Where The Wild Things Are


helena_icon.gif huruma_icon.gif

Scene Title Where The Wild Things Are
Synopsis Helena has a chat with a monster over food.
Date October 22, 2008

Piccoli's Delicatessen

Everything about Piccoli's is welcoming. There's a large, cheerful neon sign mounted on the roof, the interior is brightly lit and spotlessly clean, and the old-fashioned decor is more reminiscent of mother's kitchen than a successful business. Since the doors opened in 1946, Piccoli's has been best known for pastrami, hot dogs, corned beef, and salami. The wait can sometimes be a little long, but the prices are reasonable and the food is always worth it.

There are few things Helena would consider as personal vices. So okay, maybe her hardcore indulgment in LUSH and BPAL — less of late, admittedly, and her penchant for theft of Claire's clothes. But the pastrami on rye at Piccolo's is definitely a vice. She's back again for another exciting late lunch, nose in a book, mouth full of meat. Omnom.

The familiar ting-a-ling of the door opening sounds innocent enough on the ears, but the click-click-click of heels on tile is less so. Huruma is wearing relatively the same sort of clothes as the last time Helena saw her, far down below; that double-breasted coat, and those dark pants and boots. When winter rolls around, it may be a wonder that Huruma can still balance on them.

The woman's eyes are a deceptive brown today, so when she does enter and catch the gaze of an employee, they do not seem to be surprised. What the man behind the counters does get is a wave of nervous aversion, as well as most of the patrons; so when Huruma passes into the small restaurant towards Helena, nobody bothers to ask why she has skipped the food part.

Helena becomes aware of someone approaching her, and when she looks up to see who it is, she's so nakedly shocked that it's almost comedic. She doesn't say anything, just stares at Huruma before putting her book down, and unable to resist the urge, her eyes flick briefly toward the exit, and the number of people currently in the deli before she looks back up to the dark woman.

Before Huruma comes to a halt beside Helena's table, one arm reaches out to tug the nearest chair into a better position for sitting. Which the woman does a few seconds after the fact, one leg crossing over the other vaguely to the side of the little table as to refrain from knocking into it. All in all, it's almost like a housecat that heard the can-opener crunching… coming to sit and watch you… and wait… for whatever it is they might suddenly be wanting.

"Hello." It is simple. Anti-climatic. But still in the same voice that was at home in that dark tunnel.

With what might be a surprising amount of delicacy, and with the air of an Austen heroine completing her high tea, Helena places her sandwich down on its paper plate. "Hello." she replies. She looks Huruma in the eye — easier likely due to the contacts. Between the instinctual flip-out her brain is having (Ohmygodcannibalwomanisgonnaeatme!) she actually gets it to work — why confront her in public? Forcing herself to relax, she notes simply, "I'm not sure what it is you want." She can't quite get her mouth around the idea of saying 'can I help you?'.

Huruma seems about as passive as a zoo animal in this little place; but then again, one tends to hear more about those getting out and mauling someone than how docile they can appear to be when concentrated. At first, the older woman allows her lip to slip up, but it is followed by the other and a familiar sneer is avoided.

"I wanted you …alone." Even while colored, her eyes sit on Helena with collected interest, watchful and still potentially creepy. Staring is naturally so, is it not?

Oh, Helena's creeped out. She's aware that she's a trapped rabbit, but fortunately, they're in a public place, so it's not quite feeding time at the zoo yet. And showing her fear will not improve the situation. Helena may not be a predator, but she understands how it works. "I think this is about as alone as you're going to get me, given the circumstances." Her voice sounds surprisingly calm, possibly because asking if the woman's going to eat her might pitch her into hysteria. "And given the circumstances, I'm guessing you want to talk, since staring doesn't accomplish much." Except as entertainment value for Huruma.

Yes, quite. Huruma allows herself a tilt of the head. "I am well aware." For measure, she even folds both hands on her uppermost leg. "Though, I coul'accomplish much by jus'staring…" Finally, the woman's voice gives an amused purr, the corners of her lips tugging upward just enough for a similar expression. "You woul'be surprised. But no, I did no'come t'stare. I came t'talk about your…people." Further relaxation makes itself known by the slowly simmering accent that wriggles its way back into her speech more completely. Huruma is not here to eat Helena; at least, it is certainly not a priority.

Helena is vaguely interested in the accent, but seems ill inclined to bring it up. "Anyone particular among my people?" But oh, she has a feeling. And there's not much she's going to be able to do about it.

"Firstly. I figure tha'I should…warn you for them. It woul'be ill-advised t'disrespect me again, no matter how small." Huruma leaves specifics out of it, but Helena has an imagination, right? "Secondly. If you know my name, I do no'know yours." Over the course of her words, she seems to melt into her already languid position— at least in figure. If there is any tenseness in Huruma, it is not in her muscles, nor her silky tone of voice. "Lastly. I wish f'you t'explain th'incidents regarding m'possibly inadvertent freedom." No answers that she has received so far seem to have been enough.

Helena considers a moment. "Some are smarter than others." she says. "I'll pass on your warning, but the ones who have a particular problem with their brains and their mouthes suffering from disconnect are most often the ones I can do little about. And I don't know your name. But mine's Helena." She doesn't answer the last question just yet, and appears to be mulling it over.

Huruma breathes out softly through her nose, perhaps silently going over that warning again in her head. "I assure you tha'if it happens again, someone may actually find something…disconnected." Only the last word carries a venomous bite. "My name is Huruma." Easy enough. Now, are you possibly done mulling? Because she is back to staring.

"Alright." The calm way Helena accepts that warning might suggest…something. What may not be exactly clear. "Are you familiar with a man named Sylar?"

"I have only heard tha'name a few times, an'when I did ask, I was met wit'nothing much." A serial killer that steals powers. And? Obviously, and on a personal level, that did not pique Huruma's interest. "So no, I am not."

"As I said in the tunnels, he wants to get his hands on Adam Monroe rather badly." Helena says, the conversation somehow restoring her calm a little bit. "One of the abilities he's stolen is shapeshifting. He…took the form of someone me and mine trusted, convinced us that a raid on the Company was necessary, for another purpose. But all he wanted was Monroe. And as you're already aware, your release was an accident. Why did they feel it necessary to put you there?" One question for Huruma's three seems like a fair deal.

Like a sponge, Huruma simply sits, and she absorbs, ticking off invisible notations in her head and into her memories. As for Sylar wanting Adam, he may have to deal with Huruma to be able to steal her toys. So to speak.

A moment passes where Huruma blinks, though it is slow and deliberate, and still lids her eyes when she answers Helena. "Because I am a monster. A monster of god, but no less, a monster." Whether the fact is good or bad goes unsaid. She was on Level Five, the most hard-pressed of Evolved prisons that the Company has. While the means of why Huruma was put there is a mystery to Helena, there is no mystery as to the guilty verdict that they did impose upon her for it all.

"I know." And the fact that Helena's calm when she says this surprises her most of all. "I knew you before we met." she says. "Someone who could see the future showed you to me. I saw you do something terrible." It's all Helena can do not to shudder.

Future-sight gets more interest than even Sylar. "Mmmmm. What you may call terrible, I ver'likely call efficacious." Huruma remains unperturbed by Helena's judgment of her. "See th'future?" As the woman says it, a bubble of a laugh comes along. "Was there more of me, or just th'one time?"

Helena shakes her head. "Just the one I saw. And it's already happened, I suspect. You did assault Agent Parkman, didn't you?" Huruma's laughter startles Helena, and she takes a sip of her Doc Brown's to cover it.

"I diiid, yes." Huruma's lips curl up into a smile, all of a sudden. "Assault is such a mean word, Helena." Her voice remains serious, despite the audible rolling of her words. When she says the younger woman's name, it is possibly something to send a shiver up somebody's spine even without an added effect. "I simply relieved him of his right to bear arms."

Helena puts a hand quickly to her mouth, deep set eyes going wide as saucers. Not because she's shocked — well, she is, but because she actually found that kind of funny, and that's what she's actually shocked about. Gaining control of her features, she lowers her hand. "You're out now." she says matter-of-factly. "What are your intentions?"

Of course it was funny. Huruma is no stand-up comedian, she just sometimes has such…impeccable timing. When Helena inquires back about further plans, however, it does catch Huruma in a half-formed thought, so she finishes the rest out loud. "I was only in Level Five for…a few days, at most. It is no'like I did much o'note beforehand, so I imagine it may remain th'same." So to be blunt? She does not have any intentions. "I am getting sick o'takin'stock o'th'Princess, at least. She is no use t'me. I do no'know why we've kept it up f'this long. It has lost merit f'me…" While Adam is interesting, his hobby of stealing and keeping pet damsels is so very bothersome.

"My people are trying to take a stand against what the government wants to do to people like us." Helena says softly. "But if things happen that attract their attention, that they can use to point a finger at the Evolved in general or my people in particular…" she trails off. "I've read enough of history to see what happens to a class of people who are selected as scapegoats. I suspect you may even have experienced it." She studies Huruma in a moment of sudden shrewdity.

"You would not b'wrong." Huruma runs the edge of her tongue over the back of her teeth, staring Helena down again with a flat, feline blink. "So wha'does all of tha'have t'do with me, exactly?" Both of Huruma's arched brows lift further onto her head in question. She could always make a guess, but Helena is doing the talking.

Helena keeps her tone soft and level. "Because you're a monster. And the choices you make will have an impact on how we're perceived. Please think about that, is all I ask."

"Then I shall jus'make m'personal choices more…invisible." Huruma levels back. "Unless, o'course, I find a reason not to." Perception here is apparently all about taking a side, and in the end that changes too many things for her tastes; at least it is beginning to seem that way for the rogue. There is no ant without its colony in the city of New York? Huruma is either going to have to remain a hornet, or find a nest of her own before long. However she might not like that, it keeps creeping back to present itself.

There's no way in hell that Helena's going to go about trying to convince someone like Huruma that they need to turn themselves around. Nor is she going to try and stop the woman…directly, anyway. "I'd appreciate that." Her tone is just wry enough to be detected as possible humor. "I appreciate you speaking to me before you decided to make an example of any of my people." There's a place for graciousness, too.

In one slinking motion, Huruma slips from the chair and back onto her feet. Brown eyes peer down at Helena, for the most part a mask over whatever is behind them, going through that head. "Jus'remember tha'next time I may no'be so courteous." The corners of her mouth smile again, one manicured hand finding the back of the chair to shift it back into its place. "But even I know th'benefits o'sitting down t'chat." For the record, remember this next time you do mention monsters. Just that not all of them are guaranteed to come with blood, gore, guts, and veins in their teeth. Monsters have species too.

Again assuming the fragile-strength and dignity of an Austen heroine, Helena nods in acknowledgment, which in itself is something of a farewell, too. Her lips curl again as she says, perhaps wryly, perhaps not, "Perhaps we'll do it again."

The white of teeth flicker inside of that smile as Huruma turns away to saunter out the door. "Perhaps." She coos over one shoulder. It seems as if the entire diner breathes a sigh of relief as the bell jingles once again, and Huruma then disappears into the city proper.

October 22nd: Waste Not

Previously in this storyline…

Next in this storyline…

October 22nd: Fui Quod Sis
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