2010-01-29: FB: All Over The Aviators



Date Set: April 29, 2009


On a minor "shopping" spree, Daphne gets caught in a time-slowed situation.

Nine Months Ago…

"All Over The Aviators"


For a gal who can be anywhere anytime she wants, the changing of the seasons is hardly notable — a pick and choose of temperatures in different locations than they were before. Turning up the AC can be as simple as jogging across the country. So this month is rather like the one before it, and now it's in the Midwest — Minnesota, precisely. The deal is, Daphne's broken her sunglasses. And there's no reason not to go find on the largest malls with one of the largest selections to enjoy a bit of replacement shopping.

Dashing about between the evening crowds, most of whom are picking themselves out of clothing stores, or the gigantic circle of restaurants near the center of the joint, Daphne's movement is zig-zaggy as she avoids collisions with people. She doesn't, however, avoid their shopping bags. It's hard not to drop a hand in and see what comes out. Like a grab bag! A good surprise. By the time she darts into a hats & glasses business, she's got nearly a bag full of other people's purchases. Her pose of finger-on-chin and the thoughtful examination she gives the eyewear looks like a trick of the light to anybody trying to keep up with normal eyes. A long contemplation can be a snap of the fingers, if you've the right stuff. And Daphne has the right stuff. She also has the right glasses when she reaches down, plucks up some snazzy aviators, and skips back out like nobody's business.

Suddenly something seems to cause Daphne to slow down.

Or that's how it would look to an outside observer. In the middle of her running around, things seem to catch up to her. Or one thing does. There's a man, inexplicity walking through a crowd that doesn't seem to move at all, but he does. Once before she's been through this. But not with the man that's approaching her. Once she catches up with the slowed down world she can move. Everything's moving slow as usual. Except him.

"You just stole that," he says, her perceptions making it sound normal, when no one else around would even be able to know he spoke. Or breathed. Or took a step closer. Try to run away as she might…

But even if it's not Hiro Nakamura, there's something familiar about him. Familiar, but missing one major detail. There's no scar across his face. He looks younger, happier, more prone to smiling…

Leeeet's do the time warp ag— HEY. Daphne doesn't like being slowed down. Give her a second, and she'll let you know all about it.

As the blur of time she left behind snaps back into place to release the speedster into the current flow of things, she blinks. Then she straightens out of her slowly relaxing runner's stride. There's a long suffering sigh as she hefts the bag of stolen goodies into the crook of her arm and spins to face her accuser. A moment of surprise registers in her widened eyes; then they narrow. "You're not Japanese." She glances quickly about at the clearly affected crowd, does a few test paces here and there. Yup. She's definitely slowed. Having no other real interesting option, she marches back to Peter, squinting full-force right at his face. That face that's giving her recognition pricklies. "Are you stalking me? Ah! Are you stalking me in time?"

"No, I'm— I saw that you were still moving even though I froze time and…" This Peter isn't just lacking a scar, but he's lacking the harshness to his voice the other had. He's actually almost stuttering. "I didn't mean to— I was just going to give the sunglasses back to the teller." Cause stealing is wrong… "You— are you moving really fast? I've never actually seen anyone who could still move when I did this." Except the Japanese guy…

"Do you know Hiro?" Such personal questions! For someone who does not approve of stealing.

The stuttering earns him a bona-fide you're-kidding-me look from Daphne, whose expression sours easily from its previous curious state. Her chin jerks upwards briefly in acknowledgment. "Sure. Hiro. If that's what his name was." It's not like he calls her by her name, either. Having let him have his piece and then jumped to the end, she now backtracks skillfully with, "And I was moving really fast until you went all red-light, green-light on us." A contemplative beat. "Or am I still moving fast and now everyone else is just extra dumbed down…"

This seems to have a vaguely profound effect on the speedster, who will never tire of her own ability, and her eyes wander the ceiling as she gives this an extra second of thought. That's how special it was. Then she's eyeing Peter again. "Something to ponder after you let me back to my business." Such confidence! Then she dips her hand into the bag, "You don't get the sunglasses, but for your effort, how about…" And yanks out the first thing she touches. It's a coffee mug that says 'World's Best Grandmother'. After eyeing the item with drawn brows of disappointment, she shakes the expression and offers it to the man anyway. "This?"

There's a frown, but Peter takes the coffemug with lowered eyebrows and carefully places it back where it came from. "Aviator glasses fit you more than a grandmother mug," he simply says, before moving in closer to look her over. Moves really fast, faster than sound, faster than slowed down time. The Company Agent in him tells him that someone in the Company, at least the Company of old, would probably want to lock her away. That kind of ability is dangerous.

But the most dangerous thing she's done with it… is stealing sunglasses. Everyone around them could be dropping dead.

"Why are you stealing things?"

"I didn't want that anyway." Just incase anyone was concerned over his dumping the mug. When he moves in, Daphne slides a shoulder back reactively, shifting her weight to the foot farther from him. Other than that, she holds her ground, though she's tense enough to spring should any of his actions call for it. Springing may also translate as punching. That's just the 'her' in her.

There isn't even a blip or flash of guilt on her when he asks. "I'm redistributing wealth," she quips in an extra perky tone, giving an accompanying nod and batting her eyes like she's an eager-to-please student. "That's economy." Narrowed eyes banish the whole act. Now she's staring Peter down from all her vicious not-height. "Why are you time-groping young ladies at the mall, huh? Huh? What if I wasn't super fast— maybe you wouldn't have stopped at my sunglasses."

"I'm not— I'm not time-gropping," Peter says, a little defensively, and avoiding direct eye contact for a moment. It almost seems he might be blushing! But when he looks back, he moves his hands into his pockets, perhaps a gesture of 'not going to hurt you' and leaves them there. "There's a lot of ways you could redistribute wealth. There's a lot of people out there who make money on other people's suffering… and a lot of people who could really use that money."

She may not have a shread of guilt, but, he has a lot of it. Enough for everyone, most likely. "You could steal from corrupt people and donate it to charities, like children charities, or disease research. Or disaster relief. Yoy could do a lot of good."

Daphne doesn't grow any shame, either, not in time to stop that triumphant grin from spreading across her features at his embarrassment. Her lips smack together in wordless triumph. When he chooses the pockets pose, she crosses her own arms past her chest, dangling the bag of stolen things in front of her. Even with time slowed, she must believe she'd be able to wrench it away before he tried to reclaim anything else.

The aim of the conversation tugs her eyebrows down some, ending her glee for the time being. She rolls her eyes. Her head tilts sarcastically to the side. "I just stole somebody's gift for their grandmother," she remarks, spreading fingers idly towards where that particular relic went. "What makes you think I'm the kind of person who wants to do good?"

"Because you're stealing small things when you could be running in and out of banks with bags full of cash," Peter says simply, though his eyebrows are starting to lower, something that makes his forehead crease. "You could do so much worse than you are, but that also means you can do better than what you are." There's something so sincere about his voice, as if he wants to find the best in everyone. And in this case it's very likely accurate.

Daphne's eyebrows and mouth are parallel lines at this point and her shoulders rise and fall in minimal defeat. "Yeah. You were kind of like this when you were stalking me before, too." He had a magical old-scar before, maybe he's just regressing through time. In that case, he'll be a teenager soon and maybe then he'll learn to enjoy life a bit as a bonus. "Anyway, this is just measly stuff," the shopping bag is lifted in indication, and a bit of showy pride steps out to widen the speedster's stance, find her hands to her hips. "I steal anything I want, from wherever I want. They can't bother to hold onto it, they probably didn't appreciate it enough anyway." There's a vague, contemplative shift of weight. "And I guess you'd also be the one telling me what's better…"

"How can they hold on to it when they can't even see you while you run by?" Peter asks, giving her a look with raised eyebrows. He was like this before? As far as he knows, they've never met, but that actually doesn't mean they haven't met. Suddenly his hand is out of his pocket and he's reaching forward. The world shifts. Everything changes. It goes one moment from a normal city, to a village. a village that looks like it has next to nothing. It's like one of those horrible 'adopt an African Child' videos.

"Do you think people like these don't appreciate everything they have?" The world is still frozen, they have next to nothing, but there's a visual of a few kids playing football with a worn out ball, deflated in one side. They're laughing, enjoying their life… Thanks to one, small possession.

If Daphne didn't like being frozen, she likes what first appears to be the sensation of being moved even less. She backs rapidly up in a vague half-circle to get a good look a the new scenery without losing Peter from her periphery. The sight of the children evens out the mood on the speedster's face, even if she doesn't look exactly repentant. But her quick-fire speech of defense might more betray her emotional upset. "I did my part!" She insists, stabbing a finger towards the football, "I saved those kids from, like, slavery or something. And that was back when I was still —" Oh, oops. Her head jerks away; she takes her eyes off him — even if only to hide her own expression.

After the briefest moment, she's back. She's sassy. "Anyway, it's not like that. What kind of bum steals from a bunch of kids."

"If you did your part once, you can do it again," Peter says, voice firm, but also sad, looking around at them. Happy as they are, they could have so much more. A little bit of money could go a long way. "Your power could save lives, if you wanted to. I'm a paramedic, and it's often a matter of getting there as quickly as possible. I'm not saying you should… I just think you could help people."

He looks down, frowning visibly, and then all of a sudden they're back where they started. Small details have changed. He's lost a little time each time they teleport. "Sorry. I shouldn't have teleported you like that." He lets his hand drop. And now he likely has her ability. "I just you could do more. You said you already did once. Why can't you do it again?"

Her first, scowling look clearly says 'no, you shouldn't have' as to the teleporting. But Daphne recovers well enough, shifting her weight now even more than before. Pre-empting, perhaps. Before anything else, she shakes her head wildly. "Alright, alright, The More You Know. You got your five minutes. How about we just say I'll take it under advisement." That instant perkiness is back, but she isn't putting enough effort into it for the mood to seem real at all.

Then, she spins around and bolts! z-z-z—ooooo… z… errrrr.

It's a rather uninspiring sight, the tiny blonde girl taking off like the gun's gone off and then stuttering to a startled and then disappointed — and then irritated! — stop. She turns on Peter in identical move to when she was first slowed. "Oooooh! I forgot! Okay, come on. Joke's over."

"It's not a joke," Peter says, but he lets out a sigh as he steps closer to her. "My name's Peter Petrelli." Name sound familiar? He doesn't even really think about it as he digs into his coat and pulls out a card. He always carries a few, cause someone never knows when he'll meet someone who needs his help! That's what he has these powers for, after all.

"If you need any help, or if… change your mind and want to use your abilities to help people, give me a call." He doesn't even ask her name.

And he won't drop the timestop until she takes it, either.

It's sort of a joke. Something, at least, is funny to Daphne as she strolls up to that paper offering. As she plucks the card up, she says, "You know, I've heard this whole spiel before. Given it, too." Her gaze drops to the card as she ponders it, turning it over under a critical eye that then finds its way back to him. "Good news, you're marginally less creepy about it than your dad."

To his credit, or hers, or perhaps morbid curiosity's, she pockets the card and then takes a few long steps backwards. She's still watching him closely throughout; perhaps she's waiting to see if he disappears, scrunches his nose up in concentration— anything, really. As for time going back to normal, that should become fairly obvious.

"My dad?" Peter asks, but unfortunately as the mention settles in, he has to grimace and loses control if the stopped time. The grimace becomes so slow all of a sudden, the way he breathes is almost at a snail's pace. She can adjust to the change instantly, while all of a sudden it seems, once again, that she has all the time in the world.

He starts to open his mouth at the snail's pace, likely about to say something…

He could've been giving the answer to life, the universe, and everything — Daphne doesn't care. Things have picked up on her side of the world again.

So, instead of letting that mouth form a word, she just leans in to give his cheek a patronizing tap. "It's been real." She's gone before the words really have time to settle, just leaving a blurry impression of her behind, and the Superman action figure she's left in Peter's hand as consolation prize. Wherever she is going, you can bet she's got on the snazziest aviator glasses this side of… anywhere. It's almost poetic: all that priceless, treasured by the nation art she's lifted and when she's finally called out for it? Over some sunglasses.

The stuff life is made of.

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