2007-08-02: Cookies And Candycanes


Candy_icon.gif DFJack_icon.gif DFPeter_icon.gif

Summary: Cookies and Candy Cain. And Nice-Peter and Jack. There's talking and invitations given.

Dark Future Date: August 2nd, 2009

Cookies and Candycanes

Weischel Carcass House

It's so early that weak sunlight is just starting to bounce off of Weischel's boarded and cloth-covered windows. It's cool, clear, and the air is refreshingly crisp. It's the kind of Saturday morning that's perfect for cartoons and cereal or an extra cup of coffee with the morning paper.

Jack is currently hauling a flat, rectangular metal fixture from it's bolt-in hardpoint on Julia IV's hood. It's a spent rocket pod. He likes to stay busy when he can't sleep, so last night was consumed by a hunting expedition while everyone else dreamed of sugar plums. Bernice, his new assault rifle/grenade launcher/thingy, is slung comfortable around his shoulders and slap-slap-slaps against his hips and back as he lugs the rocket pod over next to a pile of ordinance waiting to be reloaded.

Another thing about the future… Peter's not been sleeping well during his time here. The Zoo has many noises that kept waking him up, and here… the cots aren't his bed, this building isn't either, and there's nightmares that have begun the last few nights. They've gotten worse, but he doesn't remember them. They're waking him up— much like they did this morning. Sweaty and pale, he makes his way towards the noise of someone up and about, hoping to have some personal contact with a living person to get over whatever it is he can't quite remember. "You're up early, Jack…" he says when he finally spots Jack. He's wearing the same clothes as yesterday, something given to him by the people at the Zoo. Not his usual style, but it fits more or less.

There's the faint purr of a car before what appears to be, well, a pink jeep haltingly drives its way into the area. There's really only one person that such a vehicle can belong to, and that's Candy behind the wheel. It's almost an oversized Barbie-esque kind of car, but at least? At least there are no sparkles. Just fuzzy dice. And a couple of weapon fixtures, but even those don't appear to be very threatening. With a rusty squeak, she opens the driver-side door and hops out, feet in highheels as if to try and avoid contact with the dirty ground as much as possible. Dressed in a denim skirt and a very faded fitted 'Jaden and the Chipmunks' t-shirt, she slings a large but feminine handbag over a shoulder and looks around to locate some form of life.

"Oi! G'mornin', Pete," Jack grunts as he lowers his hefty hunk of car armament to the floor gently. He successfully avoids clattering that could wake up the rest of the still-slumbering Saints. He straightens and dusts his hands off. He's grinning boyishly, but there's a mean, gritty cast to the expression that's only accentuated by hair that's slightly singed in a couple of places and a thin coat of dust and dirt on his face. The appearance of Candy's car just makes him smile wider. "You look like shit," he mutters to Peter apologetically. Pot, meet Kettle. You're both black. With a quick wave, he relocates a pair of khaki BDU pants and an olive drab t-shirt and tosses them to the poor kid. "You can duck 'round the corner an' change if you want, or wait 'til later." Pause. "You might wanna wait. Candy would probably have you on a platter with boiled leeks in about four seconds if you dropped trou' in here. Candy! Hey!" Jack raises both his voice and a hand to wave, making himself easily spottable and hearable from his position near the entrance to the packing room.

"Thanks," Peter says with a grimace, catching the clothes and holding them against his chest for the possibility of changing later. Drab colors as they are, it's better than nothing— he just really hopes they aren't Jack's clothes. There's no way they'd fit him. "Should have thought to pack a bag before I came here," he adds on, regretting a good many things about this spur of the moment decision. When he hears the car, he doesn't have an alarmed reaction, but he does glance that way, reaching up to rub at his face. The stubble that's built up over his inattention the last few days has nothing to do with why he looks like shit, though. He could use a shave too. He's about to say something when Jack mentions trou and Candy and— what? He looks rather shocked and hugs the clothes against his body and awaits this— oh hey, he recognizes her. She was on television… wasn't she?

Oh yes. Two years ago, people were getting sick of the amount of Cainly media that was flying around - worse than Paris Hilton, at least, for the New Yorkers. And if one were to look at her now, one would think… nice haircut. Because really, in appearance, the woman is unchanged save for a more practical, maintainable length of hair and maybe a slight weariness in a once dazzling smile. Spying Jack, she clip-clops on over in her precarious heels, smiling brighter. "Jack, and— and Peter!" she says, managing barely to keep a jovial tone in her voice, but her eyes widen just a little when she sees the younger of the Petrelli brothers. "You look different," she adds, nervousness now more evident in her tone, and she glances at Jack with a raised, shaped eyebrow.

Having encountered similar reactions and worse when Peter first arrived, Jack is better prepared to explain the manboy's presence. "Don't worry. S'not the Pete wot punched me in the pie hole. Well, it is, he's just a couple years younger. Either way, he's a Nice Guy." He slaps Peter on the back in a friendly, manly fashion, but the smile slides off of his face as he gets down to business. "Pete has the ability to travel through time. He's visiting us from two years in the past."

And Peter? He's still hugging the drab clothes against his chest and looking pale and sweaty and over all like a overly confused person. The recent media attention helped put her face into memory, even if she looks somewhat different. Face on billboards and on the cover of gossip mags, that sort of thing. When Jack explains, he looks over and blinks a few times, before nodding, "Yeah— I'm from— before the storms." That seems like the easiest way to explain it. Pre-Storms Peter. With shorter hair, less muscle build (though he's still got some, honest) and not nearly as intimidating looking. Eyebrows not lowered, mouth not twisted. Hair just barely falling into his forehead. "I'm here to… find out what goes wrong so… so we can fix it." He looks down as he adds that, shifting his weight a little.

Blink. Blink. Candy bats her eyes slowly once, twice… then nods. "Oh. Okay!" she says, and smiles pleasantly. "I brought cookies." But no, even she's not that unhinged, and concern is written all over her expression as she regards Peter. "Two years ago?" she repeats, glancing at Jack for confirmation, then back to Peter. She seems to be remembering what it was like two years ago - endless shoes, her beloved walk-in wardrobe, her studios before they got shot to hell. She gives a weak smile. "This place must suck for you, huh? Can I come with if you go back?" she asks, and gives a trill of a giggle to indicate she's joking. Although she might not be.

Candy's quip about going back with Peter hits closer to home than Jack would like. If everything goes as planned, Peter will somehow change all of this when he goes back to his own time. The Irishman is no scientist or timeologist or whatever, but he's sharp enough to know that strange things could happen. He's not entirely comfortable with the idea of meddling with time. The thought of somehow screwing up and creating a future where dinosaurs eat people or his family is all dead and stuff is as icky one. What if there's zombies? He shifts his feet and scuffs a boot against the concrete floor. "Yeah. Two years ago," he confirms absently. "We're hopin' that he'll be able to change things for the better when he finds his way home."

"I— I'm honestly not sure what would happen if— Hiro said he did this before and nothing was messed up too badly, but I don't think he brought anyone back with him…" Peter's a little alarmed at the idea. In a way… how could he possibly blame them for wanting to go back when things were better? When the sun shined bright and the streets were… at least safer. Where people weren't shoved into camps based on their genetic code… "If things work how they should… it'll be like it never happened. For— for everyone in— in my time." There's a pause and he finally looks all the way up at her, "I remember seeing you recently, on a magazine cover, I think… You're Jaden's mom, aren't you?" The shirt isn't the only give away. Two years ago? He's never met her.

It's true. The only Peter Candy knows is the meaner upgrade, the one that scares her a little. This one seems to just be weirding her out, even if they've never met in a nicer reality. She does smile a little wider at the recognition, though, as it seems to summon up a time when everything was wonderful for her. "That would be me," she says. "Candy Cain." Then, she brings out a paper bag from her sparkly handbag, and takes out what appears to be a cookie, using M&Ms for the chocolate chips that would otherwise be here. "These were for that son o' mine, but I think you need it more than he does right now," she says, offering out the cookie to Peter. "You look like hell, sweetheart." Then, she offers the bag to Jack to take one, ready to hand-smack should he take two instead.

Jack sucks in a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, and thinks about calming things. Boobies. The ocean. Reruns of Fresh Prince, which is a hilarious show no matter what you think. Exhale. That's better.

"Cookies?" He can't help but smile. Those are on the list of calming things as well. He snags one and takes a bite, then reaches out for another, but pauses when he sees the protective look in Candy's eyes. The reach becomes a fake stretch, then he pulls the cookie he did take out his mouth. "Mmmmmffs'good. Fank yew," he mutters through his bite.

"Did you bring enough for your son?" Peter has to ask, finally smiling weakly. Even if he's never directly met the famous man, he'd been warned about his ability because… some people wanted him to meet him under a controlled circumstance, in case he suddenly turned into triplets. Shifting the hold on the clothes, he reaches out and takes the single cookie, grateful for something that tastes better than— well— all the food he's had here so far. At least he hopes it tastes better. "Thank you, Ms. Cain." Polite is his middle name. Well, after Ethan.

There we go. Cookies make everything good again. And damn right it tastes better - these are for Jaden, after all, it's practically made of sugar. "There's plenty more," Candy assures Peter, stuffing the package back into her handbag. "It's a good thing you ran into all of us, huh? I can't imagine what Homeland Security would think of you. Or— well. Or your brother, for that matter." She then pokes Jack in the chest. "Can you ask Trina to have a look at Princess? She makes weird sounds when I start picking up speed." Princess being her pink Cherokee, naturally.

As sweet as Candy is, she can't hand-carry a homemade cookie over every day. As simple a pleasure as it is, Jack is savoring it. After his initial greedily large bite, he contents himself with small nibbles between quiet, happy grunts. When he smiles at Candy it's one of the rare moments when he looks young and boyish and carefree. "I'm sure Trina would be happy to have a look-see. She had a bit of a rough night, though. She's not likely to be up for a while, so I hope you don't mind waiting." Another tiny bite. "Mm. Soooo good."

Homeland Security… "Technically I did run into them first," Peter confesses, thinking back on his first evening after the two time-jumpers split up to figure things out. "Went to Time Square— I stumbled into one of their raids… I guess they were taking a couple of people in… I wanted to stop them, but I— didn't really know what was happening. So I turned invisible and ran away. But I guess they didn't recognize me." It'd been dark, and he apparently looks pretty different from his other self. The cookie, which he thankfully eats, puts a smile on his face as well, lopsided as it may be. That's just the way he smiles. Even if it's subdued. His brother…

Candy's brow creases in concern at this news of Trina, but rather than pry, she just nods. "Well I shouldn't think it's anything bad. Princess probably won't be exploding the next time I get a few humvees on my tail, or anything." Smile! And to Peter, whom she smiles at with perhaps a hint of wonderment. No, she doesn't know the Peter she's familiar with all that well anyway, but she never knew this one too, and no one had told her he was basically a puppy! So much so that she reaches out a hand to ruffle his hair. "Well if you ever get tired of this creepy place— sorry Jack," she adds, because you know, this is his turf, "but it is creepy— get someone to bring you around to the studio. It's not much, but, it's a change of pace. Now where is Jaden?" That's directed mostly to both of them, toe tapping against the oil-stained floor.

Jack waits for Peter to haltingly finish his recollection, downing the last couple of cookie bites during the telling. When he's done eating and Peter's done talking, he gives Pete another of his trademark affectionate and manly whacks on the shoulder. "Well done, boy-o. It's the first contact with those bastards that kills most people. They've got a way o' takin' folk by surprise." Though occasionally battered and bowed by circumstance, the Saints are still decent, caring people. Jack is more than a little sympathetic to his friend's stress now, putting himself in Peter's shoes for the first time. Things must be very different for the lad. Still, he beams over at Candy. "Innit he adorable? He's usually got rosy cheeks, too. This place is safe, but s'not what I'd call cheerful or comfortable." The smile takes a wry twist as he gestures to their surroundings.

While he'd been pale, apparently something about getting his hair ruffled and then a now older (but formerly younger!) man calling him adorable makes those cheeks a little rosey. Peter glances away and clears his throat a little. "Well— um— I have a few places I can stay too, I'm just borrowing a bunk for the night." Though he's starting to wonder… "Assuming Jack even lets me leave. I've done pretty well on my own, keeping an eye out for those armored cars…" He's taken other precautions, mostly to protect others instead of himself. "I wouldn't mind staying at your place though— if I'm invited." She might actually have a better selection of men's clothes laying around, too… Somehow she seems the type to hoard the nice looking clothes. His hair's now sticking up in every which way. "Not sure where Jaden is— I don't think he was in the bunks…" He didn't look too closely at who all was up there, though.
"Oh yeah. Your boy's not here. Sorry, mum." Jack shrugs apologetically. "Usually he just passed through."

Hell, she probably has a very appropriate selection of superhero costumes too— but real people clothes? Yeah, she's got that. After all, Desmond is the other resident, and if there's anyone vainer than Candy, it is he. Or at least, this used to be the case. At the news that her son isn't around, there's a brief, disappointed frown from Candy - but it's gone in a second. "Figures," she sighs, then nods once in thanks to Jack. "I'll probably just head back." She prods Peter in the shoulder. "I'm sure a lot of people are welcoming you with open arms. Our hero, huh? Gonna fix this whole thing and make it go away." There's not even a trace of sarcasm - perhaps a little a sadness, but definite optimism. "If Jack's up to letting you go, then you're welcome anytime. Get someone from here to drop you off, they'll know where to go."

"Yeah," Jack agrees, still smiling. "I figure kid here is our best shot right now. He's got a good heart, you'll like havin' him around." He gives Peter another backpat. "Lemme know when you wanna go, I'll jet you on over. Trina keeps bringin' Julia back from the dead for me, and every time she does the ol' girl's got more tricks up her sleeves. I'll show you some fun stuff." Jack's idea of 'fun stuff' is usually different from most people's, but at least he's trying.

Fashionable clothes would be nice! Though Peter's a jeans and shirt kinda guy normally, there's just something wrong with these clothes that he keeps having to borrow. And it could just be because they're not his. "Sure— sometime soon, then. At least before I leave," he says, with a smile on his face even as his back is slapped again. The vote of confidence might have a lot to do with the brightened line of hope in his eyes. "I'm glad she keeps bringing Julia back— kinda like me, I guess. Just doesn't stay dead…" And that's a good thing, really. "Look forward to seeing what she can do— but don't do anything that might make Trina work on it again too soon." No flipping the car over, okay?

"It'll be fun!" Candy says, shoulders lifting in an enthusiastic shrug. She's not allowed to get a hell of a lot of visitors, after all, and the amount of people one can trust is a small number. At Peter's comment to Jack, she points at him. "Exactly. She needs to look at Princess first," she says, then both men get a kiss on the cheek before she's making her way back to her jeep, highheels ringing sharp sounds against the floor as she goes, handbag swinging. "Nice to meet you, Nice-Peter!" she calls back.

Jack chuckles warmly and nods in response to Peter's polite request they not be killed while en route to Candywasteland. He lifts a hand to wave a lazy goodbye to Candy. "You just lemme know when you're ready, boy-o. I'll make sure you get to your slumber party, word is bond."

"It was nice to meet you too, Ms. Cain." Peter will call her something polite until he's told he can do otherwise. "When we visit— I hope there's more of those cookies," he adds, gesturing towards the bag she brought with a smile. They'd definitely made his nightmares less of a bother. Colors back in his face, he's not looking as sweaty… Nice Peter… The more he hears that, the less he wants to meet the man he became.

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