Participants:
| Scene Title | Unexpected Kindness |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Tamsine, a grieving mother finds sympathy in strange places — from Magnes and Victor in an alley. |
| Date | March 22, 2009 |
In a time that seems long ago, Greenwich Village was known for its bohemian vibe and culture, the supposed origin of the Beat movement, filled with apartment buildings, corner stores, pathways and even trees. There was a mix of upper class and lower, commercialism meeting a rich culture, and practically speaking, it was largely residential.
Now, it's a pale imitation of what it used to be. There is a sense of territory and foreboding, as if the streets aren't entirely safe to walk. It isn't taken care of, trash from past times and present littering the streets, cars that had been caught in the explosion lie like broken shells on the streets nearest the ground zero. Similarly, the buildings that took the brunt of the explosion are left in varying degrees of disarray. Some are entirely unusable, some have missing walls and partial roofs, and all of the abandoned complexes have been looted, home to squatters and poorer refugees.
As one walks through the Village, the damage becomes less and less obvious. There are stores and bars in service, and apartment buildings legitimately owned and run by landlords. People walk the streets a little freer, but like many places in this scarred city… anything can happen. Some of the damage done to buildings aren't all caused by the explosion from the past - bullet holes and bomb debris can be seen in some surfaces, and there is the distinct impression that Greenwich Village runs itself… whether people like it that way or not.
It's chilly and windy, the residential street mostly empty but for the cars passing by or the odd pedestrian out walking a dog or jogging. The wind rattles bits of debris down the street and whips around the flame-red hair of a solitary woman walking down the sidewalk — no dog, no jogging suit, no frantic pace to suggest she has anywhere to be. The way her head bows down, the way her hands are buried in her pockets suggest this is no leisurely stroll, however. There is something fragile about the woman as she walks — like one might see in one of the multitudes of homeless that wander the city; however this woman is clean and her clothing hardly what one might call rags, if not the most stylish or costly.
From a distance, out of the corner of one's eye, they might see a shadowy figure jumping from building to building, very ninja-like. What they couldn't see, however, is the fact that this figure is no where near ninja-like, whenever he lands, he's trying to hold his shirt still, thankful that he's not wearing his glasses today. Goddamned wind, hard to keep still… "Come on, stop being so windy!" he yells at the sky, then jumps again and… whoosh, big gust, blowing the boy with very little gravity in mid-jump. He goes barreling through the street without actually touching the
ground, right across the woman's path, then gets blown right into the alley, and the crashing of metallic trashcans can be heard.
The redheaded woman stops suddenly as she sees the young man go flying by, before hearing the crash of metal. She frowns, standing still a moment, before hurrying to the alley, her cell phone all ready out of her pocket, prepared to call 9-1-1. "Are you okay?" she calls, trying to balance her need to help someone in pain or danger with her own need to keep herself safe. Still, she takes another few steps, to survey any damage to the boy and his body, dark eyes narrowed as she cranes her head to see him.
Pushing stray bits of trash out of his face, he doesn't appear too hurt, just a bit shaken. Strange, considering how high that fall was. Magnes stands up, brushing himself off, then he smiles brightly and shakes his head. "I'm alright! Really, don't worry. Thanks for helping, but um, did you see anything weird?" he asks, figuring he's likely got some explaining to
do.
"Are you sure? That was… a big fall." She peers up at the buildings. Sure, it's Greenwich village, so not all of the buildings are as big as those elsewhere in the city — but they're still several stories high for the most part! "Jumping from rooftop to rooftop is a little weird, yes. Are you sure you're not hurt? I can call a paramedics, or a cab…" she murmurs, her dark eyes full of worry. Those dark eyes have dark circles beneath, so dark they look almost like bruises. The rims of her eyes are red, her nose a touch red as well, as if she's been crying or perhaps an
allergic reaction to something.
"Hey, don't worry, this happens all the time." Magnes assures… well, probably not much of an assurance, but he's trying. He's normally heavily awkward around the opposite sex, but this one appears to be, well, bothered. His sense of concern and chivalry immediately take over. "What's wrong with you, though? I mean, you don't look so good, is there anything I can do?"
Quite unlike sad alone women walking forlornly down the street, Vic Childs does have running type clothes on. Specifically it's a dark blue running suit with red piping at the seams, with some new white shoes. Those that
know much about him might wonder why indeed he is running down the street at a pace mostly reserved for normal people. For one, he's visible and isn't gone in a whirlwind of activity. For another, he seems to be wearing new
stuff. And Vic isn't made of anything like money. For those in alleyways he's not visible, but Tamsine might not be too committed to her location to fail to notice his approach. He's a little too clean to blend in with the street people himself and anyway you don't see too many people actually running for a workout in New York since martial law and lawlessness in general kind of took sway.
Tamsine shakes her head. "I'm not the one falling from the sky like apostles in a Kevin Smith movie, kid," she says. Who is she calling kid? She looks like she could be the same age as the young man, give or take a couple of years, even if in reality she's ten years his senior. "At least you have clothes on. You're sure you're okay?" she asks, deflecting the attention of from herself. Standing a few feet into the alley, she can still see the main street, and her eyes flicker to the movement — she's grown up in New York so is constantly aware of her surroundings, even in the forlorn fugue she's been in. "Just… be careful. Someone would probably miss you if you got yourself killed." Her voice chokes on the last work and she turns away, to head toward to the sidewalk, her eyes blurring with tears.
Magnes, of course, doesn't see Victor, so his attention stays focused on Tamsine and her concerned words. "I'm really sure, nothing's wrong, I promise." he repeats, tone growing worried when her voice chokes and she turns around. "Hey, if something's wrong, you can tell me. I mean, unless you're really that worried about me…" Though, something tells him he's definitely not him, no one's ever had this reaction to him falling before. "I'm used to listening."
The voice is familiar to Vic. Not the woman, Magnes. Because he knows Magnes and hasn't seen him for a while. And from what he heard from Abby he knows why. It's enough to bring him up to a pause facing Tamsine, though he's not
gonna make a move to stop her from going anywhere. Why would he? He's got no right. "Magnes?" he asks, unsure at first that it's the guy he thinks it is. A concerned look is shot at Tamsine and then at Magnes, and there's a hint
of accusation: YOU MADE HER CRY DIDN'T YOU?
Tamsine glances at the jogger as he approaches, reaching up to wipe away the tears in her eyes hurriedly. She shakes her head at the look he gives the other man. "He didn't do anything. He just fell, but he says he's all right," she says, backing up a bit more to the street. "If you're sure you're okay," she tells Magnes, her voice trembling a bit, but she bites her lip as if to keep from sobbing. "Excuse me," she nods to both, turning away and moving toward the opposite street corner.
"Miss! Hold on!" Magnes calls out, reaching into his back pocket and pulls out a Panucci's menu, holding it out to her. "I'm not sure what's wrong, but stop by, or give the place a call, it'll be on me." He offers with a smile, never one to see a woman's tears and not try to fix it. Then, Victor finally has his attention, and he nods to the speedster. "Yes, it's me."
This has all kinds of suspicious all over it to Vic. Magnes in an alley. Woman leaving the scene obviously upset about something. Magnes trying to make it better with food. No, he's not going to stop Tamsine from leaving, but he's
also not sure he buys that Mags did nothing. "Dude. What'd you do?" he asks, part out of mild disbelief that Mags is blameless but also a little bit because he finds it funny.
The woman gives a weak smile. "Thanks," she murmurs, accepting the menu and glancing at it, then nodding again, trying to make the skater feel assured that she doesn't blame him. "Really, he didn't do anything. I apologize," she tells Victor. One hand goes up to brush a strand of red hair out of her eyes as the wind whips it around. On her wrist is a lavender ribbon — something begun by the kids at the school of the 35 children who killed themselves, a way of remembering them. She glances back at Magnes. "Really. You didn't do anything. But You should be more careful. It's a long way down, and… someone other than me could have seen you."
"Yeah, I don't think I did anything." Magnes answers Victor, then Tamsine comes to his defense as well and he sighs in relief. He takes note of the ribbon, often keeping track of Evolved news, though he writes it off as a coincidence and doesn't comment. "I'll be careful, I promise. And, I won't pry but, really, if there's anything on your mind, it won't hurt to just dump it out on some strangers, might make you feel better. I do it all the time."
Vic for his parts recognizes the ribbon right away. And not only has he followed the news but he suddenly has a lot of questions answered for him. "Sorry Mags. Bad joke. You didn't do anything, man." He thinks he knows that now, and offers a hand to shake toward Tamsine. "My name is Victor Child's ma'am. I notice the purple ribbon. I'm somebody like those kids." Okay, so to a guy there is no such thing as lavender. That's totally a girl thing. He won't ask if she's okay or if there's anything he can do. The answers to those questions is obviously no.
The woman bites her lip as Victor puts two and two together and gives a short nod, her brows knitting together as she tries not to break down completely. She manages to put her hand into his, shaking it despite the odd circumstances that would tell any sane person to get indoors. Single women shouldn't just chat with strangers in the dark of night in alleys in New York City. But then, nothing in this world has been sane for years, has it?
She swallows hard, blinking back tears in those sparkling brown eyes that seem to reflect everything back like mirrors. "Tamsine Whitaker," she says softly. The last name might be familiar to them, as one of the names of
the victims.
Magnes may not recognize the name, there were a lot of teenagers, but he knows she's connected, and that's enough to trigger his sympathies. There is no awkwardness tonight, in normal circumstances, it would have shown its ugly head by now, but he's far too focused on making her feel better, and offers his hand after Victor's. "My name's Magnes J. Varlane, I'm like them too. I won't pretend to know exactly what they're going through, but I'm definitely afraid, and not registered. I'm just doing everything I can, to make the city better, and maybe one day the world."
There's not much Vic can come up with to do except be respectful. He steps back and clasps his hands behind his back, nodding along with Magnes. To his chagrin he doesn't recall all the names. It's not like there were only a couple, and therein lies the tragedy. He asides quietly to Magnes, "I'm registered and it's never been a problem." Not really trying to being a preacher about it. He just doesn't think there's anything to fear.
She glances from one young man to the other and closes her eyes for a moment. Both are living, breathing models of what could have been for her teenage daughter — to register and live and be fine, or to be unregistered but live without too much fear, with hope and optimism. "My daughter never even told me… or I'd have tried to help her," she whispers. "I didn't think she'd ever keep something like that from me. I would have helped her. No matter what." She doesn't admit to her own power, not yet — the fact she's Evolved and never told Liliana as much is too great a wound in her
heart, too much an albatross around her neck. "I didn't think she was capable of anything like this." She sighs and shakes her head. "I'm sorry, guys. Go on with your evenings." She glances at Magnes, and adds, "You, be careful."
"I never got the opportunity to tell my parents, they've been out of town since the Manhattan explosion. But even now, I probably wouldn't tell them, I'd be afraid they'd have me registered." Magnes gives Victor a patient look at saying 'it's not a problem', then sighs softly. "More pain caused by Nathan Petrelli." he says with a slight shake of his head. "I'll be careful, and stop by the shop some time."
Yeah. Talk about uncomfortable. Vic's not really one to stick around past his welcome here. He bumps Magnes on the shoulder in a comradely way and says, "We need to catch up sometime." Then gives a nod to the woman. "It was nice
to meet you, Ms. Whitaker." He wants to say more, but what? I'll keep you in my prayers? What if she's an atheist? What if he's an atheist? At this rate he's not sure himself anymore. Sometimes discretion is the better part of
valor, so he just accepts that Tamsine's on her way off.
Kindness in unexpected places, when one is already well past the limits that any person should have to endure, tend to open the floodgates that are keeping everything in place. The redheaded woman gives a nod to both the young men, and whispers "Thank you" in an almost inaudible voice, before turning quickly, and hurrying across the street. She disappears into a brownstone, the door closing as she finds herself alone with her grief once more.
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