[heroes] Evolution: Volume VI
Title: Earmuffs
Pairing: Elle Bishop/Monica Dawson
Rating: G
Summary: “Those are huge,” Elle says when Monica walks in.
“Those are huge,” Elle says when Monica walks in. Monica isn’t sure what Elle is doing in the observation room. It is usually only her and Mohinder in here, with occasional visits from Bob. Mohinder has warned her about this girl, so Monica feels some trepidation, but smiles nonetheless. She isn’t stupid, but she doesn’t make concrete judgments based on hearsay.
Elle continues, “It looks like someone glued cupcakes to your head.”
Monica laughs, unaffected by Elle’s criticism. Her earmuffs are fairly silly: big, fluffy, and pink, she got them second hand on the way to the Company that morning, when it was windier than expected outside. “They do what they’re meant to.”
Elle approaches her with a lilting step, and plucks the earmuffs from her head. “Was Minnie Mouse having a garage sale?”
She turns them over in her hands, and Monica doesn’t miss the flash of curiosity on her face. “Try them on. I think they’d look cute on you.”
Eyebrow raised, Elle almost seems to contemplate it for a moment. The whisper of a door opening interrupts both their thoughts, as does Mohinder’s confused voice. “Elle? What are you doing here?”
“Leaving,” Elle chirps, tossing the earmuffs back into Monica’s hands and heading for the door. “Later, Cupcakes.”
Monica stares after her, then turns to Mohinder. “She gave me a nickname. What does that mean?”
He sighs. “Unfortunately, it means she likes you.”
Title: Forecast
Character: Lyle Bennet
Rating: PG-13
Summary: If there was someone out there literally trying to rain on Claire’s parade, Lyle would find them and give them a fucking medal.
It rained the night Claire was given her Nissan. As usual in the Butler house, dinner was eaten at the table, where Lyle’s father told them about his thrilling adventures at the Kinko’s rip-off, his mother regaled them with the status of their vegetable garden, and Claire confirmed that she was still completely unremarkable at school. That night, however, there was more heat in the air than usual - Claire was in a great mood, and wouldn’t stop talking about her car. The ride was so smooth, the seats reclined so far, there were four whole cupholders! Then his mother got into the story of how they picked it out, how they knew exactly what their little Claire wanted.
Lyle couldn’t his finish his mashed potatoes fast enough. Finally, he dropped his plate none-too-gently into the sink and retreated to his room. His father’s job was a joke and his mother didn’t work at all - he knew by the time he had his license, there’d be no money to buy him a car. He thought on it endlessly as he stared out his window at the falling rain. When his mother came in (it was always his mother: Claire was daddy’s girl, which made him a momma’s boy, when the truth was his father just loved Claire more), she was sympathetic at first, but as usual sympathy degenerated into scolding. When she slammed his door shut, it was not her departure that placated him - it was the angry roar of thunder outside.
It always seemed to rain on Claire’s best days. She complained about it aloud once: how whenever she was happy, it would come down hard. Even their mother agreed that it was uncanny; their father remarked that it was uncharacteristic, in the same tone he used so often at his old job. Lyle didn’t care. If there was someone out there literally trying to rain on Claire’s parade, he’d find them and give them a fucking medal.
Because when Lyle was happy, it was always sunny. The clouds skittered away from the sun, and the temperature hovered perfectly between warm and hot. No rainfall, no premature frost like the day Claire brought home a straight A report card. Flawless weather.
The only thing that soured it was the somewhat suspicious glances his father gave him. Those put a cloud or two in the sky, and sometimes Lyle wanted to scream at him. But he was quieter than that, more well-behaved for the sake of his mother, so he kept his mouth shut and only watched with annoyance as the pallor of the horizon darkened. He was too young to understand that what lurked behind his father’s horn-rimmed glasses was not skepticism, but knowing - not fear of Lyle, but fear for Lyle, and all the things he didn’t yet know he could do.
Pairing: Elle Bishop/Monica Dawson
Rating: G
Summary: “Those are huge,” Elle says when Monica walks in.
“Those are huge,” Elle says when Monica walks in. Monica isn’t sure what Elle is doing in the observation room. It is usually only her and Mohinder in here, with occasional visits from Bob. Mohinder has warned her about this girl, so Monica feels some trepidation, but smiles nonetheless. She isn’t stupid, but she doesn’t make concrete judgments based on hearsay.
Elle continues, “It looks like someone glued cupcakes to your head.”
Monica laughs, unaffected by Elle’s criticism. Her earmuffs are fairly silly: big, fluffy, and pink, she got them second hand on the way to the Company that morning, when it was windier than expected outside. “They do what they’re meant to.”
Elle approaches her with a lilting step, and plucks the earmuffs from her head. “Was Minnie Mouse having a garage sale?”
She turns them over in her hands, and Monica doesn’t miss the flash of curiosity on her face. “Try them on. I think they’d look cute on you.”
Eyebrow raised, Elle almost seems to contemplate it for a moment. The whisper of a door opening interrupts both their thoughts, as does Mohinder’s confused voice. “Elle? What are you doing here?”
“Leaving,” Elle chirps, tossing the earmuffs back into Monica’s hands and heading for the door. “Later, Cupcakes.”
Monica stares after her, then turns to Mohinder. “She gave me a nickname. What does that mean?”
He sighs. “Unfortunately, it means she likes you.”
Title: Forecast
Character: Lyle Bennet
Rating: PG-13
Summary: If there was someone out there literally trying to rain on Claire’s parade, Lyle would find them and give them a fucking medal.
It rained the night Claire was given her Nissan. As usual in the Butler house, dinner was eaten at the table, where Lyle’s father told them about his thrilling adventures at the Kinko’s rip-off, his mother regaled them with the status of their vegetable garden, and Claire confirmed that she was still completely unremarkable at school. That night, however, there was more heat in the air than usual - Claire was in a great mood, and wouldn’t stop talking about her car. The ride was so smooth, the seats reclined so far, there were four whole cupholders! Then his mother got into the story of how they picked it out, how they knew exactly what their little Claire wanted.
Lyle couldn’t his finish his mashed potatoes fast enough. Finally, he dropped his plate none-too-gently into the sink and retreated to his room. His father’s job was a joke and his mother didn’t work at all - he knew by the time he had his license, there’d be no money to buy him a car. He thought on it endlessly as he stared out his window at the falling rain. When his mother came in (it was always his mother: Claire was daddy’s girl, which made him a momma’s boy, when the truth was his father just loved Claire more), she was sympathetic at first, but as usual sympathy degenerated into scolding. When she slammed his door shut, it was not her departure that placated him - it was the angry roar of thunder outside.
It always seemed to rain on Claire’s best days. She complained about it aloud once: how whenever she was happy, it would come down hard. Even their mother agreed that it was uncanny; their father remarked that it was uncharacteristic, in the same tone he used so often at his old job. Lyle didn’t care. If there was someone out there literally trying to rain on Claire’s parade, he’d find them and give them a fucking medal.
Because when Lyle was happy, it was always sunny. The clouds skittered away from the sun, and the temperature hovered perfectly between warm and hot. No rainfall, no premature frost like the day Claire brought home a straight A report card. Flawless weather.
The only thing that soured it was the somewhat suspicious glances his father gave him. Those put a cloud or two in the sky, and sometimes Lyle wanted to scream at him. But he was quieter than that, more well-behaved for the sake of his mother, so he kept his mouth shut and only watched with annoyance as the pallor of the horizon darkened. He was too young to understand that what lurked behind his father’s horn-rimmed glasses was not skepticism, but knowing - not fear of Lyle, but fear for Lyle, and all the things he didn’t yet know he could do.