2007-07-26: Two Years From Tomorrow


Cass_icon.gif Lachlan_icon.gif Desiree_icon.gif Portia_icon.gif

Summary: The strings of fate bring Desiree to Cass and Lachlan for a glimpse of what's to come, unless it's stopped.

Date It Happened: July 26th, 2007

Two Years From Tomorrow

Cass's Apartment, Brooklyn

Early in the afternoon finds lots of activity in the Aldric household. There is bumping and squealing and some yells. No, it's not Lachlan and Cass trying out that book that he was so interested in back at Enlightenment. It's the two of them playing a new video game system Lachlan won on a radio contest. After a few harrowing tries of Lachlan attempting to hook the complex system up, Cass finally took over and managed to connect everything correctly and boot up a game. Currently, they're playing Super Mario Party, Wii remote securely attached to her wrist, Cass jumps up and down and weaves left and right, thinking this will help her chances. Frequently, the controller slips out of her hands and she's forced to snatch it up again. Still, she's ahead of Lachlan by a couple of points.

Whatever happened to the idea that men were naturally better at video games than women? Oh. Lachlan happened. That's what. Normally he doesn't participate in radio call-in shows, however this particular one had a question to do with dogs, and he couldn't resist flaunting the one area of expertise that he actually excels in. The fact that he won a game system was sort of secondary (and he was rather shocked to hear what it was called). Now he realizes that 'Wii' is just another way for him to embarrass himself, because he's very very bad at it. Nothing works right! The controls are insane! Why the hell is that stupid fat yellow guy not moving? The Scotsman's not doing much better in standing still or flailing about, but he manages to keep hold of his controller. And has resolved to sabotage Cass with his free hand, because he is obviously not going to win without cheating. He's even decided to give her a light bump with his shoulder now and then to throw her off.

In the midst of the video game, the sound of the buzzer infiltrates Cass Aldric's apartment, out in the real world. It's persistent.

Though normally very bad with technology, Cass has found that she can actually manage to play this game fairly well. Well, passably. Well, better than Lachlan, that is. Even with the bumping and the distractions, she still beats Lachlan. Her little mushroom with feet is very cute, but also a possible good luck charm, because she's pulling ahead! Squealing and trying to keep away from Lachlan's attempts to win by cheating, the buzzer interrupts them quite suddenly. Startled, the remote drops out of her hands again, bouncing on the strap that keeps it attached to her wrist. Scrambling, she picks it up again and mashes a couple of buttons until she finds pause. "Time out!" Then, she goes dashing to get that persistent buzzer. Pushing the button on her end, she asks, "Who is it?"

As soon as voice is allowed to go through, to let the occupants know who's so eagerly trying to get inside their building, the distinctive voice of Desiree Russo can be heard from downstairs where she waits, wringing one hand on her skirt. She may not know Cass very well, nor her visitor or vice versa, but the Southerner's Mississippi-flavoured voice is hard to mistake. "Cass? Are you there?" The woman goes muffled for a moment as she says, away from the intercom to the girl in the lobby with her, "I hit thirty-three, right?" Never mind how she knows where Cass lives; here she is. And then more clearly, "It's Desiree - Desiree Russo! If you gotta second I'd really like a moment of your time noooow!"

Though he's a dirty rotten cheat, Lachlan's not dirty and rotten enough to unpause a game while Cass is off answering the door. Nevermind that he probably doesn't know which button unpauses the game anyway. So there he stands, watching Cass and the door expectantly while he tries to catch his breath. Playing with the Wii can leave one a little winded.

While still holding onto her controller in one hand, Cass repushes the speaker button so that she can talk to her visitor. "Desiree!" While she may not recognize the voice exclusively, the woman did identify herself. "Of course, come on up. We were just…uh…" she looks over her shoulder at the video game and then down at the remote. "Working out." Sure. This counts as a work out, right? She's wearing cut offs and a tank top, so it could be considered work out clothes! They were jumping around! Being active. "Yeah. Come right up! Third floor, Apartment K."

Up, up, up the stairs. Desiree's boots stomp on each step in her hurry to get to apartment K, and when she reaches it, her momentum only barely stops. It's a wonder she didn't run face-first into the door. She's in so much of a hurry, she didn't even bother to look to see if there was an elevator. Waiting just a split second to make sure she didn't lose her comrade in the mad dash to Brooklyn somewhere between the lobby and the third floor, she knocks on the door, two firm raps. "Is' me!"

While not horribly fast, Desiree's comrade indeed does manage to keep up, panting as she stops near her mother. "You're crazy.." Portia murmurs, glancing towards the door.

By the time Desiree's up, the game's been finished (and Cass won). Lachlan sets about putting away controllers and turning off the system, which is a bit of a task, one should note. He's not dressed in workout clothes. He's dressed in jeans and that's about all. So maybe it counts. He's just figured out where to stick the controllers in the docks and how to shut down the system when there's the knock on the door.

While Lachlan may gloat over beating Cass in a game, Cass is a better sport than that. Instead of doing a victory lap and shoving things in Lachlan's face, all she does is lean over as he's shutting everything off to give him a tender kiss. "Good game, honey." Maybe it was a good game because she won. But, she's also likely to have said that even if she lost. By then, however, there's a knock on the door and she drifts that way to open up the door for the visiting Desiree and, well, Portia! Well, that's a surprise. "Why, hello you two. Come in, come in. Can I get you anything?"

"That's what I used to think," Desiree murmurs back to Portia before smiling in the face of Cass when the door opens. The woman's smile is wide and bright, but it's stretching its limits; it's almost manic. There's a flicker of something more serious, expectant, and ever-so-slightly panicked behind her hazel eyes. "Hi, Cass! I'm sorry to barge in on you like this!" She leans to the side, catching a glimpse of Lachlan. "Hi … …" She can't remember his name right this second. "I think you met my daughter?" She wraps an arm around the pretty teenaged girl beside her. Her smile disappears and she regards Cass anxiously. "I don't… I don't really know why I'm here. I jus' know that… I should be, for some reason, right here, right now. So," Desiree waves her free arm. Voila. "Here I am."

Smiling sheepishly at Cass and Lachlan, Portia's learned to accept that fact that most people seem to know her mother for one reason or another and that most people end up a little more than surprised to see the connection between them. As far as their reason for being here, the teen isn't entirely sure how Desiree's gift works in the first place, just that it causes her to do crazy things. She is, however, rather glad to be along for the chase. Any time with her mother she happily accepts. "Sorry if we're intruding." The girl offers, softly.

Well, see, Lachlan was going to sulk about losing at his first attempt on his new toy, but then Cass had to go and ruin it by being a wonderful sport and giving him a kiss. Damn Cass, spoiling all his fun. Not that he minds it, really. "Yeah, yeah," he mutters, but there's the faintest hint of a smirk. When the door opens and there's Desiree and Portia, he blinks. Oh, uh. There's a minor. And he's shirtless. The Scotsman clears his throat after a brief pause and starts shuffling back toward the bedroom. "Gonna put on a shirt."

While Cass doesn't know Desiree very well - the only times they've ever really spoken where during times of extreme circumstances - the woman notices the strangely manic smile the other woman is putting on and it dampens her own cheerfulness. "No, it's not problem, of course." Stepping to the side, she allows the two in and then closes the door behind them. "Lachlan, you remember Desiree and Portia, right?" Portia was just from the other day, even if it was a brief meeting. "Well, if you're supposed to be here, then by all means be here. I can make some tea or get you some lemonade while you're waiting?" For whatever reason they're /supposed/ to be here. "Ah! So Desiree your mother. No no, not intruding at all. We were just messing around." Then, remembering what Portia saw Lachlan reading, she blushes just a bit and quickly amends that statement, "With the TV! We're not all that technology savvy. We were trying to hook things u—I mean! Make it work." Not awkward at all. No.

If Desiree catches what Cass was accidentally implying between all that awkwardness, she either doesn't care or makes no show of it, since she just lends the other woman a less manic smile on her way in. "I…" she starts and trails off, her gaze becoming distant over Cass's shoulder. The arm that loosely hugs Portia tightens, her fingers curling around the girl's shoulder. "I don't think I got time for lemonade." She drifts away then, wandering through the apartment. It's more familiar than it ought to be given that she's never been here before, and she navigates the furniture without looking on her way to the window. When she reaches it, she plants a palm slowly on the glass. It's starting to cloud over. There might be rain.

Oh. Dear. Portia watches as her mother abandons her side for the window. She's never really watched her like this, and frankly, the teen looks a might-bit concerned. Make that a lot. Tugging on her lower lip with her teeth, her gaze flickers momentarily to Cass before looking back to her mother. She entirely doesn't know what to say, she just doesn't want to interrupt.

Pulling down a shirt over his torso, Lachlan returns from the bedroom in time to spot Desiree at the window. He glances from her to Portia and then to Cass, eyebrow rising. "She a'righ'?" he asks skeptically. She looks … a bit spaced.

"Oh, alright," Cass replies to Desiree, stopping on her way to the kitchen to get their guests something to drink. Plus, it gives her something to do that will help her get over her stumbling before. It seems that Cass and Lachlan both know some very spacy people. What with Peter going all glassy eyed and painting a picture of a supposed future and Desiree coming over to her apartment and now going off into her own world. "I'm…not sure," she tells Lachlan hesitantly.

Desiree will apologize for acting like a crazy person (more than usual) later. Right now, all her focus is on the Brooklyn buildings and the greying sky outside the apartment's window. Uneventful to the average eye, it's a safe bet that she's seeing something more important. Spaced is right. She drags a long finger down the pane, tilting her head up to better see— whatever it is she's seeing.

"Storm's comin'."

To her eyes, the clouds meld and swirl, innumerable shades of grey overhead. They twist and curve and overtake the city. Beyond Brooklyn and far away, a storm rages in another time. The sky brings destruction and the city falls and is built back up again, darker, and nothing is the same.

"Storm.." Portia blinks for a moment, shifting a little from where she's standing. "So you've become a weather woman now? You could get a job doing that." She says it, quietly, mostly cheerful and upbeat, but there's a hint of uncertainty there.

"Uh … a'righ'." That's Lachlan's very insightful comment to the whole matter. Maybe … maybe that pipe hit Desiree a little harder on the head than anyone would realize. He glances helplessly at Portia, then at Cass. Cass, make the crazy people go away.

Unsure of what this all means, Cass cautiously approaches Desiree at the window. Though, she glances over her shoulder at Lachlan and Portia for a moment, she returns her gaze to her curly haired friend and then looks over her shoulder to see what it might be that she's seeing. "There's a storm already here, but it doesn't look too bad," she says. The grey sky, the rain, it doesn't look like that's the problem, though. Didn't Elena say that this woman's gift was glimpses of the future? She's their Isaac Mendez with cereal. If she sees a storm that's not there at all, then, well, she may not be looking into the right now.

It's hard to say whether or not Desiree actually hears her daughter; her concentration, if that's what it is, doesn't break. In fact, Cass, being close, might catch the reflection in the window to show that the precognitive mom has something else in common with Isaac Mendez and, more familiarly, Peter Petrelli: her eyes blank over now, milky white. "Storm's just… it's… whas' it called— a catalyst," she says, her voice distant. "It— " As if it were a hot surface, she abruptly withdraws her hand from the glass and steps back from the window, seeming to fear that some horrible thing may jump out and hurt her from the future. Desiree says it how she sees it in this instant, an odd mix of firm belief in what she's seeing and uncertainty in what it means that makes her voice waver. "Stop the storm and everythin' changes."

Portia isn't sure she likes this whole 'see-the-future' stuff. She'd originally thought that was /way/ better than invisibility, but now that she's seen it in action she'd prefer to be ignored than crazy. Chewing on her lip, Portia hugs her arms a bit, just watching Desiree. She's not sure what to do.

… yep, Desiree's gone off the deep end, and Lachlan's just a little bit baffled. "Righ'. Stop the storm an' ever'thin' changes." Said in the same manner as one who is just nodding his head in order to placate the crazy.

Maybe it's because the other two can't see Desiree's eyes like Cass can, but she isn't taking this lightly. The last time she saw a power like this in action, she was painted dead in Times Square. This is the sort of thing she takes seriously. A storm. A catalyst. It's like that painting that Peter showed her the pictures of. "Is this the tornado? Is that what you're talking about?" Maybe she shouldn't be trying to ask questions and interrupt, but she needs to know. What good is a nonsensical message to save the future if they don't know /what/ to do to save everything? Stop the storm? What storm? How?

After a moment, Desiree carefully steps ahead to move the curtain aside a bit more, fussing with its position. She steps back and stands in a sort of limbo, her arms beside her as if poised and ready to run as her bizarrely washed-out eyes continues to stare out the window - into the future. She shuts her eyes hard, as if fending off a killer headache; in truth, there is none, just lingering images. The woman's glinting hazel eyes are back in full force when she opens them again. Dezi nods her head slowly. "Yeah, there were some tornadoes," she answers, still recovering from what she saw.

Portia hardly moves from her position. Her mother's got her attention, all full of concern over the cryptic and confusing words. Lachlan gets a tiny glare from the teen, particularly because of his shrugging it off entirely. Crazy or not, that's still her mother.

Storms, tornadoes, something very bad. That's the gist of what Cass got from Desiree's vision. Right behind the Southern woman, she reaches out to put a reassuring hand on the other woman's shoulder. Just for support. "So. Stop the storm, change the future." The future she dies in. The future where New York is destroyed. That's something they were determined to do anyway. "Did it show you /when/ that might be happening? Generally? So we know how long we have?" Then, she pauses and realizes that Desiree is not a magic eight ball to shake answers out of. "Are you okay?" She asks, concerned. "Do you want that lemonade now?"

No answer on the lemonade. Desiree touches a hand to Cass's on instinct when the other woman's goes to her shoulder. She shakes her head, though, unsurely— then, with a sudden, extra creasing of her already furrowed brow, her eyes light up with realization. "Two years," she blurts out as she starts to come to her senses - her normal, non-extrasensory ones. One of the first thing Desiree registers is her daughter, and once she sees how unnerved Portia looks, she's heading for her as she talks. "I don't know if that's when it happens — the storm. Tornadoes and floods and it… so… much…" With a troubled, disbelieving expression, she trails off, now beside Portia, to pick up a moment later with, "I saw the city. How it was. How's it's— how it's gonna be, after the storm. I dunno how long after. Jus' buildings… people. Streets weren't crowded no more. There was a newspaper— two years from…" The woman stands up a bit straighter all of a sudden. "From tomorrow."

Two years from tomorrow. Portia takes the moment to reflect on what sort of thing that might be like. Would she have her music by then? Would she still be in New York? Sixteen years old… and the teen's expression is serious, looking back over to her mother who is a lot closer now. "D.. Did you see a headline?"

Yeah, Lachlan's just plain weirded out by this entire affair. Storms and futures and two years from tomorrow. He doesn't really know Desiree all that well, but he thinks she's crackers. The fact that Cass is taking her so seriously isn't helping that weird-out factor any.

"From…tomorrow?" Cass blinks. "So we either have some time to make sure that doesn't happen or no time at all." That's not good at all. She pales a little when she listens to the description of the streets. "Like they were all broken down? And hadn't been built up again. No sky, no sun…" she's describing the background of the painting that Peter did. Without the dead bodies strewn about Times Square. She looks over at Portia's question and nods. A headline would be helpful. Good even. It could be something to decipher her own painting.

"President Pe… trell… i?…" Is that how you say it? She didn't get any audio, okay? "… to Hold Live Feed from Whitehouse Tomorrow," Desiree answers Portia's question first, blase as if she doesn't understand the meaning of it off the bat. She sinks into the chair closest to her. "July 27th, 2009. New York Times. The way you're talkin'… it sounds familiar?" she queries hesitantly to Cass. "Hey so, some'a that lemonade sounds real good right about now."

"Petrelli?" Portia echoes? Like that cute Peter and his brother who happened to be all political like? She does recall there being a rally that Peter was hiding from, even if she doesn't know much about U.S. politics. That's not a required class until your /junior/ year of high school and that won't happen for another two years—DOH.

"… righ'." The resident Scottish Skeptic finally speaks up, crossing his arms over his chest and scrutinizing Desiree in a rather disbelieving sort of way. "An' ye just saw all tha' by lookin' out the window." Uh-huh.

"Petrelli?" Cass is floored. "President Petrelli?" Not Senator? Look, Lachlan, you've punched out a future President! Aren't you proud? Then, something occurs to her and she blinks. There were papers strewn about and plastered in the painting that she has in her apartment in this very moment. "I. Yes…It was…something I saw painted…" That's something she can give away without saying who it was that painted it. She's distracted, though. "Lachlan, please get our guests some lemonade. I'll be right back." It gives him something to do and distract before she goes calmly walking into the bedroom, opens up her closet door and digs out Peter's painting that she keeps hidden deep in the back where she won't have to see it. Studying it very closely, she tries to make out anything having to do with Petrelli or rallies or /anything/. There has to be a reason some hundred people are in Times Square all dead. A rally, a meeting. Something. She has to find something.

"Y-yeah? Ain't he runnin' for somethin' now? Congress?" Desiree watches Cass disappear, on the verge of saying something, interest piqued, before the woman leaves. In the meantime… "I wasn't seein' what was outside this window," she tries to explain to Lachlan. "It was— in the clouds." Because that sounds a whole lot saner, Dezi. Try again. "The patterns— the sky and the buildings and the curtains… the shapes… I can see the future in the patterns every now 'n' then. I know it makes me sound like my brain's outta kilter, but there's crazier stuff, ain't there?" Like mind-reading? Mind-control? Invisibility? And then, Desiree blinks rapidly and says, "Oh snap, Mister Petrelli." …it was a delayed response.

The more Portia sees of Lachlan, the more she stubbornly disapproves. Her mama's not crazy! Just a little weird. So when Cass leaves her and her vulnerable mother alone with the Scot, the teen decides it's up to her to be the protective one. She looks to her mother as she speaks, replying with an obliging smile. "Think so. That's Peter's brother." Yes, /special/ Peter.

Yeah, Lachlan's not buying it. "The clouds. Righ'." Sure. He heads into the kitchen to get the requested lemonade. See, any similarities to certain paintings mean nothing, because the painting Peter did is also stupid and not true. Obviously he and Desiree are in cahoots or something. Trying to scare Cass. Whatever it is, Lachlan doesn't believe in it.

While she's staring at the painting, furiously trying to make the posters make sense. It's a clue. It's got to be. However, they still don't make any more sense to her than they did before. Frowning, it's just getting to creepy and her eyes are getting dragged to the bottom of the canvas where she lies dead, her possible future cemented there with paints. Turning it around and shoving it back to where it was before, she sighs, pulls off her tank top and changes into another shirt. That will be her excuse. Stepping back out into the living room, she still looks concerned and worried. "Sorry, sweaty shirt. Everyone have lemonade? Need anything else? And, yes. Peter's brother. He's running for senate."

Desiree rolls her eyes, rather good-naturedly, at the disbelieving Scotsman. She shrugs too, both gestures meant to be between her and Portia, giving her daughter a 'what can ya do?' smile. "Speakin' of Peter— " Dezi cranes her neck toward the hallway Cass emerges from, "Did he paint a picture of the future like what I saw? Or was it the dead guy?" So much for the need for secrecy.

Desiree's mentioning Peter and his painting only further cements it in Lachlan's mind: they are in cahoots. Why, he doesn't know. Maybe it's an elaborate prank. Whatever it is, it's not funny, and he doesn't like it. "Yeah, did he tell ye 'bout it so ye could come over here actin' like yer seein' the future, then?"

Ah. Well, the fact that Desiree knows that Peter can paint the future, well, that's a surprise to Cass. And to Lachlan as well, apparently. "Lachlan! Stop that." It's not nice to insult people who are friends and trying to help them /prevent/ the very future he doesn't think is true. "No, the one I saw was by Peter. The Isaac Mendez, though, that's the one with the tornado. I think Peter's and Isaac's may be linked together. A /really/ big tornado could probably do that much damage to the city. But, you said tornadoes? Plural?" That would do even more damage, obviously.

"It ain't actin'," Desiree replies to Lachlan with more of an edge to her voice. "I know what I saw." Looking up at Cass, she worries at her lower lip. "I think so. I mean, it weren't just tornadoes. It's like the weather went crazy some way it shouldn't startin' here in New York." She glances down and starts to tug at the hem of her skirt, a fretful gesture. "I needa see more. So we know how to stop it."

Lachlan does stop, but that doesn't mean he likes it any more than he did before. With a soft grumble, he sets the lemonade he's brought back into the living room on a coffee table, then moves away to go get himself a real drink. Namely scotch.

"I know you're not," Cass reassures Desiree, giving Lachlan a warning look. Stop being sulky and start listening to her friends. "Hm. So, we're looking at either naming Al Gore totally a genius or it's someone with an ability to control the weather. It could be either, really." She saw Inconvenient Truth. "See more? Are you able to just…see things? At will?" Because that would be really useful.

Portia isn't about to say anything. Nope. This is over her head. Mostly cause she has no idea what's going on. Muttering under her breath, at Lachlan's reaction to seeing the future, she simply stays silent, watching the group and hugging her arms.

"I know the climate's messed up, but I dunno if it's a tickin' time bomb like that," Desiree says. She reaches out for Portia's arm gently, glancing from the girl to a seat encouragingly. Make yourself comfortable for a minute, at least? "I'm workin' on it," she replies to Cass before she leans ahead to grab the lemonade, flashing Lachlan a tight, polite smile for his trouble. She takes a gulp from the glass; it's supposed to be refreshing. Hopefully it does its job, she thinks, which is why she looks particularly hopeful as she drinks her lemonade - not out of optimism for the future. That'll come later. "Usually it jus'… happens. But— I'm gettin' better. Is' jus' … it's hard. I ain't a magic eight ball, ya know?"

"Coulda bloody fooled me," comes a rather audible mutter from the kitchen. It's slightly overshadowed by the clink of glass and the sound of liquid pouring.

Glares are shot towards the kitchen like lasers from Portia's eyes, which have been fully charged. Sitting down after a moment as indicated by her mother, the teen glances back over. "Take your time, Mama. I'm sure it'll come." Her own lemonade sits untouched.

"Well, at least it's good to know that it's something that we may be able to stop." There's a sharp look in the direction of the kitchen. What did Cass just say about being nice to her friends? "Lach," she adds, warningly. Overprotective vibes are not welcome at the moment. "I know. I'm not asking to shake you and ask a question. I was just asking. I don't know how your ability works. So, just keep us informed when your next one shows up. We'll see what we can do. We'll work on it with what you've given us so far."

Desiree peers over her shoulder in the direction of the cranky mumblings and the sound of drink being poured. She narrows her eyes into a largely unreadable squint at Lachlan before slumping back against her seat. She looks into her lemonade, swirling the liquid about thoughtfully in the mostly full glass. "Yeah…" she answers quietly to Portia. "Yeah, it brought me here, didn't it." Whatever it is. She smiles up at Cass. "I know. And I will, no doubt about that, mm-mm. I came here 'cause what I could see out your window. I figure that's gotta mean somethin'." Her smile widens, brightening. "When life gives you lemons…" They'll change the future. She's sure of it. Desiree takes a sip of her lemonade and sits it back on the coffee table, getting to her feet. "I'ma go work on that right now. Portia?"

There's silence from the kitchen. No apology, no nothing. Because if he can't say something nice, Lachlan isn't saying anything at all.

A nod from the teen, who raises to follow after her mother. Portia had certainly seen enough to make her think, especially about the future. "Right." She looks to Cass. "Thank you very much for the lemonade." She says, politely.

Glancing over at her window, Cass stares it at in a confused sort of manner. "My window? What's so special with my window? Is it more prone to disaster watching?" She wouldn't be surprised. Other disasters seem to happen around her, too. "I think I can make some killer lemonade," she smiles back. "If you need any help with anything, just call." She's not sure if the other woman has her phone number, so she goes to write it down. "Here. Honestly. Anything. And don't mind Lachlan. He's just kind of sore about the future telling thing." She smiles at Portia. "Of course. We'll talk soon about your music."

"Not your window. You. Here," Desiree says with a gentle smile as she reaches out for the phone number, after Cass writes it, which she'll gratefully and crush protectively in the palm of her hand. "Lachlan. That's his name." Note to self: remember this time. She smiles further; no harm, no foul. "Issokay. Y'all take care," she says as she moves to let herself and Portia out, waving. This visit has been brought to you by fate and the letters D and F.

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