2007-04-20: Bad Day For Busking

Starring:

Mohinder_icon.gif Sunday_icon.gif

Summary: A rather unexpected encounter with even more unexpected news is made.

April 20th, 2007

Log Title Bad Day For Busking


Isaac's Loft / Reed Street Laboratories

It's getting on into the late afternoon. After the unsuccessful mugging attempt on his person, Mohinder has gone by his much neglected lab. With the door locked behind him, he sets to righting a few things that have been knocked out of place. (By himself, and apparently others who managed to get in.) There is nothing here that he can't be done at other Company funded labs, but it is a nice change to be at the loft, away from many prying eyes. Not to mention the higher ups that like to look over your shoulder. It also feels a little odd to settle down for some work without having Molly about, after the past few weeks.

And just as it looks like Mohinder might have a peaceful moment with his thoughts…

Knock knock knock.

Outside the locked door, Sunday rolls back a bit to crane her neck, looking for a number or a name. She looks down at the scrap of paper in her hands, turning a fidgeting 360 and breathing out. "Hi," she says, sotto vocce, to no one. "You don't know me, but—" She rolls her eyes. "BUT I'm a big spaz." She stands on tiptoes, balancing on the stops of her skates, trying to see if there's any movement within.

Mohinder taps at a few keys on the computer keyboard, calling up a few files simultaneously. Before he can become too engrossed in some fascinating research, the knock at the door interrupts him. He pushes away and up from the work table and heads for the door. Visitors aren't unusual, yet he doesn't have anyone scheduled to come by this address today. Exercising some caution as he unlocks the door, he opens it just enough to see who it is as he says, "Hello? Can I help.. You. From earlier today.." The Indian man looks very perplexed at seeing Sunday there on his doorstep. How did she know where to find him? Unless earlier was no accident.

The girl's jaw just… drops. If Mohinder is surprised to see her here? Make hers a double.
"I…" She rolls back on her skates again, checking the address against the piece of paper in her hands. "I so VERY have the wrong building…" But she doesn't. The address on the paper is correct. So she, frowning, stands on tiptoes to peer beyond the good doctor. Anyone else at home?
"I'm looking… looking for Isaac Mendez," the girl says, still edgy—poised on the verge of flight.

Beyond Mohinder's form, there is in fact, Mendez's loft. The mural of New York exploding is still there on the floor, and some furnishings of Isaac's remain on the landing. Other than that? It looks very much like a science lab. The geneticist gets a hold of his senses and opens the door wider, "Please, come inside, I wanted to talk to you earlier, but you ran off." Oh wait, yes, she was looking for someone else entirely. "And.. I'm sorry.. but Isaac Mendez, he.. he's no longer here."

"Talk to me about what?" She didn't even get this guy's wallet, what could he possibly want with her? "I'm sorry about pushing youI mean, if I hurt you or anythingbut seriously, if you're looking for recompense? Blood from a stone, fellah. I've got less than nothing."
She doesn't run, but she's not coming in and getting comfortable. "Did he move or something?" She asks it quietly, as though she knows what the answer really is.

"No, no, it's nothing like that, but I did want to talk to you about the pushing incident, yes." Mohinder steps aside, beckoning Sunday to enter. "The force with which you pushed me, no normal human being could have done that with just one hand. In the manner that you display.. Sorry.. Forgive me." He smiles apologetically, his tone and expression growing serious despite the excitement about Sunday's earlier show of power. "As to Mr. Mendez's whereabouts, I'm sorry to say that he's no longer with us. He was murdered last year." There's no way to sugarcoat the news, and he's horrible about doing so anyway, so the news just tumbles out there.

She looks ready to turn and race off again as the doctor goes into detail about the 'pushing incident'. There's sharp, clear alarm in her eyes, her expression diamond hard.
But the news about Isaac stays her. Her expression blanks, then her eyes well with tears… She takes a deep, slow breath.
"Oh…" she whispers. For a moment that's all she can say, her hands flexing at her sides, her features struggling… until the tears spill over. "I… uhm… I'm sorry. I… didn't know. Obviously."

Mohinder says nothing else about the shoving incident or abilities. The tears alarm him and Sunday's state takes precedence. He's gotten a few fans or other seeking Isaac coming to this address, but none have had this reaction. He reaches out to put a hand on the young woman's shoulder. "Come inside," is asked in an overly kind, yet sincere manner. "You're obviously having a bit of a shock. Come on in and have a seat.. mind the stairs though." As she's still wearing her skates.

Sunday nods numbly, hesitating only fractionally before she allows herself to be ushered inside. "I really am sorry. I shouldn't be crying, I mean…" She wipes her eyes and looks around, sniffling. "I didn't even know him. But… he was family."
She winces faintly. "I guess that's really horrible, isn't it? Having family you don't even know, but… I didn't even know about him until I left home…" She takes another deep breath and waves a hand. "It's a long story."

Mohinder shuts the door once Sunday's inside. He ushers her over to the side of the landing where some of Isaac's furnishings remain. "Have a seat.. over here." He looks rather sympathetic for the young woman's plight, none of it faked. "Can I get you something? Water, or tea perhaps? I'm terribly sorry.. I suppose the news was kept from a lot of people. I just thought that his family had been informed, I would have presumed this to be the case."

"Oh, I'm sure his family /was/ informed," Sunday laughs softly and mirthlessly. "But my aunt and my mother stopped talking to each other ages ago. My mother can hold a grudge like you wouldn't believe. I've never met this whole 'Yankee' side of the family…" She looks down at her hands, then up at Mohinder, cautiously. "Tea… would be really nice. It's been a while since I had tea."

"I see.. in that case, I can understand then how that information never reached you," Mohinder says, maintaining that kindly tone. Offering Sunday a gentle smile, he makes sure she's comfortable before he descends the stairs to fetch a mug of tea for her. He's gone only a few minutes, so it's most likely that he already had a pot prepared. The rather plain mug containing chai, naturally, is handed to Sunday. He leans against the railing on the landing and says, "I'm sorry, I've forgotten my manners. You have a right to know who I am, given this circumstance. I'm Mohinder Suresh… and you would be a cousin of Isaac Mendez then?"

Sunday accepts the mug with a murmur of thanks, breathing in the fragrant steam before sipping. She smiles, pleasure with sadness around the edges. "I love chai," she approves, quietly. "This is a real treat."
The introduction makes her smile grow; she shakes her head, bemusedly. "Considering I tried to nab your wallet earlier and knocked you on your kiester, you don't really owe me manners, Mister Suresh. But your manners are lovely, all the same. I'm Sunday… And yes, Isaac was my cousin." She takes another sip of chai, frowning slightly. "You know, that's why I hate the bump'n'run. I'm always sure I'm going to mug someone really, really nice. Like this time." She makes a face. "I'm glad I flubbed it."

Mohinder smiles politely at Sunday, then looks faintly surprised about the admission. "That still doesn't excuse me from showing you bad manners." As to the pick pocketing, well, he's not going to pry. Too much. "I'm sure that you have other talents that can be put to use.. rather than stealing.. and I'm quite glad that you did not succeed earlier. I must admit, you would not have found much money if you had." His smile fades as the subject overall is rather upsetting. "I'm terribly sorry you had to find out about him this way. His.. murder.. it wasn't highly publicized, and having this property here? I have the unfortunate task of being the bearer of bad news, all too often."

"It was a bad day for busking, and no one was buying souvenier Polaroids…" Sunday explains, a bit lamely, blushing as she feels her excuse for an attempted mugging clunk, wholly inadequate. She breathes out, drowning any further stupid words in chai.
She looks about the place, taking in the lab area. "I guess I had some crazy fantasy about a family reunion…" She shakes her head, tossing back her hair—it's a agitated and dismissive gesture, like a mare flicking her mane. "So… I guess… is it Dr. Suresh? Not mister?" she asks.

Mohinder's brows lift faintly as Sunday admits more wrong doing. "Perhaps, it's best if I don't know of some of these tasks in which you take part." He folds his arms across his chest as he regards Sunday before speaking again. "It's not a crazy fantasy. You had no way of knowing what had happened." Sunday is looked over curiously before he responds, "I answer to both. Either is fine, or you may use my given name."

Sunday shoots Mohinder a look of hurt, her posture becoming defensive. "There's nothing wrong with playing on the street and taking pictures people might want to buy—both're honest trades. You were the one who wanted to know if I had other talents."

"Of course there's not," Mohinder says, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture. "Forget that I said anything as I did not mean to impugn your character.. and I know that you have other talents. You displayed one earlier, even if it was inadvertant."

"It definitely was," Sunday responds, her defensive mein becoming quieter, more wary… guarded. "I try very hard not to let things like that happen." She sets her tea aside, though she doesn't seem to be done with it. Perhaps she's had enough tea; perhaps she's clearing impediments to her retreat.

"I understand that you wouldn't want people to know about the things you can do. Please know however, that you are not alone. There are countless others that have abilities as well." Mohinder quickly explains, as if sensing that Sunday might bolt. Honestly, he wouldn't blame her if she did. "I'm a geneticist, as was my father. He researched people with abilities, the traits, what causes it, and I do as well." He looks as if he's ready to move closer to Sunday, to stop her from leaving, but instead, adds more space between himself and her. "Again.. you have my apologies. This is hardly the time for discussing the matter. You've just gotten some shocking news."

Sunday listens, watching Mohinder carefully all the while—gauging him, it seems. Again she looks over at the lab, tucking her hands beneath her upper arms. "So… is that what you're doing here? Researching people like… people who have… 'abilities'?"

"In so many words, yes. Am I putting people under a microscope and cutting them up? No." Mohinder says with a faint look of disgust. Perhaps researching people wasn't the right terminology. "It's more of the ability, rather than the person. Understanding how they form, how it's determined in the genetic code as to who develops an ability and who doesn't."

"So… you don't send people away to, like, be 'cured' of their abilities?" Sunday asks, cautiously. "You just study the abilities, and this research… it's going to help people. Right?"

Mohinder stares at Sunday as if she had just sprouted a second head. (Which would be quite fascinating of course. He hasn't recorded such an incident. Yet.) "Send people away? To be cured? Of course not. I want to do no such thing. I want people who have these remarkable abilities to be aware of what they can do, to learn control.. to use their gifts responsibly.. and that there is some danger they may face. I'm sure you've noticed by now that announcing you have some special ability or power does not tend to go over well. It is my intent to help people such as yourself." Yet he can't speak completely on behalf of his employers, given some of the research he's witnessed.

Sunday releases a breath she, herself, hadn't realised she'd been holding. Mohinder's shock at the question seems sincere, and that sincerity aquits him admirably. Still, her ability isn't something she approaches discussing with any joy. Standing and skating just a little further away, she turns to face the doctor and shoves her hands in her pockets, hunching her shoulders and breathing out again, trying to overcome her nerves.
"All right…" she says quietly. "What do you want to know?"

Mohinder smiles gently at Sunday, and produces a business card from his pocket. It of course has the loft's address, and a phone number on it. He holds it out for her to take. "I can wait until you're certain that you're ready to discuss your gift.. and once you've digested today's news." It's almost as if he can tell that there might be some hesitance, or he just expects it. ".. It's a pleasure to meet a relative of Isaac Mendez, I just wish it were under more pleasant circumstances."

Sunday takes the card, blinking at it a few times. She could easily disappear—New York is a city for disappearing. She knows, now, where to avoid, making her disappearance even easier, should she choose it. She's sure Mohinder knows this, too… but he's letting her go. Giving her time.
It's the simple decency and generosity of the gesture that brings tears back to her eyes. She blinks them quickly away, swallowing a lump and nodding. "I'll see you soon, Dr. Suresh." She pauses. "Thank you."

That thought does cross Mohinder's mind. Yet, he knows that Sunday is a relation of Isaac Mendez. This can be looked up, confirmed, and used for tracking her down. Not to mention the Company resources he can access, should he choose to do so. But, he is confident and optimistic that the young woman will contact him of her own accord. The geneticist looks taken aback as he catches sight of Sunday's squelched emotions. "You're quite welcome," is said gently as he gives her an encouraging smile. He gestures to the door, offering to help her out. "Be careful on your way out with those skates on."

Sunday makes it up the steps with a fair amount of dexterity—though she does so carefully, as well, per instruction. She turns at the door, "Take care, Dr. Suresh. Thanks for the chai."
With that, she flashes a peace sign and takes off into the city again.

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