2007-11-16: In Memoriam

Starring:

Elle_icon.gif Kitty_icon.gif Peter_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif Felix_icon.gif Damascus_icon.gif Leah_icon.gif

Guest Starring:

Bob_icon.gif

and

a Special Guest Star

Summary: One month after the event that killed eighteen and injured almost one-hundred others in Central Park, a memorial is held. Present is a mysterious mourner who gives one precog a vision she won't soon forget.

I don't have the first part with just Leah, Elle and Damascus. If someone does, feel free to add it in!

Date It Happened: November 16th, 2007

In Memoriam


Central Park

New York City

With no more mention made of her 'friend,' Elle rolls her shoulders in a shrug, her eyes drifting closed as a shiver travels down her spine. "You write books?" Another glance to the notebook, but it's closed; no peeking, which seems to disappoint her. She studies Leah's face, searching for any sign of familiarity, evidently finding none. "I'm guessing not the happy kind, if you're having a memorial at the end."

Having emerged from a vehicle parked nearby under some official capacity, a small collection of individuals in crisp suits and ties makes their way to this particular section of Central Park. Two of them are pushing an amorphous object about four feet tall, hidden neatly underneath a royal blue sheet of fabric. Being as they're headed to the small stage that has been set up, exactly where the Amazing Magma performed one month ago today, it's safe to say they're part of the memorial committee. As the time approaches for the memorial to begin, the crowd starts to become thicker with people; most of their faces are sombre.

Leah looks over to Elle. "Well, there are happy parts to the books. I write about werewolves. So sometimes they like eat people and stuff." As the crowd gathers for the memorial the cheerfulness level to her goes down, but there's still an air to some of Leah's comment that might make some people wonder if she has the right hair color. "Oh, I think they're about to start."

Cuddled up and cozy in a dark, fitted peacoat and a thick, burgundy scarf, Mariska proceeds apace into the Park at the side of one similarly-attired Felix Ivanov, the infamous FBI agent that everyone in this town seems to know. They're hand-in-hand but not particularly talkative. This isn't precisely a joyous occasion.

Felix is in a black suit, with a white shirt, under a dark coat. Hand him a pair of angular shades and an appropriately supercilious smirk, and he could pass for another sort of Agent entirely. He manages to find a space in the crowd for himself and his wife, but he's not all that chatty either.

Kitty walks into the area from one of the paths leading to the memorial site. Her hair is down and she is wearing jeans with a black top and her favorite brown leather jacket with a hood. She looks around the area and runs a hand through her hair. So with her fingerless gloved hands in pockets she walks slowly closer and closer to where the memorial will be held. As she nears the crowd, she stops as she spots someone that she knows, "Misha?" she breathes says softly and tilts her head. The last time the two met things ended /awkwardly/ but that doesn't stop Kitty from going, "Misha! Hey!" she waves her hand and begins to make her way over to the two. She thinks she has seen Felix somewhere before but cannot place where she has.

Lights go on, illuminating the stage; anticipating the coming eve. They're dim, however, soft; behind those who stand on the stage is a screen, almost the full length of the back wall. A gentle but colourful image of what appears to be the Northern Lights appears there… but somehow even more whimsical and magical, quite like the amazing illusions of the deceased magician who shared this stage.

In front of this colourful tribute, a man steps up to the podium, mostly in silhouette; a city official, his face is one of those vaguely recognizable ones, but he makes no fuss over who he is. He says simply, seriously, "Thank you all for coming out today, on this one month anniversary of an unprecedented event that took many lives away in … a way which none of those who were involved will soon forget."

"Werewolves. Huh." It isn't clear whether or not Elle is impressed by the girl, and she doesn't get another chance to speak before movement near the stage draws her attention. Drawing her hands out of her pockets, she pulls her scarf up over her mouth again. Her attention is divided; once the memorial has begun, she almost seems to spend more time watching the crowd than the speakers.

Dressed in rather nice clothes, Peter walks up to the stage as the lights come on, possibly having been lurking for a while unnoticed. He's dressed mostly in black as well, with a scarf around his neck to help keep some of the warmth in, and he's carrying a rather nice looking flower arrangement. It's fall colors, bright; sunflowers, roses and carnations, specifically picked out by someone who couldn't be here herself. Though there may be nowhere to set the flowers, he keeps his eyes on the stage, watching the display, which takes his attention away from those within the crowd he would probably recognize.

Damascus simply continues to watch from his distance. And he's most certainly watching: the speaker at the podium, the display of the stage, the woman who'd offered that brief smile. All at once. The crowd becomes mere background for the moment. He shifts vaguely, but not uncomfortably, against the air's growing chill.

Leah doesn't speak anymore for the moment as the city official steps up. Instead she opens her notebook, starting to jot little notes in purple pen as she watches the people as much as the ceremony up on stage. Maybe that's why she chose a place near the outskirts.

Mariska unconsciously flinches at Kitty's sudden salutation, though she tries to put on a smile and seem civil, if anything. "Kisa… hello." It's a chill reply but nothing abnormally hostile or rude. She's just…. wary. The hand she's got held in Felix's gloved palm signals a little squeeze.

"On October 16th, 2007, eighteen people lost their lives and countless others were injured by the actions of two individuals. We're not here today to talk about those souls that brought about such violence — those that go nameless, but not faceless — they'll get their justice. We're here today to remember our friends, our family…"

Meanwhile, far back from the edge of the crowd, is another quiet figure, secluding herself more, even, than the others who choose the outskirts. She's wrapped in a heavy, wool-knit jacket in woodsy browns and greys and a dark blue winter vest. The hood is up, and a scarf of a similar shade disguises half her face. Blue-grey eyes, framed by wrinkles of middle-age, watch the podium with definite emotional investment, cold and bitter rather than weepy and emotional, as some become.

"We're here today to remember their lives…" the speaker goes on, his voice effectively transmitted across the crowd.

The look Felix turns on Kitty…it's not mean, not cruel, but definitely one of those cop faces. "You know each other?" he wonders, tone pleasant enough, as he twines hisfingers with Mariska's. His other hand is proffered to her. "I'm Felix Ivanov," he adds, a touch belatedly.

Kitty looks to the stage and then back to Misha before saying, "I'm sorry about earlier I didn't mean to freak you out and we should talk later" in a soft tone and she then turns her attention back to the stage and what is going on there. Her eyes drift to Felix and then her eyes widen, "You were at the bar with Professor Darwin" Kitty says and smiles softly at Felix, "Nice to see you again"

There are two people in the crowd who draw Elle's attention now, on opposite sides of the gathering: Peter, near the stage, nearly inspires her to move that way; but the bitter woman hovering on the outskirts has a stronger pull. She tucks her hands back into her pockets and starts to walk that direction. She isn't headed towards the woman, exactly, but her route will bring her nearer in a surreptitious way.

Out of the corner of his eye, Damascus notices the woman new to the crowd. Well … the crowd in name only. She's so far off that she's on the edges of the edge. Unlike most of the people present, she exudes emotion completely contrary to what should be the norm here. He looks at the woman intently.

Leah doesn't notice the woman. Nope. She's too intent on watching the things happening in front of her and jotting notes down. She does give Elle a quick glance as the woman moves away but then the stage catches her eye again, and she bits on the end of the pen while she listens.

While the man talks about the tragedy that happened here, Peter does start to look away, scanning the crowd. To be honest he's looking for a mysterious group of Italians to whom to give the flowers to. He's not moving from where he is, but— he catches a glimpse of someone near the edge of the crowd, a woman. Something about her tugs on him, but she's not obviously a member of a mafia family, so he keeps glancing around… which is when his eyes fall on another person wrapped up in a scarf. This one's blonde, and he definitely recognizes her. And his eyes keep following.

Like every other Evolved, known and unknown in the crowd, Mariska's preternatural proximity sensor tingles and she distractes herself from Kitty, giving the young woman only the vaguest of nods in reply, while her green eyes search over the crowd for who or what might have — oh, wait. There. Oddly enough, there seems to be a middle-aged woman doing her best to remain inconspicuous and accomplishing anything but…

Felix's gaze is distracted from Kitty, though he's nodded in reply, looking a bit ashamed of his absentmindedness. And then he's following Misha's look, and scowling to himself. Something there's not quite right.

Since Kitty was observing the crowd while she talked to Felix and Mariska, she spots the mysterious woman and something from that woman seems to pull at Kitty as she struggles to not let her curiosity win and walk towards the woman. That doesn't work and off Kitty goes, "I'll be back" she says absently and looks behind her to look at Mariska and Felix, that's when she spots Peter, but the draw of the mysterious woman doesn't let her go to him instead, she continues to walk towards the woman, head tilted and hands at her sides.

"To honour the eighteen people who we lost on this night one month ago, the City of New York has donated this remarkable memoriam." A woman on stage rolls the object closer to the front and pulls the blue cloth away to reveal a lovely dark granite stone with a list of names etched in it. "Please, let's brave the cold," the man says, injecting more hope and optimism into his tone. "Let's take a moment to remember and honour each of the individuals whose loved ones mourn for."

Another person begins to light a small candle at the corner of the stage, and the lights go off, leaving only the image of the gently waving aurora borealis and the candlelight.

"Jose Ananda. Carrie-Ann Chambers. Margaret 'Amazing Magma' Kopana…”

It's not so unusual, is it? Some mourners like to be alone. The woman who distances herself so much seems to notice eyes on her. She tucks her hands deep into the pockets of her vest and strolls toward the outskirts, keeping her head down, just trying to blend in and listen to the memorial.

As she draws near the woman on the outskirts, pausing a short distance away, Elle throws her a sideways look, this one lingering perhaps too long to be innocent, if it's noticed. When she looks away, it's with a furrowed brow and a thought nagging at the back of her mind. Her eyes drift back to the stage, the woman kept within her peripheral vision, as her fingers tap against the cell phone in the pocket of her coat. She stops following, positioning herself such that she can keep an eye on the woman without being plainly obvious, taking a few seconds to scan the crowd. In so doing, she catches sight of Kitty's approach; saying nothing, she steps back again, watching in as casual a way as she's able.

When the names start getting read off, Peter finally takes his eyes away from Elle and the search for the Italian mafia family that might be there to pay tribute to their daughter and listens to the games, closing his eyes for a moment. Mysterious woman? He's not paying quite as much attention to her as the rest. He straightens his coat and continues to hold onto the flowers, posture tense as the list grows longer.

Leah turns her gaze down to her notebook to make a rough sketch of the stone before her eyes turn to watch the people as the names are read. More notes are jotted down. See, it's quite intent work, at least for Leah.

Mariska's nigh-unquenchable curiosity seems incapable of allowing her a moment's rest, even with such a somber situation to see to. She was caught in the middle of the disaster that took place here a month ago, after all. Were it not for the particularly gifted touch of someone else in the crowd, she'd still be arms-bound and probably addicted to some serious painkillers by now. Yet, still, her pale eyes linger on the oddly noteworthy woman setting herself apart from the crowd and lingering on the fringes. A month from now, will someone be holding a memorial for the people who died at /this/ gathering…? Someone's grown just a wee bit paranoid. «Maybe we should go,» she murmurs to Felix.

«We'll wait,» Fel replies, gently, lifting his head like a dog scenting the wind, even as he slips a hand into his jacket to make sure the gun riding there is properly secured, neither too loose nor too tight.

Kitty is perfectly content with not saying anything to the woman that is until she trips and almost falls on top of the woman but she catches herself, her hand grasping the woman's arm for support. "Oh! I'm sorry, clumsy me" she says and then she gasps lightly as she holds the woman's arm.

So much going on, so many people doing so many things. An interesting majority seem interested in or are moving towards — or have gotten to — the mystery woman. Damascus had shifted most of his attention to that woman alone, his curiosity having gotten the better of his normally-spread attention. Someone who stands out so much … well. But the encroaching others start to garner the young man's attention as well, and Damascus blinks. Too much to keep track of. There's that tic, his eyes narrow behind his sunglasses, and … hunh. That's better. His attention divides, and he's now paying attention to … pretty much everyone in his vicinity, the other woman's … and the stage. The crowd itself has to be relegated to a general scope, but hey. This works for now.

The older, blue-eyed woman adapts a shut-off posture as she attempts to maneuver through the crowd. This is an individual who just wants to be left alone. She glances sideways, seeming to notice Elle; her gaze is also lingering, nagging, but quickly pulled away as if the little blonde is dismissed. She adjusts her scarf and a few wisps of long hair escape, a dull, pale shade of natural red, and in doing so, nearly elbows Kitty as they almost collide. Her arm stiffens as it's held. "No harm done."

There will be somewhere to lay flowers; even now, before the monument is properly laid down in the park, one of the men on stage bends to place a bouquet at its base. At the podium, the man continues to sombrely list off names, giving pause between each. After every name, a candle is lit. "Jacquelyn Lapierre. Greg Mann. Janine Pratt. Lynn Pratt…"

* * *

Reflecting off the face of the woman's watch that Kitty touches, Central Park twists sharply — for Kitty alone, that is. Her view suddenly faces the ground where the watch is pointing, but everything is darker. The grass, even so, is more emerald, yet more trodden down; there are feet, running, and everything is suddenly very loud with screaming, sirens, and above all, crying. As her arm swings in this vision of the … past? Future? … it becomes clear, to Kitty, that there are bodies on the ground. Some are charred, some are twisted. Hints of fire and wafting smoke are everywhere. She turns; a banner that says FREEDOM NOW waves in the wind, covered in burn-marks.

"I can't really hear!" shouts a voice. It's Kitty's.

The scene shifts as the woman in the vision apparently walks, panning tumultuously along the ground. The faces of the bodies littering the ground flash past, but some are distorted, out-of-focus, as the vision starts tilt to eat away at itself like a burning photograph, a puzzle missing pieces. Before it ends, boots walk across a path in the midst of it all. A glass vial shatters, spilling a clear liquid. A broken shard is affixed with a BIOHAZARD label. And quickly as it started, it ends, abrupt.

* * *

Snapping to attention, Elle whips her head around, staring at the stage for a second or two as the next few names are called. Pieces fall into place. She shoots a look back to the mysterious woman on the outskirts, brief but enough to see Kitty collide with her. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, she pulls the phone from her pocket and flips it open, quickly dialing a number and pressing it to her ear. "It's Elle," she says, her voice low, unlikely to carry to any eavesdroppers over the sound coming from the stage as she pulls back another few feet. "Pratt's here." And in that short declaration, there's an unspoken question: what does she do now?

The names read off aren't really recognized yet, he'd only known one of them. Peter glances away again, trying to find Elle once again, and spotting Kitty over by the woman he'd noted before. He frowns faintly, seeing her touching the woman's arm. He doesn't see how she reacts to it yet, but he's looking at her while she's holding on.

Kitty gasps again as she backs away from the woman and she breathes deeply, "All the bodies" she mumbles to herself and some of her hair is on it's end from the energy of that vision. Kitty's eyes go wide and she starts to shiver and shake before the weight of the vision knocks her out, a soft cry emits from her as she hits the ground and her legs twitch a few times, the wind blowing her hair in her face.

Cue Bob Bishop. No, he's not in Central Park, too; he's enjoying a cup of coffee at his desk, surrounded by unpleasantly drab dcor unlike his former business abode when his daughter calls. "Pratt?" Incredulous does not begin to describe his tone of voice. "Victoria Pratt? Are you still watching Central Park?"

Felix's initial hesitance to leave the scene so soon against Mariska's gently murmured insistence is eventually worn down. The couple weaves their way through and eventually breaks free of the crowd, looking to be Queensborough-bound… if such a thing could be determined simply by the grace of the exit they choose to take. A few foreign words pass between them but they're out of sight and earshot without much further ado.

Leah may not have noticed the woman at first, but well, Kitty passing out, that's noticeable. She turns and blinks that way before stating. "I think someone collapsed. Someone might want to, you know, call a doctor?" But apparently not her. She'll just jot that down in her notebook. Could be dramatic to have people collapse at the memorial service. Yep.

Damascus blinks idly, one of the many pulls to his attention suddenly … passing out? Several more fragments of his attention cluster curiously around the unusual occurrence, and with the idle smoothness of a machine — no particular hurry or fuss to his posture or gait, just a driven intensity — he starts walking towards the center of the oddities himself — that woman, and well … the passed-out other woman, now. Something's a bit askew, but hell if he knows what it is. His brows furrow subtly, their edges barely hidden by the frames of his sunglasses.

"She's standing about thirty feet from me," Elle says into the phone, flicking another swift glance to the newly-identified woman. "And they just called two other names at this memorial. Jenny, I think? And Lynn?" The other hand is still safely hidden in her pocket, out of view. As she starts to turn back to Victoria again, Kitty faints, and she mutters a curse into the phone. Her voice lower still, Elle drifts back a step, speaking into the phone: "Son of a— I think we have a problem. There was a precog talking to Pratt. Now the precog's down. Unconscious, I think. Who's the priority?" She starts towards Pratt now at a steady, cautious pace.

Peter's looking right at Kitty when she crumples and falls. Immediately he hands the flowers off to someone next to him, muttering a quick, "Here, put these up there for me, I have to go," and leaving them with that person as he weaves through the crowd and tries to get over to her. It will probably take him some time, a lot of whispered 'excuse me, pardon me, sorry's follow as he makes his way over.

"The precog." Bob's answer is immediate. "Victoria's been off our radar for years. Her secrets were supposed to stay secret. Mind you, her timing is impeccable," he says, laden with meaning. "Find out everything the precog knows. By whatever means necessary."

"David Roach… Nadia Selvaggi… Henry Lee Steeves… Jennifer Sikes… Yolanda Talamas… Joe Takahashi…"

What can the woman do but watch it happen? Kitty babbles and falls. It's like a trainwreck: she sees it happening, but it's too fast to stop. She stares down at the young woman, momentarily frozen. "What did you see?" She falls to her knees, shaking Kitty's arm — of course, to no avail. She checks her pulse and rapidly stands, backing up, away from the approaching worriers.

Leah looks over to Kitty, still all collapsed and mutter under her breath. "Maybe somebody should dumpt a bottle of water on her. Or like, check her pulse. See if she's breathing." Sage medical advice. And see? Victoria checked her pulse. Leah is /good./ "Really cold water might wake her up. Or like, give her a nasty head cold later."

"Got it." The phone is flipped shut, and as it's stuffed back into her pocket, Elle breaks into a run, headed straight for Kitty's fallen form. Putting on her very best expression of concern, she drops down beside the girl and presses two fingers to her neck, below her jaw. She is acutely aware of Peter's presence here and what that may mean for what she's about to do - so she looks to Damascus as he approaches. "Help me get her up," she says quickly, looping one of Kitty's arms around her shoulders. "My car's right over there. She's a friend of mine, I'll take her to the hospital."

Damascus rapidly nears, his hands tucked into his pockets and gait as even as ever. He immediately dips his head in a nod to Elle though, pausing only for a second to re-assess the area and those he's immediately paying attention to. He kneels precisely and puts Kitty's other arm around his shoulders, his lips a thin line as he does so. Helping, yes. Hospital … eh. He looks at Elle, his voice completely level and bland. "Does she have a pre-existing condition? It … may be better to just get her somewhere quiet. The occasion may have simply upset her."

The stage is becoming a lovely candlelight memorial. Names continue to be listed off, although they slow down, when the speaker notices some commotion in the crowd. Some people are so intent on the memorial, closing their eyes, praying, mourning, and remembering, that they don't realize something is amiss.

Victoria does her best to disappear into the crowd, to blend in long enough to disappear.

There's a guy moving through the crowd— towards the fallen young woman— and spotting the blond woman approaching. While Peter may not be privy to the conversation, the phonecall, he's paranoid about friends and the Company, so he does the first thing that comes to find to make this trip a little faster. He closes his eyes and— everything stops. Oh it worked… He takes a moment to look around in wonder and surprise, until he starts to weave through the group, trying not to jostle anyone too much. There's some shifting of dirt and rocks as moves, a woman whose arm gets knocked when he can't weave by without touching her, and then he finally gets there. He looks at Elle, all bundled up, and the man helping her— and pauses, looking at Elle a little longer. Unseen to anyone really, he takes in a deep breath, shaky.

Glancing around, he finds a tall person in the crowd to duck behind, somewhere a little more inconspicuous, before he pops back into normal time, and steps around him. "Elle." How'd he get there so fast?

"She's blacked out a few times since I've known her," Elle replies to Damascus, her voice wavering with concern for the unconscious girl as she starts to lead them away from the crowd. "I don't want to take a chance. There's no—" In the next instant, Peter appears before her. "She needs to see a doctor, Peter," she says, maintaining the act for the sake of her unwitting accomplice. "I'm taking her to the hospital." Closing her hand tighter around Kitty's arm, Elle starts to move again, hoping to circle around Peter.

Damascus makes a sound of acknowledgment as to Kitty's supposed condition. "All right." He follows Elle's lead as to direction, still rather stone-faced. However, when Peter … well, is /there/, the man's face registers mild discontent. Though he'd only been paying somewhat-attention to the crowd-in-general … something's a bit off about that. He squints, though it's imperceptible through his sunglasses. He continues to help carry Kitty.

"I think she should be going home," Peter says, emphasizing the word a bit, before he glances over at the man with her. No recognition on his face, but no real hostility either, just tension, worry— though not directed at the man. He shifts to continue to block Elle, "I know where she lives. I can give you directions." It's not likely to happen, though, which, from the twitch of his eyebrows, he recognizes, "But if you insist on taking her somewhere… I'm going with her." Determination sets into his jaw, as he looks at the unconscious Kitty, and then the overly wrapped Elle.

"Fine." Wait, what? Elle fixes Peter with a level stare, nothing short of hostility there in her eyes. It only intensifies as she studies his face for a few seconds, taking in his features. Leaning forward to look over at Damascus, she says, "Looks like your work here is done. Sorry, pal. Think of this as shared custody of a friend after a divorce." No thank you, no names exchanged - just that brief dismissal as she motions for Peter to take over for the stranger, presuming Damascus listens. This is beginning to tax her some, evident in her breathing and her stature; unusual, since this isn't all that demanding for her. "Grab her arm and let's go. My car's over there."

Between Peter and Elle, Damascus glances, though his head never turns. He's still got his gaze affixed mainly on Peter, mostly because his approach didn't fit into any logical construct Dama could run through. "Any loss of consciousness could be an indicator of serious neurological issues. It would be best if this woman saw a… doctor." As Elle leans, he turns his head towards her, though his main foci don't leave Peter. Though what facial expression he has is greatly stunted due to his eyes being hidden and all, he frowns slightly. The hostility oozing out of Elle is apparent, and this whole exchange doesn't make a whole lot of sense. "Don't let whatever emotional issues you two have interfere with this woman getting help." He seems to acknowledge the dismissal, but … just turns his head back towards Peter. To Elle he says sidelong, "Are you certain you wouldn't rather have my assistance?"

There'd been a reason that Peter specifically suggested home, but when Elle speaks up he blinks, obviously surprised at her answer. "Really?" He'd half expected he'd have to follow invisible, but he does move to try and take her entirely, lifting the young precog into his arms so that Elle doesn't have to carry her at all. "I'm not going to run off with her," he assures. "But you look like you could use a doctor too, honestly. And you're probably not in any shape to be carrying anyone, even with help…" There's worry in his voice, even some guilt, but the determination remains underlying, as he looks back, "I'll make sure she gets medical attention." He means it, too. He just wanted to make sure it was… at home medical attention. After a moment he glances at Elle, "Both of them." Divorce or not.

"A hundred percent," Elle quips back to Damascus, her eyes pressing closed momentarily as she grimaces. It could be from the weight of the girl as she holds her, or it could be something else. "Don't worry. She'll get the help she needs." This time, her tone is verging on apologetic, though her frustration with Peter is still apparent. Unwilling to lose her hold on Kitty, Elle keeps one of the girl's hands in her own, gripping it tightly. "I don't need a doctor. I'm fine. Let's just go, okay?" She glances back over her shoulder to the man who had helped, Damascus, and nods once in acknowledgment of his help. No smiles, though.

Damascus seems roughly satisfied that Kitty will get help, so relents and allows Peter the hold he's trying to get. "All right." He steps back from the three and slips his hands back into his pockets, still watching the Peter and Elle. Just more blandly.

"All right, we're going," Peter says with his hold on Kitty firm, and while he could make a break for it in many different ways, he chooses to follow, get in the car, and go along with wherever it is she has in mind to take them. And there are many worried glances over at her. Someone doesn't believe that everything is okay.

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