Participants:
| Scene Title | In the Light of the Moon |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Munin tracks down Huruma in her search for Adam Monroe. |
| Date | November 12, 2008 |
Brooklyn is located on the westernmost point of Long Island and shares its only land boundary with Queens. The East river borders and defines the borough's northern coast, Coney Island, Brighton Beach, and Manhattan beach are to the south, and the Narrows separate it from Staten Island to the southwest.
Downtown Brooklyn is one of the NYC's largest business districts. Between the Bridge and Prospect Park, brownstones, townhouses, and high-end restaurants are dominant. The culturally diverse communities of Williamsburg and Greenpoint are snugged against the East River to the far north. Close by are far more criminally active neighborhoods such as Brownsville, Crown Heights, and Bushwick. Regardless of the social situation, the so-called Borough of Neighborhoods is packed to the gills in post-bomb NYC.
It isn't stealing, Munin has decided. For one thing, she intends to give Ethan's night vision goggles back as soon as she's done with them. For another, she's sure he would have given her permission to take them — if only she'd asked. Dressed in a heavy gray pea coat with one of Amato's blood red scarves wrapped around her throat for warmth, the dark-haired woman sits at the top of gnarled fire escape near the mouth of an alley in one of Brooklyn's shadier districts. Pale eyes, slightly bloodshot from being open for so long, scan nearby rooftops behind the goggles' lenses, peeled for any signs of heat or movement. That's not to say she's looking for one at the exclusion of the other; at this point, twelve hours into her search for Adam Monroe, she'll happily take either or both. Now that the sun is done and the moon shines brightly in the starless sky, her birds are of little use to her.
Munin is on her own.
In regards to company Adam may have, those same birds may or may not have glimpsed him with the woman now ascending onto the rooftop of one large brownstone block; the door in the distance creaks open, old metal grinding past hinges and concrete littered with miniscule rocks. In bare feet, Huruma slips out of the exit and into the cool November air. This is simply a moment of fresh air for her, from whatever she may have been up to inside of that particular block of buildings. It seems a total reprieve, judging by the fact all that the tall woman is wearing- is effectively what most would deem pajamas. High-cut cotton shorts, a cotton tank top, and over those, a dark red, half-open fleece robe that falls to around her knees. It's not cold enough to freeze, but it is cold enough that someone dressed so bare is likely aiming to wake up rather than fall asleep.
Huruma is no vampire, but it is obvious that she personally prefers the dark. The chilly air exhaling from her mouth almost seems like smoke, puffing out as she turns and makes her way across the rooftop, wandering closer to the next building over. Judging by her bored path, she may not know Munin is around- but then again, Huruma does a very good job of seeming oblivious if she is the one being watched.
Mindful of the fact that only an alley separates her from Huruma, Munin reaches up and touches her hand to the side of the goggles, using her fingertips to turn the dial, zooming in on the statuesque woman. And she is a woman — even in the dark, she can appreciate the impressive curves, all perfectly sculpted muscle, that come together to form Huruma's hourglass figure.
As she moves closer toward the building where Munin is perched, the younger of the two women sinks down in an attempt to make herself appear as small and unobtrusive as possible, and hopes Huruma doesn't look anywhere below the rooftop opposite her. Even if she did, she might not be able to make out Munin's much more diminutive silhouette, faintly illuminated from beneath by the street lamps several stories down. Still, she isn't prepared to take any chances this early in the game; she remains as still as the air around her, not so much as daring to breathe.
Huruma moves across the rooftop with only the crinkle of pebbles under her feet and those singular puffs of gray from her nostrils following her along. Above, it is a full moon that peers downward. As the dark woman reaches the edge, she skirts alongside it with her matching eyes turned to the night sky. No stars, but that big, ivory eye stares unblinkingly through the passing of clouds back at her.
After a few steps along the rooftop, Huruma puts her hand onto the tiled wall before putting one foot on- and the other-and she ends up literally perching on the corner, carefully sitting down on the wall with her knees up nearer her chest. After what seems a tense eternity of staring back at Luna, her lips open into words though her lidded eyes stay where they are.
"Wha'd'you want…?" Her smooth voice simmers down between the buildings, at a loudness enough to move right through Munin; they are almost scolding, and almost impatient, but neither tone in particular.
At first, Munin isn't sure if Huruma is addressing her or some unseen figure elsewhere on the rooftop. When no answer comes, she pushes the goggles up onto her forehead and uses the sleeve of her coat to wipe the sweat from one of her cheeks, slightly taken aback by the boldness of Huruma's question. How does she even begin to formulate a reply to something like that? "I'm sorry," is what she eventually settles on, keeping her voice low, "I didn't know anybody lived here." Huruma, after all, isn't the individual Sylar sent her to find, and unless a slim blond Englishman suddenly appears at her side she'll have to write off this lead as another dead end. One of many.
"I'll be on my way."
"Ev'ryone lives somewhere, girl…" Especially here, in Brooklyn.
After a pause, comes another reply. "You seem… disappointed." Finally, Huruma turns her face downwards, eyes lidding to peer past her shoulder and down into the alleyway at the small figure in the dark. "…Why were you waiting?" After a short puff through her nose, Huruma blinks in the moonlight, catlike and almost in a waking gesture.
"Stay in one place long enough," Munin says, "and something interesting's bound to happen by." Not that Huruma isn't interesting. She is, but there's also an air of danger about her, and her voice sounds like it belongs to something that lurks in the shadows, visible only by the glow of its eyes and the gleam of its teeth. "I just wasn't expecting to find another person is all. Not this late."
Gleam is almost exactly what they do, when she opens her lips in a curling smile.
"There is a reason tha'they call this th'City tha'neve'Sleeps." The faint sound of air exhaled in a laugh follows. "Wha'would'ave been interesting t'you?" Huruma's figurative feelers reach closer to Munin, rather than simply all around- deciding to test the girl's mentality better while she stops to speak with the gargoyle figure perched upon the rooftop.
Munin gets the distinct impression that she's starting to venture into dangerous territory. Her fingers curl around the fire escape's railing so tightly that her knuckles go white beneath her leather gloves. There's a low groaning sound as she shifts her weight, moving to put her foot on the first step on her way back down to the street. "I don't think you can help me," she says, and though her tone isn't impolite, it is curt. She darts a quick glance back up toward Huruma's looming figure, green eyes narrowing in quiet contemplation. Another length of silence stretches between the pair, shorter but tenser than the last — at least from tiny Munin's perspective. "Not unless you happen to know somebody from across the Pond."
Though she doesn't actively respond to the question, What Huruma gives to Munin first is a gift of calmness, in order to assuage those more tense and tentative feelings. In her own mind, she already assumes to know who Munin is searching for. Being here? In the middle of the night? Watching, waiting?
"I do." The way she says just that feels like a loud purr, though significantly darker. Huruma keeps her eyes on Munin from above, lips pursing in silent consideration. If she was with the Company, there would have likely been a taser flying by now. An agent wouldn't get this close and do absolutely nothing.
The knot in Munin's belly loosens. She lets out a slow, trembling breath as her grip on the railing begins to relax, causing the leather of her gloves to creak. Something's happening to her body — something she can't control. She knows she should be afraid. Terrified.
So why is it she can feel her heart rate beginning to slow down, falling back into an easy rhythm? "Do they have a name?"
Huruma leaves Munin at this level of calm, letting her try to sort it out on her own. Quite possibly, her body may have decided on its own that Huruma isn't a threat. Which is wrong, but nobody will know the wiser.
Pale eyes stare down at the younger woman, almost curious, and almost suspicious. "Your molder of men." She seems to growl out this in a drawl, adopting a short pause afterwards. Air puffs up again from her face in a cloudy exhale. "Adam."
Whether Munin still perceives Huruma as a threat is difficult to say. Her breaths are long and deep rather than the shallow half-gasps they might have been, had she decided to take flight and launch herself down the fire escape. Her gaze settles on the other woman once more, this time holding it. "Adam Monroe?" she asks, voice soft, strangely complacent even in her own ears. She wants to be sure before it goes any further.
The woman above simply stares quietly back. "Yes." Now's your chance, Munin. What did you come here for?
What did Munin come here for? She isn't feeling herself, and in such a passive state articulating her response takes a few seconds longer than it otherwise might. "Where— Where is he?"
Huruma smiles at the corners of her mouth. "Well, well, tha'woul'be giving it away…" She drawls, laughing just loud enough to barely be heard. "I coul'tell you, yes, bu'then where would I be?" Nowhere.
"Why d'you wan'him?"
Munin doesn't want Adam at all. Sylar does. Guilt enters her eyes, the expression on her face darkening under Huruma's scrutiny, and her gaze flickers away, unable to hold the stare for even a second longer. "I need to speak with him." This isn't a lie, but Huruma might sense she isn't exactly speaking in whole truths either. "You can tell him it's about Kazimir Volken. He'll know what I'm talking about."
Huruma tilts her head slowly back, that smile thinning slightly in thought. Her eyes flicker upwards towards the moon, which reflects light back off of her eyes. "Volken." In her accent, the 'V' barely escapes morphing into a 'W'.
"I don't." Her carefully arched brows knead together on her forehead. There's a question or five for later, for sure. "An'who, may I ask, are you? I can't quite leave a message, wit'ou'a name…"
Munin purses her lips, mouth opening as if to speak, though no sound comes out. Not at first. She hisses a short breath through her teeth, chattering against the cold, then shakes her head. "I can't say." If Kazimir were to somehow find out Munin initiated contact with Adam's people, it might end up forcing Sylar's hand — and that's the last thing she wants right now. "If he wants to meet," she adds, finally beginning to make her way down the fire escape, "he can find me in Central Park this time tomorrow."
Huruma grinds her teeth together just enough so that her lips sink into a small frown. Her aura seems to bristle along with it.
"…An'wha'if he doesn't?" It's not like Huruma can make him- no, wait, she probably can- but. "I will…let him know, regardless." Hff.
"If he doesn't…" Munin's footsteps, sharp against the metal underfoot, echo through the alley in spite of her light weight as she continues down, down, down into the darkness. "…then I guess he doesn't. Thank you." And then she's gone, the sound of her retreat absorbed by the night and the much quieter concrete below.
Whether or not she got what she came for, she isn't sure — but something is better than nothing, even if that something summons a storm of butterflies to her stomach as soon as she's out of Huruma's range, leaving her feeling weak and queasy.
 November 12th: A Kind Gesture |
 November 12th: From Frying Pan to Fire |