another. "It is his own mistake t'choose a testy old lion o'er his own cub."

"I'll keep my people away from Refrain." Helena says quietly. She cocks her head to the side, studies the serene woman. "You're powerful. And not just because of your ability." Her voice is soft when she makes this observation, not meant to pass beyond the table.

At this point, Huruma appears to be slung over the seat; her legs are still somewhat cast to the side, torso leaning back and the arm with the last bit of food propped elbow-back. She does not dare to finish that lone piece of sweet, should it signal an end.

She watches Helena now much like she did the door of the kitchen not so long ago. Waiting, watching, observing quietly for the few seconds spared between words and the end of such. Feeding her ego is sometimes like feeding the pigeons in the park; it is not uncommon for her to wish for more, though sometimes it does check itself into a pigeonhole, so to speak. Now seems to be one of those times, as Huruma's face does not grow a look of self-content when Helena finishes.

A question does form- does Helena even know exactly what Huruma does? Not that she is aware. The blonde is lucky in her guessing, so far. And finally, she gets a parting word or several in about the topics prior. "If any of them are already on it, get them off. And do not come t'phsycial blows against Humanis First if you cannot help it… some of them are soldiers, after all."

Helena shakes her head. "We haven't engaged them. And I'll keep me and mine away from it." She looks at Huruma then, uncertain as to what else to say. Wishing her luck seems scarily inappropriate.

Huruma lets out a small sigh through her nose- of all gestures to make, why that one? The last bite of cookie disappears now, finalizing Helena's rather amateur silence.

"We are going on a trip, soon. I came beforehand t'see where you all stood, purely out of curiosity." She leans forward now, unwinding from her perch to fold most of her forearms onto the dwarfed table. "You know already of th'drug, you know th'right news on your rivals- I can safely say tha'I look forward t'what happens next." Her smile is back, flickering into place like the little flame on a lighter.

Helena's tone turns wry, and she rises to her feet. "I'm glad we're entertaining." she remarks and then inclines her head. "I need to get back. I'd tell you to stay safe, but safe doesn't really apply." With a tight smile, she starts heading for the counter, leaving the remainder of her cookie there on the table.

"Not entertaining." Huruma slips after Helena at first, words a whisper, following like a sudden, pillar-like shadow. Fingers slip out to catch Helena by the elbow, a signal to turn- though if she does not, Huruma will give a nudge into that direction. Why she feels the need to clarify- it is a mystery, but a welcome one.

"Interesting is not always th'same as entertaining, nyunimeka. Do not mistake me there."

Helena turns to face the other woman, muscles suddenly tensing as if she's expecting to be hurt. It's not a victim's flinch so much as a refusal to become one. Silent a moment, she nods, and then asks, "Nyunimeka?"

Huruma seems to remember after a moment that she said it first, primarily because Helena's flinching movements set off a small tensing in Huruma in return. A refusal to become one- that is the same thing the ungulate thinks before the teeth come.

"Loosely put in English… burning bird. Red bird. Blazing bird. Many tongues do not have a term to parallel 'phoenix'." By now, her voice is low enough to only be heard by Helena, as the two are still disconnected from anyone at the counter. "So we must make one."

"Nyunimeka." Helena repeats, to commit it to memory. She looks Huruma in the eye when she says it, but then her gaze gone dark drops to the hand holding her arm, and then back up to Huruma.

Huruma falls dreadfully quiet while watching her fingers hooked enough over Helena's arm to halt her, pupils momentarily aquiver and the nails on her fingers seeming more and more precarious.

She drops her hand away, and her arm comes to a rest at her side again. "Bus'ness never better using only pussycats and toast…" The woman's voice suddenly croons softly, at a purr. Her eyelashes shadow the gaze moving past Helena and into the bakery, lips pulling back at the corners with some kind of amusement dancing there.

Helena heads into the backroom, letting the door close behind her. Only after the door's been shut does she let out a shudder, feeling like she just escaped being the pouncetoy of some great big cat.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License