Tony didn't know who he was messing with, just that it was one very pissed off seeming woman storming down the beach. Overdressed too. Which generally only meant one thing.
Newbie.
"You okay there?" He'd been jogging down the beach and by now had worked up quite a sweat. Just cause he was on an island didn't mean he didn't stay in shape. Especially dating Mr. Washboard himself. "You look like you aren't sure where you are."
"Well, that might be because I don't actually know where I am. Idiot." Monet said, staring at the sweating man. 'Disgusting' Giving him as much of a smile she could muster, Monet turned to face him properly. "So no, no I'm not okay. My communicator's not working and I can't find my friend, so if you could just point me to the nearest telephone-I'd be much obliged."
"Yeah, see, that's the thing," Tony grimaced slightly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "There isn't any of that stuff here. You're kinda stuck. This place, it just sucks people in and doesn't let us leave."
"Welcome to Tabula Rasa. Or Craphole Island as my boyfriend calls it. It's not a bad sorta place?" Tony didn't sound entirely convinced. "I mean, if you're into that whole stuck on a tropical island with no way off kinda thing."
"What do you mean I'm stuck?" Monet said, scoffing lightly at the man. "Don't be absurd. Just because you can't fly doesn't mean we all can't."
Monet attempted to lift off from the ground but found herself unable to. Staring down in disbelief, she suddenly grabbed his head with her hands and touched her fingers to her temple. Nothing.
"Mon dieu, non... No! This can't be happening to me." Monet said, her face paling under the realisation that she couldn't hear his thoughts. Her powers were gone. "What have you done to me?"
You spend as much time on Craphole Island as I have and eventually you'll run through every reunion scenario. Hugs and tears, yelling and screaming, a punch in the face. Conversations and revelations, I've been through them all, all in the comfort of my own mind. The thing is, it doesn't matter how many times you go over what you'd say when you finally saw person 'X', the reality of the situation'll always knock the words right out of you.
Oh, she planned to knock more than words out of Jamie when she found him. The two timing son of a-
"What?!" Monet yelled turning at the sound of the voice. Monet frowned in recognition, she knew one of his dupes had to be around here somewhere. Mysterious island, no understanding how she got there, if Josh Holloway or a polar bear appeared then she was suing the writers of Lost.
Instinctively, Jamie's hand flew up to the side of his face, his fingers brushing the edge of the tattoo. He immediately dropped the hand but he still kept his distance from Monet, wanting to prolong what was sure to be the inevitable.
Namely, a punch to the face.
Barring the tattoo and the tan, he looked about the same as he had back home. Well, maybe a little thinner, his muscles more defined. He wasn't in his uniform that day, opting instead for a black shirt and a pair of jeans. Hardly high fashion, at any rate.
"You're...here." Beat. "Uh, look, uh...what's the last thing you remember?"
"Sometimes I wonder how you even function," Monet said, shaking her head at him. So they'd gotten at least one of the dupes along with her and wherever Theresa was. "Yes Jamie I'm here. wherever here is. So where's Theresa?"
Monet stared at him wondering what was different with his face, taking a step closer she tried to figure out what the hell that black stuff was around his eye. It looked like a tattoo. "Being pissed off. Strangely enough, I still am. What's with the twenty questions?"
Susan had been at a bit of a loose end, and although she wasn't naturally a very beachy1 sort of person she lived on a tropical island and occasionally finding yourself at the beach was just one of the many hazards of living in such a locale. As far as hazards went it was a fairly mild one, it certainly didn't stand up at all to living somewhere like the Klatchian border where 'town meeting' was spelled A-M-B-U-S-H, although on days like today she might not have minded a little honest to goodness hazard-shaped distraction.
One should always be careful what one wishes for, the Gods are always paying attention. If Susan wanted distraction, they were going to provide it. It might not have been exactly what Susan had in mind, but when the woman appeared a few feet in front of her she knew things were about to get at least slightly more interesting.
"Glad to hear it. Damsels in Distress are so boring."
1The beach was a rather impractical place for a person who prefers to never be seen in less than 7 layers of dark, full length,
( ... )
Monet looked at the woman, raising an eyebrow at her hair. She looked like she'd been taking hairstyle tips from Rogue, except she hadn't really known exactly when to stop.
"They are. Besides, who needs to be rescued by an idiot man when you're the embodiment of perfection?" Monet replied, looking around the area. "I'm sorry, I'm lost... You haven't seen Paris, have you? I've apparently misplaced it."
The embodiment of perfection? Susan wondered if this woman was perhaps one of Delirium's relatives. It didn't occur to Susan that the woman might have been speaking figuratively - coming from the Disc meant that anthropomorphic personifications were a fact of life. Susan didn't recognise the woman, and didn't remember ever being told about a perfection personification, but she hadn't known about the Oh God of Hangovers before he appeared before her either.
"Paris?" Susan had heard that somewhere before. Was it one of the Earth cities? Somewhere in...America? "Not that I recall. What does it look like?"
"You don't know what Paris looks like?" Monet said, in vague disbelief. Perhaps she was stuck in some backwards country where they thought eighties fashion was couture and polyester was in. Just the thought of polyester made her want to scratch her own eyeballs out. "It's a city, in France. Where have you been all your life?"
Paige was halfway down the beach, wearing flipflops and shorts that might've been a bit too short, but in the heat of this place, were just fine. She even had a towel and a book and looked to be the perfect little beach bunny.
That was until she heard the shouting. It caused her to stop midstep, cursing slightly under her breath and turn to see who it was. "Monet?"
Monet pulled up short, staring at the woman who looked like she was on holiday. She'd have to strike off terroist threat then, Paige Guthrie wasn't one to just go on vacation whilst people had kidnapped her.
"Paige?" Monet said, looking at Paige confused. If there was one person she wasn't expecting to see it was Paige, well Paige or Jubilee. Jubilee would have been worse, she would have been peppy. "I never thought I'd say this but I'm really, really glad to see you. Have you got a phone on you? I need to ring headquarters."
She just about managed to keep the 'Don't stay in the sun too long you'll peel.' remark to herself. Just about.
Slowly Paige shook her head. She was still slightly reeling from the fact that is was Monet St. Croix on an island. In fact, she wanted to tell her that the island wasn't known for handing out designer anything, but she was certain that powers or not, Monet would take a swing at her.
"Um, no. There's no way to call hq. Or anyone for that matter."
"What do you mean there's no way to call? How about a computer? A post man? This is the twenty first century, you're telling me no one here has a working phone." Monet asked, a look of disbelief on her face. Her own phone, broken faberge egg and various other items had been confiscated at the police station. She'd have to get those back later.
He'd gone for a walk to clear his head between classes when he caught sight of her: very attractive, very angry woman in fur, red leather, and heels - like a very bad combination of Angela Petrelli and Niki Sanders dressed for the Met and dumped at the beach.
Mohinder suppressed a shudder at the mental image. In fact, he would have kept right on walking, except that when he'd been new, people had been kind. Good karma, whether he believed in it or not.
"Not, perhaps, a Damsel in Distress. But possibly a Damsel in Distinctly Impractical Shoes," Mohinder observed with a wry smile.
"Thirteen hundred dollars worth of Distinctly Impractical Shoes," Monet said, turning in the boots to appraise the man. She could take him down without even breaking a sweat. Monet smiled her friendliest, and by friendliest think sub zero temperatures, smile at the man. "You don't happen to know where I can find a phone do you? My communicator seems to be broken."
Once, her smile might have sent him quailing back to his lab. After Sylar, Angela and Nathan Petrelli, it took more than a displaced diva to break his composure. He offered a small, politically neutral smile and open-handed gesture toward the interior of the island. "Your communicator won't work here, unless someone else on the island has a matching one. And even if there were a phone, you couldn't place an outside call."
After that his smile faded, but his tone warmed, becoming more genuine. "Wherever you were, you're not there and then anymore, and you're not going back. I'm sorry." He might've broken it to her more gently, he supposed, but she didn't strike him as a wilting violet. For him, facts had helped him get a hold on the situation more quickly.
"There and then? I kind of guessed this wasn't Paris," Monet said with a small laugh. His voice reminded her of something but she couldn't figure out what or who it was. The heat was probably making her light headed and stupid. Monet followed him, not losing her balance once in the awkward terrain. She'd done runways in higher heels than this. "Great; no communicator, no phones, next you'll tell me there isn't a decent bottle of champagne around. The day I've had I could really use a drink."
And Terry wasn't here to make her feel guilty about drinking it either. Damn alcoholics.
Comments 97
Newbie.
"You okay there?" He'd been jogging down the beach and by now had worked up quite a sweat. Just cause he was on an island didn't mean he didn't stay in shape. Especially dating Mr. Washboard himself. "You look like you aren't sure where you are."
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"Welcome to Tabula Rasa. Or Craphole Island as my boyfriend calls it. It's not a bad sorta place?" Tony didn't sound entirely convinced. "I mean, if you're into that whole stuck on a tropical island with no way off kinda thing."
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Monet attempted to lift off from the ground but found herself unable to. Staring down in disbelief, she suddenly grabbed his head with her hands and touched her fingers to her temple. Nothing.
"Mon dieu, non... No! This can't be happening to me." Monet said, her face paling under the realisation that she couldn't hear his thoughts. Her powers were gone. "What have you done to me?"
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"Monet?!"
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"What?!" Monet yelled turning at the sound of the voice. Monet frowned in recognition, she knew one of his dupes had to be around here somewhere. Mysterious island, no understanding how she got there, if Josh Holloway or a polar bear appeared then she was suing the writers of Lost.
Reply
Namely, a punch to the face.
Barring the tattoo and the tan, he looked about the same as he had back home. Well, maybe a little thinner, his muscles more defined. He wasn't in his uniform that day, opting instead for a black shirt and a pair of jeans. Hardly high fashion, at any rate.
"You're...here." Beat. "Uh, look, uh...what's the last thing you remember?"
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Monet stared at him wondering what was different with his face, taking a step closer she tried to figure out what the hell that black stuff was around his eye. It looked like a tattoo. "Being pissed off. Strangely enough, I still am. What's with the twenty questions?"
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One should always be careful what one wishes for, the Gods are always paying attention. If Susan wanted distraction, they were going to provide it. It might not have been exactly what Susan had in mind, but when the woman appeared a few feet in front of her she knew things were about to get at least slightly more interesting.
"Glad to hear it. Damsels in Distress are so boring."
1The beach was a rather impractical place for a person who prefers to never be seen in less than 7 layers of dark, full length, ( ... )
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"They are. Besides, who needs to be rescued by an idiot man when you're the embodiment of perfection?" Monet replied, looking around the area. "I'm sorry, I'm lost... You haven't seen Paris, have you? I've apparently misplaced it."
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"Paris?" Susan had heard that somewhere before. Was it one of the Earth cities? Somewhere in...America? "Not that I recall. What does it look like?"
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That was until she heard the shouting. It caused her to stop midstep, cursing slightly under her breath and turn to see who it was. "Monet?"
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"Paige?" Monet said, looking at Paige confused. If there was one person she wasn't expecting to see it was Paige, well Paige or Jubilee. Jubilee would have been worse, she would have been peppy. "I never thought I'd say this but I'm really, really glad to see you. Have you got a phone on you? I need to ring headquarters."
She just about managed to keep the 'Don't stay in the sun too long you'll peel.' remark to herself. Just about.
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"Um, no. There's no way to call hq. Or anyone for that matter."
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Mohinder suppressed a shudder at the mental image. In fact, he would have kept right on walking, except that when he'd been new, people had been kind. Good karma, whether he believed in it or not.
"Not, perhaps, a Damsel in Distress. But possibly a Damsel in Distinctly Impractical Shoes," Mohinder observed with a wry smile.
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After that his smile faded, but his tone warmed, becoming more genuine. "Wherever you were, you're not there and then anymore, and you're not going back. I'm sorry." He might've broken it to her more gently, he supposed, but she didn't strike him as a wilting violet. For him, facts had helped him get a hold on the situation more quickly.
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And Terry wasn't here to make her feel guilty about drinking it either. Damn alcoholics.
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