Peter looks unsettled when he wanders downstairs, and so does his hair; it's flattened in odd patches, like he's just woken up.

He pauses to leave a note addressed to ( Security, or whoever's handling the murder case, I guess )

Ava, tucked into a discreet booth, is working on her resume.

Along with a job history detailing her summers spent at Jamba Juice and the year at Greater Peoria Family Practice, a blank page that is eventually going to be a cover letter, and a large moldy-looking book that doesn't contain anything of note about vengeance demons (though it does have ( Read more... )

Peter wanders downstairs, scrubbing at his eyes, and stops to leave a note at the bar.

( For Kaylee )

Plunk.

Plunk.

Splorch.

Plunk-unk.

Peter Petrelli is standing by the edge of the lake, half-heartedly attempting to skip stones.

Dan has just come downstairs, to find that it has been quite some time since he was last down here. Months, in fact. To say that he is not thrilled with this news is putting it mildly, but he really can't complain too much, since he's dead and all. Time is bound to get strange in a place where strange times are commonplace ( Read more... )

The Milliways Security force has gone to impressive lengths to preserve the scene of the crime without starting a panic. Their efforts are commendable!

And really, there was nothing they could do about the window of time between the discovery of the body and Security's response, when a thirteen-year-old girl, storming out of her greenhouse in a ( Read more... )

Peter wanders in from out back, looking both grouchy and confused. (And lightly sprinkled with cat fur.)

After the plastic baggies have been obtained, and the camera, and several rolls of film (or rather memory cards) have been consumed in photographing the murder scene ( Read more... )

Puck trudges in through the lake door, jeans rather damp and hair sticking up at odd angles.

He ought to have been harsher with Raspberry when she was a squidlet; now she practically demands evening lullabies and mantle massages ( Read more... )

Somebody did not have the foresight to build herself a nest out of the Tinker toys lying on the table before she decided she wanted to be a sparrow for three days.

Now she is sad. And hungry. With feathers fluffed up on the bartop. (There's a draft.)