2009-12-31: Not Sure Yet


It's the eve of a new year. Is there hope for the days ahead, or will the past continue to haunt us? As 2010 nears, many people reflect on where they've found themselves.

"Not Sure Yet"

December 31st, 2009

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Another year ending, another decade over. A decade where so much has changed. KeLyssa and her twin brother discovered their respective, and very opposite, abilities. She worked, and even managed for a little while, a comic shop, and now she works as an assistant for a senator. Now, on the eve of the New Year and the new decade, is found in her apartment, in a city that is as familiar to her now as her hometown, and yet is so different and so cold. A place where she has no brother, no parents, no grandparents, though some friends she has made. She is dressing herself up all fancy, as if to go out to some event that requires formal attire. As she smoothes out her skirt and shirt, making sure her necklace is on firmly; she takes a glance at the time. She smiles. There's time to relax before she finally has to leave. Moving to her closet, she opens it and retrieves a violin case. She unlocks it and opens it, taking out the violin. Slowly she begins to tune and then play it; she plays no melody in particular, she just plays a slow yet and soulful tune that would no doubt convey, should one hear it, a mixed feeling a joy and longing.


A group of men and women stand in a basement of a warehouse, waiting for someone apparently though they look quite scared. When the door to the basement opens, one of the women screams but she falls quiet as the figure that walks in, a blonde haired woman dressed in.. a cowgirl costume? Puts a hand on her hip and tilts her head. "Now.. ain't we hiding from the government?" she winks at the group and holds her hand out. While the people surge to her and the SUV that she has parked outside, waiting to take them to a nearby safehouse she has set up, a slight frown crosses her face.

Beatrix would be partying right now, a year ago. Not helping fugitive Evolved get in and out of the city and to safe places. Oh how times have changed.

I'm not sure yet…

About life

About love

But in time…


Nathan stares out of his office window, but he's not really looking at the world; he's looking at his own reflection — the reflection of someone he wishes he didn't remember. Life was simpler as Brayden, easier as Brayden. "At least I'm me," he growls at the reflection almost involuntarily. He winces at the notion of Logan still being in his head; that he was Logan, is Logan and finally recognizes his fear of encountering de Souza. "What if she let you loose?" he asks the reflection before straightening his solid red tie. "You're still in there Logan. Even if we're merged, you're still there. I can feel it." And it seems like there's less to fight for this time; less to keep himself grounded. "But I need to do this. If we can take down the Protocol…" he sighs as he turns from the window. "Then at least I'll have made something right."


After a furtive glance out through a window, Randall goes back to walking back and forth through his apartment, bristling with nervous energy. A few of his things have been tossed into a battered leather satchel, ready to be hauled away on short notice; most remain where they are, to be left behind. There's no obvious pattern as to which things make the cut.

Another quick stop, checking the time: still a few hours left to make it to Times Square for the ball drop. Even plausibly-denied government torturers would have trouble spotting and kidnapping one man amidst thousands of drunk revelers, right?

I'm sure

it'll all be fine


Times Square is a riot of light and color on the TV screen. Anais has the volume turned low, out of consideration for her sister, whose head lay heavy in her lap. Tabby had fallen asleep almost half an hour ago and as the countdown to the New Year began, Anais strokes the young woman's hair. As the numbers flashed on the screen, the camera panned over the crowd. Those joyous, laughing faces turned up into the light brought a wan smile to Anais' own lips. "It's going to be all right," she murmurs to Tabitha, who was not awake to know the lie. "Everything is going to be all right."


Sitting in her office and turning in circles on her desk chair, Sydney spins again. And again. And again. She's not supposed to be at work, but hasn't been home since that day with Gene. She'd made excuses to stay in the office, and then at Amy's house, but during the day she didn't want to be alone in the house. And so she's come into Hope Hearth. Her life had been so simple before she knew about the evolved. Before she knew she is one of them. With a sigh, she dizzily (with some stumbling) stands up from the desk and pads over to her couch to bury her head in her hands. She can feel something inside her freeing. Silently she lifts her head from her hands, her own resolve growing; she's not going to be a victim anymore.


Townhouse with the green front door, registered to Falkland. Cody had been shoveling snow for the neighbors for days now, earning a few dollars here and there, watching and waiting. There was no sign of life at the house, no one coming in or going out. Using the small cell phone assigned to her, the curly brunette dials a number as she walks up to the house. "Yeah Dad, I'm just going to knock on the last house on the block. I dunno if anyone's home, so maybe the people here moved but… I'm going anyway, might be worth five bucks." The phone is snapped shut and after a timed wait, she nods to the bushes.

knock knock knock


The lights about her apartment had yet to come down, and so they're lit along with her tiny Christmas tree sparkling on an end table. One wall of her apartment has a flat-panel television on it, tuned to the celebration happening just across the city in Times Square. This celebration is low-key, the little brunette sitting on her couch with a glass of wine, surrounded by documents from work, and an open laptop on the table in front of her…


The Roux Estate on New Years had the whole of the Orleans upper society within it's walls. Camille had fled the ballroom just moments ago, evading most of the guests who had gathered there. Even now, as she opened her suitcase, she could hear them counting down, starting from ten. But her motivations for coming home for the New Year had more to it than simply seeing her family. Her pitch-black, nonreflective bodysuit seemed to smile up at her in the dim light of her bedroom suite, plucking it up from it's folded position and holding it out at arm's length. A small smile works it's way onto the Frenchwoman's lips as she tilts her head. "Time to go to work."

I'm not sure yet

About life

About love


Everything about the party is lavish and ridiculously expensive. The 50-dollar glasses of wine aren't that much better than the 8-dollar glasses, but it's ostensibly for charity. Once more clad in expensive clothes and shoes, Emily and Trenton drunkenly sway about the dance floor at some charity gala that, when all is said and done, is filling Trenton's bank account. All in all, the couple doesn't seem to have a care in the world, even though she's a 'fugitive' from the government…

But in time…

I'm sure

It'll all be fine…


Through the snow filled streets of Moncton, New Brunswick, a cab carries Sierra to the home of her parents in Dieppe, a town adjacent to Moncton. This was a last minute trip. She hasn't even told her parents that she was coming. Yet here she is, peering out of the window of a cab onto the darkened, yet still familiar, streets. What urged her to take this trip on a whim, she could only explain as a longing to be with family still. On top of that, with the near kidnapping amongst other things, she has a feeling, a desire, to be with those she grew up with. As the cab slows to a stop in front of her childhood home, she pays the driver, offering a quick "Merci", and gets out, carrying her bag in on hand. She goes around back, knocking on the backdoor before turning the handle to open it. "Maman? Papa? Je suis maison. It's Sierra."

I'm not sure yet

About life

About love


Faint strains of music and garbled words floated in the air, scattering, mixing with similar digital feeds across the empty neighborhood streets. Mikhail sits silently in his old room, perching on the windowsill, his view of the mundane scenery permanently obscured by the fire escape. The same sounds blare from the televsion downstairs as his father makes comments, starting yet another pointless discussion with his mother. Absently, Mikhail reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out his phone, its charms clinking against each other. A button is pushed. The screen lights up. It is done again. List of contacts. And then…he does nothing else. Staring at the small screen, the artist sighs, pressing another button to cancel everything. He was never that good with keeping in touch.

But in time…


Cam sits watching the New Years countdown on the TV, though his attention isn't in the present, or the future, but in the events that happened at the end of summer. The worst year ever, and he hasn't really felt proper showing it. Micah lost his *parents*. Niki and D.L. were like parents to him, the closest he'd had for almost two years, but he always felt guilty when he got upset, knowing how much worse Micah was feeling. But now the worst year ever was ending, and he can't help but think of them.

I'm sure


Humming to himself, Micah considers 2009 while sitting at his laptop typing madly. A year in review: for himself. The word document contains two lists. The first is labelled joys: real family, family vacations, school, mom and dad around, hanging with Cam, X-Box, refurbishing my laptop, rescuing some fugitives, getting freed by Ivory, spending time with Molly, getting Molly to find Monica, Christmas with everyone. The second is labelled sorrows: mom and dad dying :(, getting duped by my own Aunt, getting caught by the government, getting Cam caught, getting Jamie in trouble, being constantly in trouble, Ivory committing suicide. "At least the good outweighs the bad," he murmurs, even if the bad is quite bad. "I hope it stays that way." He closes his laptop only to repeat, "I hope it stays that way."

It'll all be fine…


With a fair sized dinner made and a few activities for her and her teenaged son planned, Georgia lays out the dinner on the Kitchen-Dining room table. Is that everything? Did she forget anything? She sighs and sits down at the table to relax for a few minutes. Her son should be home any minute. What a year. She moved from Louisiana all the way up to New York. She only counts herself lucky that she found a job at Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles. The upside of that, besides the pay, is she gets chicken and waffles free. Which is always a bonus, right? Well, it may not be prestigious, but it's a job and she's thankful. She can only hope that the New Year shall bring forth a wellspring of even more opportunity.


Lee is standing in Times Square, he cadged a ticket from someone. He is explaining, "Really the calendar is essentially arbitrary, it's a combination of political and religious factors that have by chance identified this day as special. India wasn't even on this calendar until 1957. It's not a new chance, a new life, nothing changes tonight, tomorrow we'll be the same as today, just one day older. Devouring time blunts lion's paws and makes the earth devour her own sweet brood, but come on, it's not overnight." Having completely ruined the moment, he returns his gaze to the countdown.

Hallis_V4icon.png George_V4icon.png

"Okay Hallis, you can do this. It's not a complete loss." The young blonde is frantically wiping at a large brown drip down the front of her cream colored tunic. The stain seems to just be getting bigger and bigger the more she scrubs. "Who eats this stuff anyway? Seriously, I bet I gained ten pounds just looking at those ribs." There is a click and a very large woman walks out of one of the bathroom stalls and gives the dainty doll a very stern glare only to be met with the most innocent of expressions.

Five minutes later, the young woman emerges and makes her way past the throng of buffet goers as she tries to keep a chipper attitude. "Sorry that took so long, I think I really stained. Maybe I'll just stick to salad…"

"Oh, don't be silly, everyone ends up all messy here! That's what the wet-naps are for." With George off picking up a second helping of chicken-fried steak while he has the chance, it falls to his sister Michelle to offer this reassurance; she's used to being the odd one out herself, her jet-black hair cropped almost to ROTC standards, but tonight she's ditched her usual garish outfits in favor of a more typical plaid shirt and jeans.


New Year's at the Lansing residence was a small affair this year, a gathering of close friends and family. Back in Seattle, it would have been much larger, but this year, Tammy's parents and younger sister, as well as her aunt and uncle from Montreal, had all made the trip to her apartment upon hearing that the woman could not take the time off from work to go home. Tammy was sitting on the couch, her parents snuggled on the other end, her aunt between the three, and her uncle in the kitchen. Sofie sat on the floor, her back against the couch, the whole family gathered in front of the television to watch the ball drop in Times Square. "Uncle Mick, they're about to start counting!"


Clarence gazes at the clock. It's just past midnight in England. He picks up the phone and makes a phone call to England. "Yes. Charlie? Clarence. Happy New Year, old chap. What's that? Oh yes, New York is marvelous. I've seen everything." Pause. "You know, it's amazing, this apartment of mine. It's bright in here with very few lights. In my apartment, there are four lights. That's all, and it's bright as a button." He laughs. "You've got to be off? Well, that's a shame. I guess you must make it so, though. Make sure to make yourself some good, hot, Earl Grey tea, though. That will sooth anybody down. Talk to you soon, old chap." He replaces the receiver. He smiles. Perhaps this New Years isn't a complete waste. At least he got to talk to an old friend.


The digital clock by her dresser was reading 11:59, but Jade was far from any celebration. It was dark in her room, muting all the bright, vibrant colors she typically surrounded herself with, light from the streetlamps casting long shadows into her room. She sits on her bed, with her back to the wall, her legs drawn up partially towards her, loosely clasping her wrists about her knees. The clock's green lights flash over the minute, turning to twelve on the dot, and from outside, she can hear a few cheers of her neighbors going up. The dark-haired girl's features scrunch up into an expression of misery just before she drops her face into her lap and lets her shoulders heave in the privacy of her room.

I'm not sure yet

If it'll all be fine

I'm not sure yet

If it'll all be fine


"Hey, hey c'mere." Tiago knew he wasn't going to get a response. He knew the guard was ordered to ignore him, and yet he hung on the bars of the jail cell. How was he to resist when every bone in his body longed for acknowledgement, validation, for confirmation that he was still alive? His ragged face contorted into deep lines of thought as he stared at the retreating back of the sentinel that had just delivered his New Years gruel. "Or, okay, don't c'mere. I'll jus' speak, I guess. D'you believe in karma? I thought I didn't, you know? I thought I knew that shit wasn't fair, an' life was never goin' ta be. But I guess I did, 'cause this year…this year, I've gotten everythin' I ever wanted, jus' ta lose it again. This year…I've lost my faith an'…oh." The hard-faced stranger had disappeared beyond the corner.

And with a defeated sigh, the man unwinds himself from the cold bars isolating himself from the world, only to submit himself to the metaphorical bars of unabated loneliness. But then again, it is a state of being he is all too familiar with. Without the presence of friends or foes, he slumps onto the hardened surface that is his bed, parting his cracked lips to speak to empty air. "Well. I guess, Happy New Years ta you an' your family. I hope you have more luck with your life then I did…"


There was activity beyond the window that looked into her cell but Lena ignored it. She also ignored the smell of steak, roast potato, steamed green beans with flecks of bacon that wafted from the tray by the door. Real bacon. They were trying to tempt her to eat. But she remained where she was, laying on her side on the hard slab of metal that pretended to be a bed, staring at the wall. Red lines scored the inside of both wrists, marks from her fingernails. A year ago, she hadn't had the guts to use Jose's gun to kill herself; now she had the guts and no real means to pull it off. Dream? Or not a dream? Dream or not a dream…God? If you're listening, I'm so sorry. Lena sighs, closes her eyes and tries to think of nothing.

I'm not sure yet

If it'll all be fine

I'm not sure yet

If it'll all be fine


There are no festivities in the new home of Tracy Strauss, a home that isn't even under her own name. It's a nice apartment, even luxurious, but these aren't her her own familiar luxuries. All of this is just a reasonable facsimile. A house of cards. There's a quiet swish and ripple of water as she moves both arms up to rest on the lip of the bathtub she lays in, one of those old ivory-coloured tubs with claw feet — it was here when she started renting. Only her head, bare shoulders and arms visible, she leans back against the curve and stares at the dark blue ceiling above, tense and stony despite the relaxing pose. This is meant to be an escape; relaxing, and most importantly… warm. She doesn't even know what time it is. This year has brought about a whole world of things she'd rather not dwell on, but she is. Out with the old. In with the new, by whatever means necessary. With an angry purpose, Tracy has only just set to thinking when a sudden chill and crackling prompts her to look down in alarm, where previously hot, clear water has begun to mattify in spiderweb patterns of frost and turn to ice.

I'm not sure yet

About life


Stephanie Sheldon steps indoors, her form shifting, replaced with the visage of Candice Willmer. She speaks into her cell phone.

"Hey there. Checking in. Everything's in position. I've got the Alpha Protocol list, and I've met with Angela Petrelli. It gives me the in with the Senator. Made early contact with Rebel. You've got everything ready on your end? Awesome. Time to go see and be seen." She walks back towards the door, as her form stretches taller and goes blonde, till the leggy form of the woman known alternately as Niki Sanders, Jessica Sanders, or Tracy Strauss picks up the scarf again, as she closes the phone.

"I hate being out in the cold." she says to no one but herself, as she walks out the door.

About love


Pressing the end call button on his phone, the man called Kensei goes back to sitting hunched over the bar counter in a dark and smokey bar in one of NYC's seediest neighborhoods. Drunken revelers drift in and out, slurring out the holiday greeting as best they can. A line of empty lowball glasses sit lined up neatly on the bar in front of him, pushing on toward a dozen. As the ball drops, he seems totally disinterested, another year older, but grinning at the information he's just learned. To celebrate, he lifts a finger and orders another drink, number 12 for the night…

But in time


With a last glance to be sure nobody's going to catch them, Jamie raises her hand to the crack in the door leading to the school roof, turning it to water and flowing in to short-circuit the alarms. "Ow," she complains, pulling her hand back quickly, shaking the now solid hand from the minor burn, but then she grins and opens the door, holding it for her friend. Timo, a Mexican-American boy just a year older than her, follows her through, "We're going to get in so much trouble for this." "Well, they should have let us go see the fireworks then." Once outside and the door closed, they wait, watching Jamie's cellphone and counting down the seconds. When the clock flips to midnight, Timo raises his hand, and the sky above fills with silent explosions of colour. Jamie just grins, "*This* is how you start a year!"

… I'm sure it'll all be fine …


A squat figure clad in a suit and a heavy, dark overcoat moves through a New York street - he could be anywhere, really. For a moment, he pauses and turns his eyes skyward as though concentrating intently on something unseen and unheard. When he returns his attention to the present, he reaches into his pocket to produce a small notepad and a disposable ballpoint pen. He writes down two things: "Ethan C." and "Staten Island" before hailing a cab. As the taxi pulls up, the man's face is briefly caught in the flash of it's headlights. Maury Parkman allows himself a wicked little grin before stepping into the car and disappearing into the night.


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