2007-10-28: Market Specials


Brian_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif

Summary: A multiple man meets a teleporter in the candy aisle of a natural foods market. Awkward conversation and phone number exchange ensues.

Date It Happened: October 28th, 2007

Market Specials

Greenwich Village, NYC - Au Naturale Market

Au Naturale Market may not be the sort of place that Mariska might frequent enough to be known as a regular yet but she's swiftly managed to stop in more and more often, all for the sake of a single aisle - Sweets & Treats - the all-natural chocolate section, specifically. In fact, that's where she is at this very moment, torn between something with almonds or something with hazelnuts. She's bundled up snug for the weather in a navy blue peacoat with a wine-colored scarf loosely hung around her neck but she remains recognizable to the casual observer… if there's any recognition to be had, of course.

Though he's not too into health food, he is into uncomplicated, non-busy things. The big city is very intimidating for him, so a nice place where there aren't that many aisles and not that many customers is a more comfortable place for him to shop than the big grocery stores. So here he is, Brian is behind a grocery cart as he walks through the aisles. He leans heavily on the cart and walks slowly, as if labored or in pain. His cart is full of the essentials, milk, water, bread,.. soda. And a variety of foods. He seems to be finishing up as he walks down the sweets and treats aisle. A small paper in his hand, that he looks at before continuing to trot down the aisle. That is until his eyes fasten upon Mariska, it definitely gives him pause. What was her name again…? "Mariska?" Comes unsure voice.

But, hark! A voice! The dark-haired woman turns her head and is immediately stricken with a surprised (and possibly confused) expression. "Oh, hello…" Oh, hello, guy she almost kinda sorta recognizes! Green eyes squint in speculation while her brain struggles to bring forth a name from the previously morphine-addled ethereal reaches. "…Brendan?" Did she win? Is that right?! She looks hopeful but uncertain. And then it occurs to her that maybe she should put the candybars down and let her hands fall to her sides so at the try and camouflage the fact that she isn't anywhere near as injured as she was the last time he saw her… or should be by consequence of old wounds earned.

"Brian." Brendan corrects with a bit of a smile. "You're doing better." The man murmurs, giving a soft nod of approval for her condition of well being. He slowly trudges forward with the help of the shopping cart. "How's your husband?" He still hasn't called the man, hopefully that doesn't come up in this conversation.

Points for using four letters out of five? Mariska smiles somewhat apologetically and echoes the correct name for the sake of her not-so-fuzzy memory. "Brian." Of course, with her accent, it sounds a little more like 'bur-eye-an' but, hey. She can't help it. "Much better," she concedes, shrugging her shoulders minutely for emphasis. "He is good, good. How are you doing? You are feeling well?"

"Eh. I got hurt the other day. A branch fell off a tree." He mutters, rolling his eyes as if that's a crazy thing for a branch to do. No problem with the pronunciation of his name. He's been called worse. In Indonesia they just called him Brrrrraaaannn. His grey eyes survey her, before he lowers his voice. "Still teleporting?" Brian asks, his eyes locked on hers for a reaction as he asks the question.

Mariska's eyebrows perk, first at the news of arboreal assault and then they all but clear her forehead with the teleporting comment. First impulse? Play dumb. "Whu—what??"

"Come on. I saw what you can do." Brian says quietly, "Don't make a scene. Just be honest with me, don't play dumb. I risked my own health to take care of you, I deserve some honesty." The man insists in hushed tones practically straight into her ear. His knuckles go white on his shopping cart, not in anger, but in anxiety.

So, uh… this is… a completely different shade of awkward than the one she's used to wearing. How's it look? Suddenly mindful of all the other shoppers there aren't, Mariska gives an over-the-shoulder glance down the aisle to the little check-out lane and then inches closer to Brian in order to carry on their conversation in a slightly more clandestine and yet obviously hushed fashion. "You don't say word to anyone about that. Not even my husband. No one meant to know. I did what I did to try and help people. Girl still died."

"I tried to help." Brian whispers back, "She died in my arms." He says in an intense fashion his grey gaze matching hers. "I'm like you." He mutters to her, his gaze going this way then that making sure no one is listening before he continues talking. "And so were they. I want to know about them, about you, about me. Can you help me?"

The Russian woman's expression draws wan as Brian discloses a little detail about Nadia's death that she hadn't reckoned before. Having someone die in your grasp must be somewhere shy of heartwarming, for sure. But then, she looks a little bit hopeful. "What do you mean… like me?" Finally finding another teleporter would blow her mind… and also explain why she couldn't recall the trip to the hospital that he claims they made. "And… they are… very dangerous people. What you need my help to do?"

"I'm special." Brian says softly, taking another nervous glance. "I fought that guy with you. I fought the woman with the acid. I tried to save that girl. And I tried to save another girl that night." Brian says, watching her hopeful expression. "All at the same time." To her question he just gives her a look. "I want to know about these people, people who do things that aren't normal. Like you, and me. What am I supposed to do with my.. whatever it is."

Mariska might not get it initially but she's certainly no stranger to the oddities that have manifest themselves over and over again during her time spent in New York City so far. This town is obviously some sort of freak magnet that draw 'em in from all around the world! That Brian might be one of them, too, well…

"I'm not— I don't… know much about them. But… I will try, if that is what you want." She pauses and flips open her messenger bag, then begins to gingerly fish around within until she withdraws a pen and a spare scrape of something to write on. She then hands the piece of paper over. Looks like someone just picked up some digits. "Give me number to reach you," she says, waiting patiently for reciprocation.

Brian writes down his number before handing the paper back. "Your husband and that guy with him wanted to talk to me about what I saw. Who are they? Why do they want to talk to me?" He asks, letting her take the pen and paper back. It's his cell phone number, the cell phone that is ever-present in his pocket. The cell phone that doesn't even need a voice mail because he always picks it up. That cell phone. It's in his pocket.

"Did he give you his card?" Mariska wonders while simultaneously retrieving the man's phone number. The looks she's currently relaying should speak volumes. After all, Felix gives his card to nearly every stranger he meets. You know, the one that proclaims him to be in the FBI to all and sundry.

"Yes.. But I'm scared too call. He says he's seen all kinds of crazy shit. Do they know you're special?" He asks, before looking up to where they are. This kind of conversation in a grocery store, it makes him laugh a little bit. Then his features go back to serious, wherein he quickly apologizes for his sudden outburst of laughter. "Sorry. Nervous, I guess. Never talked about this before."

She momentarily purses her lips but eventually the expression fades into something slightly more contemplative. "We should talk about this… somewhere else. Later." Remember that chocolate craving? Mariska doesn't. She begins to back-up, heading for the door slowly before turning and desperately seeking escape from the abrupt tension in the chilly outside world.

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