2009-10-13: Princess Carry



Date: October 13, 2009


A speedster ran into trouble, but ends up running to exactly the right place.

"Princess Carry"

Lucky Joe's Diner

Things are preparing to close in the later hours of the evening, but not Lucky Joe's. Open at all times, it maintains the friendliest atmosphere for those just wanting somewhere to kick back and not get kicked out. So the place maintains a fair but not overwhelming amount of people at this time, and most are keeping to themselves. Also, Peter Petrelli might be here.

All of these facts could be contributing to Daphne's ultimate decision as she races through the city not wanting to stop, but desperately needing to. Eventually, all that matters is that she does.

Busting through the main door, she's long gone by the time the bell rings - the typical noise to herald a new arrival - and warrants only grumbling complaints by those disagreeing with the breeze. The first empty booth near the back that she finds, she takes. The speed vanishes. The long prolonged moment arrives. It's almost like her interrupted breath catches now because she gasps as the delayed electricity takes its course. Volts upon volts, straight from those pin-prick points in her back, as if their sources were still there.

But they're not. So, graciously, the electricity is not ongoing for the full programmed five minutes. Still, it's enough that Daphne tumbles to the side into that abandoned booth, biting back squeals that would bring unwanted attention to her spasms.

There's a clatter of plates falling as a poor waitress reacts to the sudden surprise of someone dropping down into a empty booth after just— appearing. They're empty plates, that she just bussed off a table. One where a dark haired young man sits, pondering his drink a little too intensely. At least until he looks up to see what startled his waitress into dropping plates. The first instinct Peter has is to help her pick the plates up, but that's until he sees the woman who tumbled into the booth, sees the door still closing— and just a flash of white hair.

Suddenly he's up off the booth and hurring over to her, moving around the waitress with a 'sorry' as he does, until he can get to where the other woman has fallen over. The one he knows. The one…


The immediate worth of two guns is spent as her little body jerks around involuntarily. Some targets were shot twice just to be safe, but Daphne is hardly the size of that dangerous prey. At first she has no response to Peter's recognition, or really any reaction to her surroundings at all. Her head spinning, her body twitching, she can't quite move even after all the current is supposedly gone. Pain, pain, pain and shock. Her breathing hitches a second time.

Then, with the tiniest amount of motor function, her fingers stretch out from where they are on the booth and she digs her nails into glossy material. With her head still drooped against the seat, it's difficult to tell if the whimpered, "Peter…" is an answer to him or some unconscious call.

While she gropes at the glossy material, Peter reaches out to her, skin touching skin. The contact comes with something like instant pain relief. It flows up from where they're touching to the furthest part from her. It doesn't heal the damage done, but it masks the pain, tells her body that it's not happening, and grants some quick relief. "Can I get some water over here, please?" he asks over his shoulder to the waitress, before his hands move to help her sit up. Contact needs to be maintained, because he's not as good with sticking this ability as he is with prolonged contact. "You're going to be okay."

Daphne might've jumped at the initial contact if she'd had better control of her own body. No control. Unable to move. It's like the worst nightmare she can imagine… but with a touch on her skin, some of that melts away; at least, the physical pressure vanishes. Shaking now, but of her own volition, she braces her hands on something close enough - seat, table, Peter, whatever - and makes sure to sit up with the help. "Peter," now she really acknowledges him, turning her head and staring at him with wide eyes that reflect what she's feeling better than her soft tone. "I couldn't do it. I was fast, but they still found me." She's a little hoarse, even if she feels good enough to talk. The tone seems hardly as important as the sentiment anyway.

"I'm sorry, I— I'll take care of you," Peter says as he pulls her up against him. She's petite, tiny even, and doesn't weight a lot at all. This makes it easy for him to pull her up out of the booth and against his chest. His chin presses into her wild hair, as he straightens, looking back at the waitress who's already ran to fetch water. "I'm going to take her to the hospital, just keep the change from what I left on the table," he says, moving toward the door. He had just laid cash down on the table, so the bills should cover the price of his meal, and the tip all together as he moves out into the cold of the street. "You're safe. It'll pass in a few minutes."

All that tininess goes along with Peter's motion. With Daphne dizzy and disoriented, it's too nice to have something warm and solid nearby to protest not using her own legs. Her feet just hang, bundled up in dark red boots, and while one hand presses against her carrier's chest, the other just lays in her lap. She breathes in, against him, and some of the shaking subsides. Awkwardness in her movements lingers, though, when she tries to lift her head slightly to see his face. Her fingers can't quite form enough of a grip in his shirt. Minutes, he says. Speedsters never count by those. Minutes… are forever. "They got me," she insists on speaking, "And it was, like, all I could think about… was you. And here you are." She tries to laugh, but most of her doesn't cooperate, "How often does that happen?"

"Well I did try to warn you," Peter says softly, keeping his voice toned down as he looks around the street. Darkened, but not empty, the street has a lot of familiarity to him, as does the alley. There's a reason he mentioned the diner, because he tends to visit it often enough that they know his order. "You're lucky you didn't run in a few minutes later— I was getting ready to leave." What were the odds of it? Pretty small. But long ago he's dismissed the thing called coincidence. The alley he turns into is empty, but also dark and not clean. Someone could jump out of the shadows, but it's a short cut. "Where did they catch up to you?"

"Yeah," Daphne agrees readily enough, "That would've sucked." The situation seems as easy as that; she could've missed him, but she didn't. Her face lowers again and she watches warily as the scenery turns into dark alley. Those men could be here. But she'll just have to trust him, unnatural as that might be. "This… museum. I like to stay there and think sometimes after hours. It's like they were waiting or something." Her eyebrows draw down when she thinks about it, digs this detail from her nervous memories. Then she tests out moving some, just shifting, making sure everything responds. "I know," she adds meanwhile to him, quickly, "I know you warned me, and I was cocky and I—. I guess I know better now, huh.."

"Maybe you shouldn't hang out at museams at night," Peter says, rubbing his hands over her compact body, rubbing her arms gently. A comforting gesture, as well as a way to try and get warmth on her skin. "Now you know better— and don't worry, you're not the only one who's trying to avoid them. I am too— so are a lot of people. You're not alone in this, Daphne." More comfort, but there's something in his eyes as he looks past her toward the grimey wall. The last time they saw each other, he made a bid to make their relationship more than business, and… "I know a few minutes is a long time for you, just— focus on me, okay?"

"Yeah, well, it wasn't a taserable offense until now," Daphne retorts, humorous but annoyed, a bid for a defense she's used to even as she lets herself melt into the comforts he's offering her tired body. She feels like she could've run a marathon. Normal speed. No pain now - he took care of that - just an overarching weariness. Could be as much nerves as anything else. Her knitted top helps his warming efforts but she curls in a little because she's still, after all, wearing a short dress. "I'm starting to get that impression. Ran into Charlotte before - before this happened." It's briefly easier to talk about other people, but when she's advised to focus on him, she does. You'd think it'd be hard not to, sitting in a guy's arms, but when she slides her cheek against his chest to look up at him again it's different than before. She's thinking about that previous day, too. "Peter. I'm sorry— I'm sorry, too. I was scared. I ran away from you, but I was just really scared. And I don't want to - run - not from you."

Right now living seems to be a taserable offense, but Peter doesn't say that outloud, as he stops in his walk and looks down at her. It's not even that she's getting heavy in his arms— she's not. He could continue to hold her just like this for quite some time, but what she's saying… If it wasn't for the last bit, he might have been inclined to speak on something else, but… "It's okay. I know that— it's okay to be scared. I…" He trails off, closing his eyes and lowering his face until his nose is buried in her hair. She gets hefted up a little to accomidate that. "Nothing ever seems to be… timed right," he mutters softly, "I— Things aren't really safe right now… But— you said you saw Charlotte? The teleporter who used to work for Pinehearst? She can probably help keep you safe."

When she's hefted, Daphne tries to adjust with the movement, going for grips on his shirt or shoulder, depending on where she eventually settles. Their faces, she closes her eyes, unknowingly right after him. They flutter open tiredly when he talks on, and then she forces herself into more perkiness, absently shaking her head and possibly tickling him with that hair. "That's nice. She said that. But she also said that they have Gene. Others." The 'others' seems superficially tacked on, there is clear cut concern only for the geek's presence, "I bet you're going in there, that's what you do. That means you need someone who can be in and out quick, and we both know I'm wildly faster than you." Perhaps an exaggeration, she is still eager as her voice wavers. She's new to this rah-rah hero thing. But as he's looking down so nicely, she raises a hand and lightly touches her fingers against his cheek, then more of her palm. Making sure he's looking at her. "This was timed right."

There's a twinge of a smile, but there's something sad and serious about it. The attempt at regaining perkiness may have helped, but he's always been the more serious. The rah-rah hero type. "Yeah," he says softly, letting his eyes slide shut again for a moment as she touches his face. It doesn't last too long, and eye contact comes back. "I'm going to go after them— the ones that are captured. And— you are faster than me. You could help me," his voice remains soft, whispered, and then he's leaning down closer. First his hair touches her forehead, and then his forehead presses in against hers. "Will you help me… stop the people that are doing this?" he asks, the dinner he'd just ate, the apple pie he had at the end of his meal mostly, can be smelled on his breath thanks to the close proximity.

That's the spirit. Daphne's lips twitch to the side in momentary smugness when he admits she's right. She blinks it all away, though, as he comes close. Closer. The feeling on her forehead, and then there they are and when she takes a deep steadying breath it's of his scent. Mmm. Sweet like old country home living; of course he had the apple pie. "You're crazy, I'm crazy…" she informs him. "But I'll help." It feels good to say, it does, not like she's lying or exaggerating or making fun. In the spur of the moment, a warmth all up in her belly that has nothing to do with the taser marks on her back, she rocks forward that miniscule space left to plant a kiss on his nose. Tiny like her, and almost childish in notion, but full of the affection that fills her new smile. And somehow she doesn't feel scared.

A kiss on his nose. Peter blinks, looking visibly shaken for the instant when his eyes widen after the blink. It takes a few moments, but then he's closing the distance again, to press his own light kiss against her forehead. "Do you think you can run now?" he asks, a hesitant tone to his voice. "I know a place we can go to, and if you can't run— we can fly there. It should be safe for you to stay there tonight, until I can get ahold of Charlotte and see what her plan is. It's going to take some time to put together a rescue, but… once you're feeling up to it… and once I get a couple more people— we'll make sure they never take anyone else again."

Daphne swallows some of that smile when his initial reaction is so wide-eyed and her hand pulls purposefully back to her chest, but she keeps up watching him. All the dimples return when he finally acts. "Sure," she assures, none of his hesitance present - at least in her voice. "But you're gonna have to put me down." It's easy to make it sound like she's teasing him, like picking her up didn't have to do with the horrific pain she was experiencing… was it whole minutes ago? Somehow, she'd stopped keeping track. A nod goes along with his continued plans. "And I can show you where they came at me. I don't know if it makes a difference, but if it's a place they know to watch— I don't know, maybe they left something behind."

"Right— I just didn't want to put you down til you were sure," Peter says, a little flustered sounding for a moment as he loosens his hold and lets her drop down to her own two feet. "It's probably better we don't go back there right now. They— they have something that negates abilities. You got away the first time there's no telling if they'll pull that out a second time. And then being fast won't really give you an advantage. Not until we find a way to counter it." He hesitates a moment and then holds his hand out to her. "I think it's safest if we just lay low tonight."

Her look is pointed and mischievous as he makes his excuses but, left to her own power, Daphne has to eat some of her words. The first second is a little wobbly and she puts hands out to either side to steady herself. Aching flirts with her head and with her back where she pulled the barbs out from her speed. She manages to re-stabilize to some extent with the right effort. Her eyes widen, her shoulders pulling back defensively, at the sound of negated abilities… abilities just gone. But then his hand is there. "You know best." And she takes it. "If you can manage to stay put, I guess I can too." She peers up at him from under cover of partly lowered 'lashes, "Sort of makes tonight… not business."

"I…" Peter hesitates for a moment, looking down where their hands touch. That smile pulls back on his face for a moment, and then he looks away, his free hand pushing hair out of his face for a moment. "So you don't mind if this becomes… something other than business?" he asks, a tentativeness to his smile. "If I hadn't just ate, I'd ask if you wanted to pick up some food on the way to the place we're staying— but… maybe we can do that soon. When things settle down. If you want." He'd tried to ask her to a movie before, dinner is another close one. "Or you could pick a movie— they won't be looking for us in a random theater somewhere in the country, I wouldn't think." As long as they're not dumb enough to use credit cards. Which he's not.

Daphne looks away during some of the intervals when he is looking, but the way her lips are pressed together says she's only fighting a big dumb grin. "What can I say— getting zapped puts some things in perspective." Schooling her expression all the better to lightly tease him with, she mentions, "That's terribly optimistic of you. Doom and gloom one second and now a nice sit-down." Not wanting to seem like she's too hard of a time when things are so tentative, however, she follows up the sass with a sweeter squeeze of his hand. "… I like black and whites." She waits long enough to make sure he's looking at her and can see the sincereness in her eyes. "Bonus points if it's foreign."

"It's really too bad I never picked up a linguistic power," Peter says quietly, keeping a hold on her hand. "But the British have to have black and white films too," he offers, as he looks back toward the street. No black vans coming to take them away, but skirting off to Britian would probably be a good idea for the night. "Do you know any theaters in London that might have something playing? I'll pay for the tickets and popcorn, you just have to lead the way." There's a pause, and he looks back down at her legs. She'd wobbled a bit… "Do you need a few more minutes? Are you feeling up to it?"

"They've got 'em with subtitles too, dummy, but you're right. Doesn't count if it's not pure authentic." Says the thief who hordes the world's most treasured works of art. Truly, quality means a little something to Daphne. So does their quiet time. No men, no guns. Instead, movies— it's almost normal. She never imagined she could get hunted down… and come out of the experience feeling better than before. She doesn't contemplate it, though, doesn't ruin it. Also, she doesn't want too much focus on her legs when they're not feeling so hot. "I'm fine. Really. But… a favor?" Tiptoeing some towards him, she tugs on their combined hands so he has to move forward, too. Well, might want to, at least; she isn't full of awesome strength - just little coy head-tilts and glances upwards. "Can we fly anyway?"

"I never did like running on water," Peter says with a smile. Instead of coming off as forced, it has a real genuine feel to it as he steps in closer and wraps his arms around her. He's short enough that putting her arms around his neck won't be that difficult as he pulls her closer. "Just hang on," he adds, before they fly straight up. The city lights flicker as they move further away, a roar of air, and then they're going at high speeds, straight toward London.

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