Fog Line - Unleash your inner Super « Result #1 on May 28, 2009, 8:52pm »
There is no definite evil existence. No Satan to greet you, no unholy eternal demon bent on wiping the human existence off the face of the world. What does exist is humanity; the bane of all things good and bad.
While there may be no such thing as a never ending celestial battle between good and evil, the only reason why we're in tact is one simple factor; the open conscience of us all. It takes many to build up cities, but it takes only one to destroy thousands. Cities don't protect themselves. It's the people that do.
It doesn't matter if you wear a mask, a cape, or a CIA badge. It doesn't matter if you fight for what's right, it doesn't matter if you fight for the soul existence of vengeance. The world is turning, and it won't stop for anyone. Get off the ground, get on your feet! Either you fight with, fight against, or not fight at all.
Fog Line is merely a struggle of belief, a world of majority and minority rule. Everyone has a push behind them, something that makes them wind up and go. Maybe you've had your face shoved in the dirt for too long, or your sick of watching everything go to waste. Plainly, there is no such thing as an even playing field. Villains don't bite for nothing, and heroes can be low enough to claim the gold and the glory only for yours truly. Responsibility is a futile word; taking action instead of philosophizing gets you farther than respect.
Cash, debit, or maybe even street credit, there is only one prime currency. Power. The more you get, the more you wield. Either you fight for or against. Never for nothing. Because, let's face it; why fight for nothing with a world in your grasps?
After The Apocalypse « Result #2 on May 22, 2009, 10:57am »
"The world hasn't ended! We're just all in hell."
In the year 2010 there was an attack on the USA, but no other country did it. The attack was from with in. When a subway car goes missing in the middle of an empty line and then shows up three days later with only four survivors. Three men and one woman. These four soon became the leaders of a cult known as The Enders.
They soon began to preach about the end of the world and of everything good and pure, many people tried to shut them up, but it didn't work. And then, in December of 2011 it happened. The Enders made them selves known for what they really were: The four horsemen of the Apocalypse.
The horsemen brought demons, Vampires, Werewolves, and all kinds of things out of hiding and out of hell. Demons possed their followers and soon they toke over all of man kind...well..most of them. There are some humans who still resist them and try to bring good and light back into the world. And then there are some humans who simply serve the Enders bringing them resisting humans in exchange for freedom.
The resistance is getting stronger and more powerful with spy's everywhere tricking the Enders into believing that they are truly serving the horsemen.
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Re: Half Monotony and One-Eighth Epiphany « Result #3 on Mar 6, 2009, 1:59am »
Provided Mohinder's suspicions about Sasha were confirmed, there was more to address tonight than the strange and wild events of Kirby Plaza, but that would have to wait unless comments could be snuck over the head of Molly. He would just have to watch out, unsure of how perceptive she might be. In any case, she was on her way down the hall resplendent in a yellow pajama set decorating with a pink castle and stars. After asking if she was clean (if only to alert Sasha to the girl's arrival), she said brightly,
"Yes, thank you. I feel much better now. Does your duckie have a name? If not, I named him for you. And is it dinner time yet? Because I'm really hungry. Mr. Sasha must be a good cook, because I could smell it from the bathroom."
"Duckie? What are you- Oh. Right. Call the duck my way of working into American culture."
Mohinder flushed as he suddenly remembered the yellow rubber duck he had bought while grocery shopping for no logical reason other than . . . okay, for no logical reason at all. He had just taken a sudden liking to it and impulse carried it into the shopping cart. He had neglected its presence ever since setting it in his bathroom two days after arriving in the U.S. He mustered up a grin while trying not to look embarrassed and said amiably,
"If he had a name before, he never told me what it was. I'd very much like to know what he goes by now if you two aren't keeping it a secret. And I do believe Sasha was about ready to feed us. In the meantime, both of you tell me, would you like water, orange juice, or Hawaiian Punch?"
While Molly climbed into a much too tall chair, Mohinder got his orders, choosing the ridiculously red juice for himself, and juggled all three tumblers Sasha had already filled with ice to the small kitchen table. Once his and Sasha's were by their plates, he slid Molly's smaller glass toward her and affixed her with a curious interest. Contemplating her pajamas, he said,
"Here's a strange thing; I knew the princess went inside the castle, but I used to think the castles were much bigger. Oh I have an idea! Maybe it has a magic switch to let you carry it around and if I do this . . ."
He reached out with the hint of a wicked smile and prodded the edge of the castle with his fingertips, having noticed how that spot was conveniently placed over her side where most people were quite ticklish.
"But most disturbing is the fact that no watchdogs are found among scientists themselves . . . There are no detached observers. Everybody has a stake." - Michael Crichton, Jurassic Park
Re: Half Monotony and One-Eighth Epiphany « Result #4 on Mar 6, 2009, 12:49am »
Molly was too tired to realize that the main reason the grown-ups sent her off to get clean wasn't because she was dirty, but because they wanted to talk about things her little ears shouldn't hear. Going from sickly and powerless, to cured, to wound up and scared was really a bit too much for one little eight year old to withstand in such a short time frame. Still, the little brunette endured, because she had to. Before heading down the hall to Dr. Suresh's bathroom, she flitted silently into the living room to grab one of her suitcases. Clean clothes were always best after a bath, after all.
Upon inspection of the bathroom, Molly came to the idea that no little girls had ever stepped foot in here before. Or any big girls either. The walls were plain, and all the little things on the sink were some funny metal color. Nothing was pretty in here. At least the small bathroom she had in Mr. Old Man's giant tower had pink and blue flowers everywhere. She decided that somehow ... she'd make it pretty in here, just for Dr. Suresh. Everyone deserves something pretty, she thought. Just when she'd lost all hope for him, she spied a bright yellow blur out of the corner of her eye. Creeping closer to the tub, she giggled with delight. One lonely little rubber duckie was perched on the outer rim.
She immediately named him Dennis.
"So, Dennis. I'm Molly. Molly Walker. I'm here to borrow Dr. Suresh's bathtub, if that's alright."
"Nice to meet you, Molly. Yes, please do use the tub. Dr. Suresh won't mind at all. In fact, I'm sure he'd even like for you to have some company. I love a good scrub."
"I'd like that. You know, I'm actually used to having a nurse standing in the bathroom to make sure I didn't run away."
Dennis gave her his best look of sympathy ... or at least, that's what she told herself. And, after a few minutes of turning knobs to figure out what controlled what, Molly's shower was underway. It really was nice to finally be alone in a room, rather than being spied on by nurses who didn't do much other than take lots of blood and stare at her as if she were an alien. Dr. Suresh didn't ever do that. Well, except the blood drawing part, but that wasn't so bad.
The water was a little too warm, Dr. Suresh's shampoo smelled funny, but after a good long while she was clean. She'd even brushed her teeth in the tub, but Molly knew she'd just have to do it again after dinner. At least she didn't have that weird pennies taste in her mouth from being around all those hurt people. She quickly dried off, and put on her favorite pair of pajamas: yellow princess ones, with long sleeves and a castle across the front. She slipped on a pair of blue-and-yellow striped socks (because her feet always got cold) before brushing her long hair out and twisting it into a simple, but awkward, braid that fell down half the length of her back.
Unsure of where to put her dirty clothes, Molly decided to place them in a neat pile right next to the clothes hamper where she put the towel. Dr. Suresh could tell her where to put them later. Her bag of clothes she left sitting on the bathroom sink, because she really didn't want to take them back to the living room in case she was supposed to put them somewhere else. She opened the door with a loud click, and headed toward the kitchen where the two men were still talking.
She must have caught Dr. Suresh by surprise, because he immediately stopped talking when she came in the room. Grown-ups did that a lot to her when they were talking about things she wasn't supposed to hear.
"All clean?"
"Yes, thank you. I feel much better now. Does your duckie have a name? If not, I named him for you. And is it dinner time yet? Because I'm really hungry. Mr. Sasha must be a good cook, because I could smell it from the bathroom."
Without waiting, Molly picked a chair to sit in and waited patiently for the two men to join her. Her feet swung idly under the table, as she took a good look around the kitchen. She couldn't help but notice that it was more bright in here than the bathroom. Maybe Dr. Suresh wasn't as hopeless as she'd originally thought.
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Re: Half Monotony and One-Eighth Epiphany « Result #5 on Mar 5, 2009, 2:16am »
<<Those must be horrible dreams, Mohinder. It's always good to be let free from the things that stress our minds. But what about Molly? Where will she stay now that she's nearly cured?>>
That, Mohinder did not respond to. He was making things as he went along as far as Molly was concerned and had been ever since he watched Thompson mist brain tissue all over the wall. He wanted to keep her, of course, but it wasn't as if an Indian citizen could stroll in and simply declare an unrelated American girl to be his. For the time being, he kept to discussing the topic of Sylar's death and Parkman's state.
<<I do hope Mr. Park Man is alright; perhaps Molly can visit him later so she doesn't worry too much. But as far as what happens next, it's like an old proverb I heard once as a boy, 'This world spins every day, whether you see it or not.' Perhaps this was just a day when everyone actually did see it spin.>>
The proverb had merit, Mohinder thought. After all, it's not as if there hadn't been people with abilities before he had started studying the possibility. He nodded absently as he barely began to absorb the massively improved state of the apartment. He would be calling the hospital first thing in the morning when he convinced himself to roll out of bed. Four bullets to the chest . . . true they might not have had the same velocity as they would have had if fired from a gun, but the damage had to be severe. If there wasn't going to be an anxious little girl questioning him later, he might have waited to hear the results on the grapvine. He supposed taking a more active stnace in things was yet another thing he would have to accept; that probably wasn't going to go back to normal entirely either. At least his apartment's increasingly normal disarray was gone and it had Mohinder leaning on a kitchen counter beside Sasha, commenting optimistically,
<<Some things I don't want to go back to the way they were.>> "Thank you for your hard work in here. It's a massive relief that I don't need to worry about making this place fit for habitation. And dinner I don't have to make too! What can I do to repay you?"
Really, nothing he said should have caused much more than some gratefulness at effort recognized, but nevertheless Sasha had become a twitchy mess. He fidgeted with that ridiculous apron in the intervening silence bowed his head to focus on his shoes. Thanks to the height difference, the motion did nothing to conceal the color that flooded Sasha's face and made that smattering of freckles all the more obvious. He did that a lot, blushed at things that hardly called for shyness. Since they'd met, Mohinder had written it off as a character quirk, but if Sasha had been female, the Indian would have suspected another reason entirely from the start. Now, with the madness of the night spinning through his head and adrenaline running through his veins, Mohinder was shaken and perceptive enough to watch and listen and resist assumptions. Finally, Sasha summoned up a response just as fidgety as the rest of him.
"I-is nyet anything to repay. Think of what I have done as payment for all you have done for me, even if you say that is has nyet been much on your side of fence. Just ... well, never mind. Is nothing. I am always glad to be help of my friends."
Mohinder watched him silently, an eyebrow working its way up under the stray curl just a bit. His arms crossed and for a moment his eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he managed to banish that for a more carefully watchful expression. When no further response was forthcoming, he opened his mouth, intending to ask off-handedly, "Friends, huh?" He only got as far as,
"Frien-"
When a click signaled the bathroom door opening. Mohinder cut himself off, but remained considering Sasha for another moment or two before looking toward the hall. He pushed himself away from the counter and with one last quick glance toward the other man, went to meet Molly by the kitchen table and asked her brightly,
"But most disturbing is the fact that no watchdogs are found among scientists themselves . . . There are no detached observers. Everybody has a stake." - Michael Crichton, Jurassic Park
Joined: Feb 2008 Gender: Male Posts: 220 Location: You can't miss me. *waves* Karma: 104
Re: Half Monotony and One-Eighth Epiphany « Result #6 on Mar 3, 2009, 1:38am »
<<How is that even possible? After Bennet and the Company not being able to restrain him, he ... he's just dead? Who killed him? How? And what happens now that he's gone?>>
Obviously, Sasha wouldn't be able to get a complete answer second-hand, even as reliable a source as Mohinder was ... it just wasn't the same. Objectivity was lost, especially since the doctor had reasons to wish the menacing man dead. Still, second-hand knowledge was better than being left in the dark, so the Russian listened as Mohinder gave his explanation.
<<He was so good at anticipating moves, but even he couldn't plan for someone appearing out of thin air with a sword. ... You should have seen the size of that pool of blood oozing around him.>>
It wasn't very like him to take note of the more gruesome details, but when blood and death were involved, Sasha could only agree that those were the only sort of details to remember. He furrowed his brow, but remained silent: who in their right mind carried a sword to an ability fight? Luckily, it was unexpected enough to do the trick.
<<As for what we do now . . . We do everything that we were doing before, just without the fear of him coming around. I know I'll sleep better without having to watch him kill the people I care about in my dreams.>>
<<Those must be horrible dreams, Mohinder. It's always good to be let free from the things that stress our minds. But what about Molly? Where will she stay now that she's nearly cured?>>
Mohinder scratched idly at the back of his neck, slipping past Sasha without another word. His eyes averted downward, as if to hide some inner embarrassment regarding "the people I care about". It made Sasha smile softly, knowing that he could very well be one of those people. He followed Mohinder back down the hallway -for what seemed the hundredth time- and watched as he began randomly organizing small stacks of papers on the desk, killing time until Molly was back in the room with them. It warmed the Russian's heart to see his friend care so much about the little orphan girl, almost as if he was trying to make up for the lack of time with his sister.
<<I never thought I'd be grateful for what happened to me when I tried to shoot Sylar, but after the consequences Parkman suffered, I have to say that it could have been much worse. ... It's not as if I can anticipate what will happen next, but at least I can see that things will never go back to the way they were before and I can stop acting like they will.>>
<<I do hope Mr. Park Man is alright; perhaps Molly can visit him later so she doesn't worry too much. But as far as what happens next, it's like an old proverb I heard once as a boy, 'This world spins every day, whether you see it or not.' Perhaps this was just a day when everyone actually did see it spin.>>
Sasha found himself busying about the kitchen again, filling tumblers with ice and setting them back in the freezer to prevent them from melting. He wasn't really watching Mohinder's inspection of the apartment, only the fact that he'd taken off again. His prerogative, after all. When the doctor returned, Sasha turned to face him once again only to be greeted with a bright smile radiating from Mohinder's face.
<<Some things I don't want to go back to the way they were.>>
They were just words, but they were the sweetest syllables Sasha had heard directed at him in a very long time. He dug through all the words in every language he knew, trying to find a reply that wouldn't let Mohinder in on his feelings ... but, for once in his life, found himself tongue-tied. His freckle-spattered skin flushed a bright pink, a faint smile crossing the lower extremity of his face. He looked down at their feet, knowing full and well that if he even attempted to look directly into Mohinder's eyes, he wouldn't be able to stop any professions of attraction.
"Thank you for your hard work in here. It's a massive relief that I don't need to worry about making this place fit for habitation. And dinner I don't have to make too! What can I do to repay you?"
Nervously, he traced the hem of the apron still tied around his waist, still looking toward his clunky motorcycle boots. "I-is nyet anything to repay. Think of what I have done as payment for all you have done for me, even if you say that is has nyet been much on your side of fence. Just ... well, never mind. Is nothing. I am always glad to be help of my friends."
I said it in Hebrew—I said it in Dutch— I said it in German and Greek; But I wholly forgot (and it vexes me much) That English is what you speak. ~ Lewis Carroll
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Re: Half Monotony and One-Eighth Epiphany « Result #7 on Mar 1, 2009, 5:11pm »
<<How is that even possible? After Bennet and the Company not being able to restrain him, he ... he's just dead? Who killed him? How? And what happens now that he's gone?>>
Mohinder spread his arms wide and shook his head. He too was at quite a loss for such a sudden and decisive end to the reign of terror. Watching the menacing figure all in black suddenly shaken from his gloating to hit the concrete. They were probably scrubbing at the stain right now.
<<He was so good at anticipating moves, but even he couldn't plan for someone appearing out of thin air with a sword. He was so shocked he didn't even try to get away and ended up with the handle on one side an the tip on the other, stabbed right through his chest. I could see the blood bubbling from his mouth even from where I was - must have sliced a lung at the very least - and he went down and didn't get up. The Company hauled the body away for disposal.>>
Of that, he had only overheard the young woman known as Candice assuring a sling-clad Bennet that Sylar would be promptly dissected and interred. Mohinder had been inside packing through most of the immediate aftermath.
<<You should have seen the size of that pool of blood oozing around him.>>
He caught the morbid awe in his own voice and quickly cleared his throat.
<<As for what we do now . . . We do everything that we were doing before, just without the fear of him coming around. I know I'll sleep better without having to watch him kill the people I care about in my dreams.>>
Mohinder scratched at the back of his neck and slipped through the doorway past Sasha, carefully not looking at the other man as he spoke. In an effort to release some nervous energy, he started shuffling papers on his desk into neater piles. More details about the night could come later, but there was a still a massive gap that needed some filling in. He kept his voice quiet especially when using names.
<<I never thought I'd be grateful for what happened to me when I tried to shoot Sylar, but after the consequences Parkman suffered, I have to say that it could have been much worse. Parkman tried to stop him before Nakamura showed up with his sword, four or five shots, and suddenly all of the bullets were hanging in the air between them. Sylar stopped them, reversed their path, and Parkman had to be taken off in an ambulance. That's where the rest of the blood I was wearing came from. Molly wanted to stay at the hospital to be his guardian angel, but I didn't want her spending the night in the waiting room. He was still in surgery when we left. I just hope he makes it. The girl might blame herself if he doesn't.>>
He walked to the apartment door and secured the brass chain, saying in a resigned tone,
<<I wouldn't say nobody noticed. It's only been a few hours. There was an explosion above New York, a city understandably sensitive about threats, people are dead, the newly elected congressman is missing, a cop is in the hospital. This isn't over. It's not as if I can anticipate what will happen next, but at least I can see that things will never go back to the way they were before and I can stop acting like they will.>>
He turned slowly away from the door, his eyes at last sweeping over the apartment. Besides preparing the mysterious food in the oven, Sasha had been working while Mohinder was gone. The furniture, which had all been at least still slightly askew from his being thrown against it, was now set back in place, the floor had been thoroughly vacuumed, surfaces were clean (even the glass of the lizard's tank), and general clutter had somehow been tidied up. All that retained its horrid state was his desk, but that could be worked on later. Impressed, Mohinder strolled into the kitchen. Leaning against the counter by the oven where he had set Molly earlier, he smiled up at Sasha and said,
<<Some things I don't want to go back to the way they were.>>
He nodded toward the clean apartment and, through with covert conversation for the moment and suspecting Molly would pop up again soon, switched back to English.
"Thank you for your hard work in here. It's a massive relief that I don't need to worry about making this place fit for habitation. And dinner I don't have to make too! What can I do to repay you?"
"But most disturbing is the fact that no watchdogs are found among scientists themselves . . . There are no detached observers. Everybody has a stake." - Michael Crichton, Jurassic Park
Joined: Feb 2008 Gender: Male Posts: 220 Location: You can't miss me. *waves* Karma: 104
Re: Half Monotony and One-Eighth Epiphany « Result #8 on Mar 1, 2009, 3:45am »
He waited for Molly's soft footsteps to fall behind the distinct click of the apartment's bathroom door before questioning Mohinder. Out of sheer coincidence, Sasha slipped into his friend's native language ... even more security against tiny eavesdropping ears.
<<So, Mohinder, now will you tell me what has happened? And why are your clothes covered in blood? Are you or Molly hurt?>>
The doctor looked at the Russian momentarily before turning his attention toward himself; the stains across Mohinder's shirt were several shades of a rusty copper nail, and smelled vaguely the same. As quickly as Sasha took a deep interest in how the shirt pressed awkwardly against the doctor's skin, Mohinder decided to force his attention away by speaking.
"Startlingly, no. Actually, Molly's much better now. It worked, Sasha. My blood carries the antibodies necessary to heal her and it turned out to be a rather simple matter of transfusion to set her on the course to health. She's not one hundred percent yet, but it won't be long. Her ability even returned after two short treatments. It was everything after the first round of treatment that-"
He cut himself short, casting a concerned glance toward the bathroom door. Sasha could only assume that the doctor was worried about what he did and did not want Molly to hear regarding the events. That was understandable, but he still wanted to hear what had happened. As if the Russian's questions were a muse, Mohinder quickly switched to Tamil so they could speak candidly and without fear of Molly's innocent mind being corrupted by anything said.
<<After that is when things went utterly mad. I'm not even sure where to start. The beginning might seem like the appropriate beginning, but I went over it in my head on the way here from the hospital and it made so little sense I don't think it will make much difference what order I put things into. Thompson was- Bennet wanted to stop tracking and Officer Parkman- Urgh!>>
Before Sasha could even ask, Mohinder stalked to the desk, finally hefting his messenger bag from his shoulders. Of course the Russian followed; between the water falling in the background and the doctor's tendency toward rapid speech in his native tongue, it was all he could do to keep up with the details. His mind and gaze were fixed toward his companion, hoping to miss nothing as Mohinder continued to speak.
<<This is horrible. I can't take it. Two kinds of blood all over and none of it mine. Though I suppose I should be grateful I came out unscathed, but there's still the matter->>
The end of his sentence was heavily muffled when he grabbed the collar of his shirt and worked his way out of it while avoiding more contact with the stains. His curls were left to their own devices as far as bouncing back into place was concerned ... not that they had a set location, but the quick removal of Mohinder's shirt had dislodged many of them and Sasha had to consciously fight the urge to reach over to brush them back into place. Again, the doctor switched rooms, with Sasha not far behind. He frowned slightly as Mohinder's shirt met with the trashcan, but quickly ignored his displeasure when he was faced with the very real fact that Mohinder's shirt was in the trashcan. Why now, of all times, was he focusing on borderline carnal details rather than the adrenaline-fueled events that led to the discarded shirt? He scolded himself, and took a seat so that his friend could continue.
<<Bennet shot Thompson in the head - twice - like the first bullet didn't destroy enough brain tissue bouncing around inside his skull. I guess he had a point to make. ... Anyway, we down into the Plaza and there were so many people there.>>
Sasha was awestruck at all that happened in such a short time. Listening to Mohinder retell it was like watching an action movie in a foreign language and reading the subtitles. His brain fought hard to keep up, but he found himself unable to provide commentary outside the realm of, <<Oh how terrible! Molly must have been terrified.>>
By now, the scene shifted once again. Mohinder had walked into and across his room. Once he reached the dresser, he opened a drawer and began shifting through it. Sasha leaned on the door frame, taking in all the details Mohinder could remember.
<<Many of them I didn't know at all and a couple I think I can make a good guess at. Peter- Peter's not dead. Or he was dead and then wasn't and might be again. But who can say for how long?>>
Startled by Mohinder's maniacal laughter, Sasha slipped back into English, "But I thought ..."
He shook his head, and awkwardly scratched a spot on the back of his skull before returning to their 'secretive' communication. <<Never mind. Stranger things could happen than people returning from death. We are dealing with people of unrealized magnitudes, after all.>>
As the doctor revealed the climatic end to his and Molly's whirlwind adventure, Sasha's awestruck expression returned. It was all too surreal for words, and yet ... Mohinder was here. With Molly. Both of them exhausted, covered in blood, and yet ... strangely at peace. Well, Mohinder anyway. Molly hadn't been awake long enough for Sasha to gauge the girl's state of mind, but that would change soon enough.
<<It ... it's all so much to compile in my head. So many people in a tiny location, fights breaking out, an explosion ... and no sane or normal person in all of New York City notices? I just don't understand it.>>
And as Sasha began walking back down the hallway toward the kitchen in preparation for serving dinner, Mohinder had one last tidbit to give away.
<<Sylar's dead.>>
He stopped squarely in his tracks and spun on his heel, causing the apron he was still wearing to flare out from his body like a schoolgirl's skirt. His dark brow furrowed, but his eyes were twinkling at the prospect of such an ideal thought. He wanted to jump for joy, and to weep for the lost chance of self-instructed revenge ... but restrained himself for the girl's sake.
<<How is that even possible? After Bennet and the Company not being able to restrain him, he ... he's just dead? Who killed him? How? And what happens now that he's gone?>>
I said it in Hebrew—I said it in Dutch— I said it in German and Greek; But I wholly forgot (and it vexes me much) That English is what you speak. ~ Lewis Carroll
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Re: Half Monotony and One-Eighth Epiphany « Result #9 on Feb 24, 2009, 2:43am »
Things were oddly peaceful standing there in the kitchen with Molly and Sasha. Though he was not one for nostalgia, Mohinder took a snapshot in his head. However calm it was right now, the tempest that had just rolled through New York must have shaken up as much as it had smoothed out. The food in the oven was welcome, but it did not not wash away the blood staining both his and Molly's shirts. He and Sasha sent her off to bathe and, yes, to keep her ears occupied only with the sound of the faucet and not messy conversation. The moment she was out of sight, the Russian delved right in.
<<So, Mohinder, now will you tell me what has happened? And why are your clothes covered in blood? Are you or Molly hurt?>>
Mohinder bowed his head, though not out of grief. Far from it; he was regarding the front of his shirt. It felt awful, stiff and scratchy against his skin thanks to the blotches of dried blood that decorated the fabric. Pulling his gaze away from the sickening sight, he looked up at Sasha and answered blandly,
"Startlingly, no. Actually,"
And there he brightened in much the same way he had when Molly had awoken, only with an edge of smugness.
"Molly's much better now. It worked, Sasha. My blood carries the antibodies necessary to heal her and it turned out to be a rather simple matter of transfusion to set her on the course to health. She's not one hundred percent yet, but it won't be long. Her ability even returned after two short treatments. It was everything after the first round of treatment that-"
Mohinder broke off, casting a concerned glance toward the bathroom door. Molly had been there and witnessed most of what he had, but it still seemed wrong to taint the now safe atmosphere for her by bringing it all back so soon. But he couldn't very well leave Sasha in the dark. He plucked at the front of his shirt indecisively for a few seconds before it struck him; he could talk about even the parts the girl had missed without her knowledge even if she listened through the door. Shifting to his native language, he said,
<<After that is when things went utterly mad. I'm not even sure where to start. The beginning might seem like the appropriate beginning, but I went over it in my head on the way here from the hospital and it made so little sense I don't think it will make much difference what order I put things into. Thompson was- Bennet wanted to stop tracking and Officer Parkman- Urgh!>>
A disgusted sound tore itself from Mohinder's throat and he could only hope the sound of rushing water covered it from within the bathroom. He stalked over to his desk, pulling his full to capacity and then some messenger bag over his head. Almost before the bag found itself set into the desk chair, Mohinder was pulling off his jacket and grumbling,
<<This is horrible. I can't take it. Two kinds of blood all over and none of it mine. Though I suppose I should be grateful I came out unscathed, but there's still the matter->>
The end of his sentence was heavily muffled when he grabbed the collar of his shirt and worked his way out of it while avoiding more contact with the stains. His hair was left in some disarray, but it wasn't so bad as if he'd had a bucket of water thrown over his head. He moved back into the kitchen quickly as thoughts of the night renewed his supply of adrenaline and sent it coursing through his system. He stepped on the pedal of the trashcan and the lid popped up for him to stuff the shirt into with more force than absolutely necessary.
<<Bennet shot Thompson in the head - twice - like the first bullet didn't destroy enough brain tissue bouncing around inside his skull. I guess he had a point to make. Anyway, then he came in gun blazing like he thought he was the fucking Lone Ranger or something. He wanted to 'take out the Walker tracking system' and brought a cop with him to help.>>
The semi-accurate quote was accompanied by Mohinder making quotation marks with his fingers. He rushed on through the next bit, finding it particularly unpleasant to relive.
<<What he really meant was that he intended to kill Molly, who has the ability to find people. Luckily, Officer Parkman was the one who saved her from Sylar in Los Angeles and he talked Bennet out of it.>>
His rushed speech slowed abruptly when he added in a far off tone,
<<That is the second time I've held a gun to someone's head.>>
Mohinder shook his head and dove back into his tale. This time as he spoke, he walked off down the hall without raising his voice. Clearly, he expected Sasha to either develop superhuman hearing or follow if he didn't want to miss anything.
<<They left and then I decided to get Molly out of there. That's where we found this man who had been shot. That's where I got some of that mess I was wearing and what's with everyone having a gun now? Anyway, we down into the Plaza and there were so many people there.>>
He had walked into and across his room. Once he reached the dresser, he opened a drawer and began shifting through it.
<<Many of them I didn't know at all and a couple I think I can make a good guess at. Peter->>
With a fistful of pale orange fabric, he spun around suddenly to stare at Sasha, clearly still baffled at what had transpired.
<<Peter's not dead. Or he was dead and then wasn't and might be again. But who can say for how long?>>
The laugh he let out held a distinctly hysterical edge. He approached Sasha at a measured pace as he got himself back under some level of control. He stared at the Russian with eyes made wide with the mad action of the scene he had witnessed and the thrill of being more than spectator in a movie theatre.
<<I'm sorry. I thought I was getting used to the secret strangeness in this world, but I was sorely mistaken. Peter was dead when I took him to his mother's home. It's just that for some people that doesn't seem to be too serious a situation. I saw him heal in the fight with Sylar in the living room, but I never could have imagined his ability would bring him back and I'm still not certain how that was accomplished. However it happened, he was there and had a rematch with Sylar right in the middle of the Plaza. Things weren't going well for Peter, other people got involved, and then he exploded way off in the sky.>>
The hand that was holding the orange fabric passed between them, Peter in flight. Mohinder looked rather surprised at the sight of the shirt in his hand, but he somehow managed to casually pull the a-line over his head. When his vision was free again he looked at Sasha with an unreadable expression and stated rather matter-of-factly,
"But most disturbing is the fact that no watchdogs are found among scientists themselves . . . There are no detached observers. Everybody has a stake." - Michael Crichton, Jurassic Park
Joined: Feb 2008 Gender: Male Posts: 220 Location: You can't miss me. *waves* Karma: 104
Re: Half Monotony and One-Eighth Epiphany « Result #10 on Feb 24, 2009, 12:51am »
Even as he busied himself in the kitchen by removing the casserole from the oven, Mohinder's soft comment to the little girl trumped any sound Sasha made. Realizing that she was now awake, he stopped in his tracks to listen, smiling brightly at her and Mohinder.
"Dr. Suresh, you didn't tell me you h-had a house cleaner. He looks silly. Does he always look so silly? Only mommies wear aprons."
Only then did Sasha look down at the apron he was still wearing; he had to admit, the prospect of someone of his build in such a feminine get-up was pretty funny. And the fact that Mohinder was laughing made it all worthwhile. He hadn't heard such an honest and relaxed response from the doctor. It made him join the mirth with flushed cheeks and a deep-hearted laugh of his own. This Molly ... he could see why Mohinder felt so enraptured by her. And as he knew, children brought out the best in people, almost always.
As soon as he was calm enough to talk, Mohinder began the introductions:
"Molly, this is Sasha. Sasha, this is Molly. He's my friend, not my cleaning lady. Sometimes he doesn't look quite so silly, but I think he got bored while I was with you and wanted to play dress-up. Is that what happened, Sasha?"
He strolled over to be more on an eye level with the girl before greeting her himself. "Ah, so you are Molly. Our doctor friend told me of a pretty little princess he knew, but I did nyet think I would ever get to meet her myself. I am much lucky to get this chance, I think."
And addressing Mohinder as much as Molly, he continued, "But apron is nyet really for dress-up ... I just wanted to keep from getting much dusty from cleaning up, da? Luckily I finished with wax still on candlestick."
"Was that the oven timer I heard? I don't know about Molly, but I'm certainly hungry."
The Russian nodded vehemently. "Da, it was. Hearty Russian noodle casserole. Plenty for everyone. Is good that I have nyet set out plates, or I would have been missing one for important guest."
He headed to Mohinder's cabinet without another word, pulling three brightly striped plates down, then adding on top of them three cheery polka-dotted glasses (one, of course, more Molly-sized than the others). He set them on the table before reaching for silverware, and that is when he turned to see Molly perched happily on the counter. There were a few spots where her clothes looked dirty and matted down ... but from what, he couldn't tell. But before he could ask, Mohinder chimed in,
"How about you get cleaned up before dinner? Maybe the hot water will keep you from falling asleep on your plate. Then again, even with food on your face, you won't be the silliest looking one here."
Sasha giggled, not realizing that last comment was aimed at him. He pointed down the hall for the little girl, helpfully adding, "Da. Moheendhur is right; there are towels in hall cabinet with some able for you to reach. I am sure hot bath and good food will make you feel much at home here."
Once she'd hopped off the counter and made her way into the other room, Sasha got a good look at Mohinder himself. He, too, was covered in a matted grime down the front of his clothes. Sasha's brow furrowed, then raised quickly as he realized what he was staring at.
<<So, Mohinder, now will you tell me what has happened? And why are your clothes covered in blood? Are you or Molly hurt?>>
I said it in Hebrew—I said it in Dutch— I said it in German and Greek; But I wholly forgot (and it vexes me much) That English is what you speak. ~ Lewis Carroll
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