2007-08-01: Playing Mommy


DFMolly_icon.gif DFJessica_icon.gif

Summary: Molly has work to do, under the orders of her… keeper boss guardian? They rewrite dysfunctional.

Dark Future Date: August 1st, 2007

Playing Mommy

Somewhere in the Syndicate's Headquarters, New York City

It's been an interesting couple of days for Molly lately. She's gone out into the city, messed with a few people, done some business and generally just gone out to have fun. What else is there to do in a ruined city anyway? Molly's room doesn't really look like a little girl's room. It's dark and all the curtains are closed. There's a couch and a bed and nothing is decorated. The only thing that belongs in a girl's room is the stuffed elephant that's just kind of tossed into a corner. It's dirty and has been ripped in certain places that never were repaired. Other than a broken up broadcast talking some response to President Petrelli's speech, there's no sound in the room. Doesn't even seem like there's anyone inside, either.

The door opens without pomp or circumstance. In walks the blonde woman whose ID card opens every door in the building. A severe figure in a sharp black pantsuit with some little slip of a similarly dark shirt underneath, her golden blonde hair falling straight and long about her shoulders, she steps in. There's a black leather briefcase dangling from one hand. The door shuts behind her. When an initial sweep of the room brings no glimpse of its occupant, she cocks her head to one side, listening to the bits and pieces of the broadcast - and smirks. She drops the briefcase with a loud, careless thud on the floor in front of her. That should get Molly's attention, if she's even here.

From underneath the bed, a small hand reaches out and takes a hold of the dropped briefcase. Accompanied by a scraping sound and without any sort of other greeting, it starts to slowly be pulled under the bed, where (most likely) Molly is hiding. That certainly did get Molly's attention because she knows what this means. "So who's it this time? Mob boss? Lost kid? Tell me it's something not so boring this time. A challenge. All those saps looking for lost loved ones is lame. Gimme some revenge findings. Those, at least, lead to fun consequences." For now, Molly stays under the bed. Maybe she'll roll out into sight at some point in this conversation.

"Mm." Jessica folds her arms over her chest, eyeing the crack between the bed and the floor coolly until she crosses the distance. From under the bed, Molly can see the faint gunmetal shimmer of the woman's high heels as she walks, turns, and sits down on the bed. The springs protest slightly even with her unimpressive weight. "There's a waiting list. Topping it off is some poor bitch— " Sarcasm: high. "Looking for his lost wife. Boohoo," she over-enunciates every vowel, mocking. She scoffs. "His sixteen grand was really touching. Sorry, kiddo."

Jessica's shoes aren't really what she's watching right now. It's the briefcase. As the bed sinks only slightly, Molly shifts a little so that her feet are now visible from under the bed. "Waiting list," the young teenager sneers a little. "It takes me no time to find people. If that's what drives the prices up, though, I guess little missus whatever-her-name is can wait a little while to be found." Bohoo indeed. Propelling herself out from under the bed, her blonde hair stands akimbo, but she doesn't attempt to smooth it down. She keeps a hold of the briefcase. "Huh. Some people are just so predictable. Boring." Lazily, she pats the briefcase. "Is the picture in here?"

"Mm-hmm." Leaning back on her hands, making impressions in the bed, the much older blonde watches Molly with an expression that can only be described as emotionless, or at least guarded. By steel. "He paid up. Make the others wait. He's good for business." She crosses one leg over the other. She sits up after a moment and reaches out, two slender fingers going for the girl's hair. Of all things. The murdering and secretive queen of the powerful Syndicate smoothes the strands of blonde, trailing a finger down Molly's face slowly. Icy eyes narrow, unwaveringly examining her very closely — as if the she'd changed, or the light had changed, and there's something new to be found. It's almost regretful, her cold expression. She tugs a little too hard at the ends of Molly's hair. "He should have killed you, you know." Hollow, rather than acidic.

"Whatever." It makes no difference who she goes looking for. As long as the cash is in hand, she'll find who needs to be found. It's no different than what she's been doing for other people for different reasons. There's no warmth or even flinching when Jessica attempts to smooth down Molly's hair. She doesn't move and she doesn't take here eyes off of Jessica, her face neutral until it finally breaks into a playful smile. "Missing playing mommy? It's been awhile, hasn't it?" With a snicker she, tosses back the hair that was so recently smoothed down. "Yeah, forgive me for not being angry that I'm still alive." Rocking back so that she's crouching on the balls of her feet, she holds onto the briefcase and moves just out of reach. "I must say, though, I miss the games we played. We would have had a lot of fun with you."

Jessica's hand splays open just in time to not catch Molly's hair when the it's tossed back and she moves away, but whether it was intentional not to harm her or entirely coincidental is anyone's guess. A dangerous spark lights up in her eyes over certain comments from the growing child. She bristles. "Shut your mouth." She stands up with fluidly, closes in lightning fast, and grabs Molly as she crouches to her level - the woman's hand tangles, seizing the hair at the back of the girl's head. "Look at you." Again, that probing stare. "You're a little monster." Far from chiding, her voice is serious.

"Uh oh, mommy's mad." Molly attempts to spring backwards out of reach of the grasping hand, but she doesn't make it in time. Before she knows it, she's caught in the grip of Jessica's strong fist. Instead of being scared or give away like she may be in any pain, she just laughs. "Yes yes, I'm a little monster. He twisted me, he made me this way. Always easy to point out the obvious. What about /you/? Who've you got to blame for the way you turned out? Using a little girl to make money, letting them run around and steal things. You're no better than him. He used me to better himself, you use me for money. Aren't I just the good little toy? Would you like to dress me up next?" The smile fades and turns into something more neutral. "He loved it when I cried at first, when I pleaded with him. Is that what you want from me? Would that make you feel better? Make you think I'm the little Molly Walker you thought you knew so well?"

Jessica's fingers tighten and curl at the back of Molly's head, pulling; not enough to seriously injure, just to catch and hold, like claws. "I never knew you," she all but spits, "Niki did." There's a fire in her eyes. A cold fire, but a fire nonetheless. She lets go roughly. She pointedly does not answer most of the girl's questions, but stands up, taking the briefcase and tossing it on the bed. Shooting Molly a glare, she forces the locks on the case to slide into place so that it flips open. Inside are stacks of photos, little else. "You're right, Miss Molly," she croons darkly, flipping a length of her own blonde hair over her shoulder. "You are a good little toy. You know how many people want you? How many people out there in the big, bad world outside of our castle want to use you?" A fleeting cat-that-caught-the-canary smirk spreads over Jessica's lips, short-lived as she starts to stalk past. "Now do your job — and don't cry." She can't stand the sound.

"Right. Niki. How could I forget." Molly gives Jessica a cold smile, just leaning her head back along with Jessica's tightening grasp. Overplaying being let go, she crumples onto the floor in a pile of limbs. After a few seconds of that, it gets boring, though, and she sprawls out onto the carpet. "Yeah. That's right. Lots of people could use me and I don't really care what they use me for. So, don't think you've got me all tied up neat and nicely here." She's the one with the ability. "Maybe it's about time someone else finished what Sylar started." And she doesn't sound like she cares. Sitting up, she pulls over the briefcase to search through the photos. She says nothing about the crying comment. She hasn't cried in years, not a single tear. "Who's our missing wifey?" Back to business it looks.

"Anyone tries to take you, or hurt you? I'll kill them," Jessica threatens evenly — protectively, one might say, if they have the particularly twisted insight to fit a particularly twisted dynamic. "You try to get away— " She'll kill her, too? "You're not the only method in the world of finding someone lost." Normal resources just take a little longer… but with the Syndicate's resources, less than normal. "I will hunt you down, little girl. You belong here." As for the task at hand, she gives her head a shake and looks at Molly as if to say, 'how should I know?'. It's not like she takes special care in remembering, or even asking for, the details of sob stories. She stalks toward the door.

"Touching," Molly replies in deadpan. It's unsure if she believes Jessica or if she just doesn't really care. "Yeah, but you'd have to find me first." Already starting to sort through the pictures in the briefcase, she picks one up and closes her eyes. "And, as you will well remember, I'll always know where you are and where you're coming from." Flipping the picture over, she writes an address on the back of it, then flips it carelessly aside to where her 'done' pile will start. "Yeah. I belong here for now. But, I know more than you and when the time comes? You're gonna be on the edge of your seat. Believe me. It's a surprise ending." Snatching another photo, she just tosses Jessica a girlish grin and sticks her pen behind her ear. "Just you wait."

The door opens by way of Jessica's hand, but she doesn't leave until Molly has finished delivering her comments. Unmoving until the moment she's heard it all, she then looks over her shoulder. "I know more than you can dream up in that screwed up little mind of yours," she says, narrowing her gaze on the girl; slowly, she grins. "Believe me." With a wink, she steps out into the gleaming black corridor. Molly's door closes with a deceptively simple *click*. We all know it's more secured than that.

There's no immediate reply from Molly, and it would seem like she doesn't have a response. "Oh, you'll be so much fun when the time comes," she snickers and then closes her eyes, the picture of a woman in a wedding dress held loosely in her fingers.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License