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Post by pete monroe on Jan 18, 2008 23:44:36 GMT -5
 Lady don't you try to find me. Lady there is no need to fight. Lady don't you try to find me. Baby it will be all right. ________________________ There was something about London that made Pete depressed, although he was pretty depressed to begin with. London has the aura that no other city had, although the only city he had ever known and loved was New York, but that city only held heartbreak now, and he couldn't help but see the difference between New York and London. Pete's eyes watched the street signs and pedestrians pass as his London cab brought him through the winding streets. He chewed on his bottom lip thinking about his music for the last few moments that he could before he wouldn't be able to think about it while he had to endure dinner with his Aunt Jane. It wasn't that he couldn't think while he was at dinner, he just had a hard time coming up with things to say and cheerful things to say at that. The cab came to a screeching half outside of The Blue and his cabbie said something to him in that English accent that Pete could never get around. All he did was shrug to whatever question he assumed he had been asked and shoved some of the colorful English money into his hands. Another reason that he hated The Blue was probably because he actually had to look presentable to his aunt just to reassure her that he wasn't going completely insane at Hoffman. He got out of the car, his lucky sunglasses pushed into his hair even though it was dark as midnight outside. He wore his black dress shirt, with a black skinny tie, and black dress pants. He looked like he was going to a funeral, although he hated when people asked him about that. He would try not and say anything back just give them his shrug and be done with it. The Blue's door was situated far back on the street, you would have missed it if you didn't know where you were going. It was one of those super exclusive restaurants that Pete didn't mind, he just never got comfortable with them. He made his way through the door the hostess motioning him through ahead she knew of his weekly appointments with the dark haired woman, although she never asked the relationship or any other personal questions. He took a seat a one of those tiny booths that everyone thought was oh so chic. The ones where only one person to a side and a candle in the middle. Pete folded his hands nervously in his lap and tried not to fidget. He was already getting strange glances from the other customers. So he at least took his sunglasses out of his hair. Let the wait begin.
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Post by Ilandra Petrelli on Jan 19, 2008 9:59:02 GMT -5
Typical miserable British weather. The black sky, which wasn't actually black. It was a murky brown caused by the delightful amounts of pollution floating around in the air. Not the most inspiring sight for any poets. The late Friday evening was drawning out into night, the clouds refusing to move across the skies. It hadn't actually started thundering yet, but, from experience, she didn't really think it would be that long. Ilandra brushed back a lock of pale blond hair before replacing her cold hands in her pockets. Yes, she was cold, it wasn't exactly a warm night. The seventeen year old harpist glanced up at the streetlamp that flickered dully. Everything was so pathetic here. No-one even bothered to change the lightbulbs in the streetlamps. It was like not changing the bulbs in a lighthouse on a stormy evening. Lets just kill pedestrians and claim on the insurance.
The seventeen year old harpist pulled her coat around her and trudged up the street, not bothering to pull up the hood. She'd always hated her blond hair, and had tried more than once to dye it. She'd succeeded in making it brown for a while, but that had faded into a particually nasty orange, so she'd taken it back to blond. She didn't have anything in general against blond hair, but in her life, it just made things worse. She was seen as a walking cliche. Not exactly tall, but more average height, blue eyes and blond hair. Oh and what was the other thing. Yes, she played the harp. Blond, blue eyes and playing the harp. Everyone would think her to be sweet and respectful, always following orders. Yeah, until they let her into thier house and she burnt it down. Arsonist in the making.
The rain was easing off, oddly enough. Ilandra had taken refuge under the overhang of a shop up the road from the Piccadilly Theatre House. She'd always thought of the Piccadilly as either a Circus or a Train station, not a Theatre house, but there it was all lurid lights and neon. Horrible really. Ilandra had always had a deep dislike of neon. Too bright and cheerful ,especially glaring out of the dark of London. The street wasn't likely to empty out until the small hours, and even then the flood from the bars wouldn't thin out until they closed. The scottish lass has never really been one for up all night parties, even back in her home town up North. She'd been normal up there, especially with the differences in accent. She could get really quite annoyed when people tried to immitate the Scottish accent. It usually came out somewhere between Norfolk and Dublin. No-one could usually get up to Edingburgh or Aberdeen.
Ilandra trugded along. She was late and she knew it. She hadn't seen her brother for over a year and a half, seeing as most of his life he spent in the air. Air host on British Airways. He'd sent her an invitation to his wedding the day before yesterday, all fancy gold lettering. Not really Jackel's style at all. When she hadn't replied to the RSVP in two days, he'd taken a job on a flight to London, instead of one to Kenya. Her phone had rung in the middle of an orchestra practise, vibrating against her hip. She'd answered, not having his name on caller ID. Not a cheerful or a long conversation. But he'd made the reservations and she might as well go. She'd never actually been before, so there wasn't any reason why she shouldn't just go for the experience.
The elegant doors were pushed open for her by a doorman. She gave him a smile and walked over to the reservations table. A young waitress looked at her before asking for the name under the resevation.
"Jackel Petrelli." She answered, her pale eyes casting around the resteraunt. He didn't seem to have arrived yet.
"This way, ma'am." The waitress said, leading her over to a table. She thanked her and took off her long coat, hanging it over a chair. Her blond hair fell down her back as she smoothed out a nonexistant crease in the folds of her pale dress. She wasn't really used to wearing dresses, but Jackel had asked her to make an effort. So she'd tried.
She glanced up as she heard the doors opened. A man dressed in black entered. He had his back to Ilandra, but his hair was the right colour, and the style that Jackel had used to wear. He'd probably changed it, or at least been asked to by his rather controlling fioncee. Ilandra had taken a personal dislike to her, in not a particually pleasent way. She turned away, not wanting to look as if she was staring, ad he walked close by her table. She couldn't help herself when he chose a table just behind hers. She stood up, her blond hair falling over her shoulder.
"Jackel?" She asked, glacning at the newcomer. She swallowed. No, just someone who bore a slight resemblence to him. She sighed.
"Sorry, I thought you were someone else." She seated herself again, feeling like a great deal more of an idiot than she had before. First having to actually make an effort then making a fool of herself. Great evening. Just perfect.
And though time goes by I will always be
In a club with you in 1973 [-]  |
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Post by pete monroe on Jan 19, 2008 12:29:27 GMT -5
Lady don't you try to find me. Lady there is no need to fight. Lady don't you try to find me. Baby it will be all right. ________________________ Before he could make himself completely and totally uncomfortable in the booth and fidget enough to annoy the hell out of every person next to him. A girl stood up who was the table in front of him, he recoiled slightly because being called a different name wasn’t exactly a fear it was just wrong. I guess since he had had such an identity crisis his whole life, he liked for people to know that he was Peter Monroe, although he rarely said it out loud. Considering his middle name was Blue he wasn’t exactly itching to say it either. She sat down after seeing his face knowing that it wasn’t whoever she was looking for. He gave his shrug even though he was pretty sure that she wasn’t watching him. He didn’t like to open his mouth if he could help. Before he could order a cup of coffee and dump loads of sugar in it. His cell phone vibrated in the jacket of his black dress coat he had hung on the back of his chair. ”Hi, Aunt Jane,” he said in a voice so different from his singing voice you wouldn’t have guessed it came from him. ”No, I understand.........No it’s fine really. I wasn’t that hungry any way,” he said shrugging on the other end even though she couldn’t see him. ”I”ll see you next week Aunt Jane,” he said and with a few murmured words back to him he shut his phone, and slipped it back into his pocket. His fingers tapped on the table, before he could get up to leave the waiter approached him and asked what he would like to drink. He was just about to wave him away but then again he thought he might as well get a free five star dinner. ”Could I get a Johnny Walker Black on the rocks,” he said twisting his fingers around. The waiter nodded and disappeared. England still got him every time about the drinking age, eighteen years old to buy booze. Of course, Pete could have easily passed for twenty one over in the states. It wasn’t that he looked old, it was more that he acted so old and that he was nineteen it gave him the extra years that he needed. He would have found a way anyway. There was always a way no matter what people said. It was less than a minute before the waiter came back and set Pete’s drink down on the table before him. ”Come back in five, I haven’t decided what to order,” Pete commanded out of his personality, but when he was with his Aunt Jane he always ordered something boring like steak. He had always wanted to try the bourbon lamb, because it just sounded hilarious. He didn’t look at the menu right away, he just sat their sipping his drink and getting to think about his music.
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Post by Ilandra Petrelli on Jan 19, 2008 13:20:18 GMT -5
Ilandra brushed back a stray lock of hair. The problem with long hair, it always seems to be in the way. Or just where you don't want it. Especially in the brisk, chilly winds of London Town. Her pale eyes swept over him once more. Well, his body language didn't tell her much. He seemed relaxed, except for the fidgiting. Nervous habit? Or a sign for her to leave. She decided to ignore it. Most people had a nervous habit or two. She had several. Not naming any. She glanced up at the door, where a couple had just entered at a quick walk. Thier coats were almost dripping. There wasn't any way she was going out in that weather. She could do rain to a limit. Not thunderstorm weather.
”It’s fine, although I’ve never been called a jackel before,”
She smiled, moving her coat from one arm to the next.
"Jackel's the name of my brother." She told him lightly, drawing her eyes away from the driving rain outside.
"I was meeting him here. That didn't exactly work." She shrugged. It wasn't the first time Jackel had done something like this. He didn't have a great reputation for keeping his word, even if he'd arranged it. It had been worse when Sophie had married her husband. He was really Ilandra's carer, even if he was only four years older than her. Almost four anyway. They just had a disfuctional family. Or at least they'd had a disfunctional family. It wasn't really a family any more. Sophie had her own family and Jackel was starting his own. Not a great start though. A start was supposed to mark out what it was supposed to be like for the rest of the line. But if this start was anything to go on, Jackel wouldn't be wearing a wedding ring for much longer.
Ilandra glanced at Pete.
"I don't mean to be rude, but are you waiting for someone?" He seemed to be. Not many people dressed up in funeral dress and took a Taxi down to The Blue for a night of solitude. Or if they did, they had to be rolling in the cash. Maybe he was, you couldn't easily tell. Or sometimes you could, depending on dress and such, but one black garment looked very much like another black garment from any shop you brought it from. Her own dress was from OFFICE but to look at it, you couldn't tell. But, back to the stranger she'd somehow found herself trying to strike up a conversation with. He didn't look like the eating solitary type. More of the loner in real life but perfectly pleasent to talk to. If those actually existed. Ilandra took another look at the window, watching the slanting rain catch the pedestrians and whip thier umbrellas from thier hands with a violent wind. No, she wasn't going out there.
And though time goes by I will always be
In a club with you in 1973[-] |
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Post by pete monroe on Jan 19, 2008 13:43:04 GMT -5
Lady don't you try to find me. Lady there is no need to fight. Lady don't you try to find me. Baby it will be all right. ________________________ It seemed as if the girl at the table across in front of him was having her own trouble with her date, he guessed it. Girls like her didn’t come to these restaurants and get stood up by her parents. Most likely she just got stood up by her date. Pete smiled this little secret smile he had, the one that was a flash of his old life. The flash where he actually had a sense of humor and didn’t mind laughing at himself. He took a sip of his drink not even noticing the hard burn of the liquor as it went down his throat. He’d consumed so much of it, and so much more in the past years that it didn’t even make an impact on him until he was at least on his seventh glass. He uncrossed his legs and rested an elbow on the table. Screw the whole manners thing, even though he did get a nasty look from the woman sitting across the room. He hated when people stared at him like he was a freak show. That happened a lot when you were wealthy because you were expected to act a certain way and all that jazz. Just because Pete did have a small fortune in his possession didn’t make him wealthy and so in his head he didn’t have to act any way that they wanted. He could be his own person, and he would rather just be the musician that he had always been. He drew his mind out of his thoughts again and watched the girls blonde head reject the waiter. She got up and started to gather her coat from her chair, he thought she was just going to leave. Walk past him and act like he was invisible, which was normally for the best. But no she stopped in front of his table. He leaned back in his chair, his sad brown eyes scanning her face. He made no move to say anything to her, but that wasn’t a problem because she went ahead and said something to him. He gave his shrug as always, his long fingers playing with the grooves in his glass. ”It’s fine, although I’ve never been called a jackel before,” he said in a voice that was so unlike his singing voice, you wouldn’t have believed him if he gave you tape of him singing. You just had to see it to believe it. He let go of his glass but proceeded to fidget with his sunglasses again. Nervous habits die hard.
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Post by Ilandra Petrelli on Jan 19, 2008 14:35:53 GMT -5
Ilandra brushed back a stray lock of hair. The problem with long hair, it always seems to be in the way. Or just where you don't want it. Especially in the brisk, chilly winds of London Town. Her pale eyes swept over him once more. Well, his body language didn't tell her much. He seemed relaxed, except for the fidgiting. Nervous habit? Or a sign for her to leave. She decided to ignore it. Most people had a nervous habit or two. She had several. Not naming any. She glanced up at the door, where a couple had just entered at a quick walk. Thier coats were almost dripping. There wasn't any way she was going out in that weather. She could do rain to a limit. Not thunderstorm weather.
”It’s fine, although I’ve never been called a jackel before,”
She smiled, moving her coat from one arm to the next.
"Jackel's the name of my brother." She told him lightly, drawing her eyes away from the driving rain outside.
"I was meeting him here. That didn't exactly work." She shrugged. It wasn't the first time Jackel had done something like this. He didn't have a great reputation for keeping his word, even if he'd arranged it. It had been worse when Sophie had married her husband. He was really Ilandra's carer, even if he was only four years older than her. Almost four anyway. They just had a disfuctional family. Or at least they'd had a disfunctional family. It wasn't really a family any more. Sophie had her own family and Jackel was starting his own. Not a great start though. A start was supposed to mark out what it was supposed to be like for the rest of the line. But if this start was anything to go on, Jackel wouldn't be wearing a wedding ring for much longer.
Ilandra glanced at Pete.
"I don't mean to be rude, but are you waiting for someone?" He seemed to be. Not many people dressed up in funeral dress and took a Taxi down to The Blue for a night of solitude. Or if they did, they had to be rolling in the cash. Maybe he was, you couldn't easily tell. Or sometimes you could, depending on dress and such, but one black garment looked very much like another black garment from any shop you brought it from. Her own dress was from OFFICE but to look at it, you couldn't tell. But, back to the stranger she'd somehow found herself trying to strike up a conversation with. He didn't look like the eating solitary type. More of the loner in real life but perfectly pleasent to talk to. If those actually existed. Ilandra took another look at the window, watching the slanting rain catch the pedestrians and whip thier umbrellas from thier hands with a violent wind. No, she wasn't going out there.
And though time goes by I will always be
In a club with you in 1973[-] |
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Post by pete monroe on Jan 19, 2008 16:37:01 GMT -5
Lady don't you try to find me. Lady there is no need to fight. Lady don't you try to find me. Baby it will be all right. ________________________ She didn’t seem to eager to leave, as far as Pete could tell. From staring at her for about five minutes she looked slightly familiar but nothing that he could put a name and face together. He wondered if she went to Hoffman. The horrible thing about Pete not talking to many people at Hoffman was he couldn’t remember one person’s name. He never knew who was going out with who. Which senior had all the best guys in their senior showcase. It wasn’t feigned disinterest. It was pure disinterest. No one ever asked Pete to be in their concerts at the end of the year, even though Pete was one of the best at Hoffman. Again it all came back down to the whole, teacher’s pet, stuck up just because he thinks he’s so hot on his guitar. He was never one to ask for someone's name first. He always gave it first, but never asked. He gave a shrug and a nod at the same time when she mentioned something about her brother was the one who was meeting her here. So he had been wrong about the whole date thing, although halfway right on the family thing. His own Aunt had stood him, so he wasn't one to talk much right now. Of course, this was the first time that his aunt had done something like this. He guessed since he finally came into his inheritance she didn't exactly feel responsible for him. Which was understandable because once you give a nineteen year old two million dollars in insurance money from his parent's death. It was better just not to ask questions about the whole thing. He noticed she glanced at the empty chair. He wondered if she thought he was a sob story or if he just came to high class restaurants by himself to pick up girls. Probably the second one even though if she was perceptive enough she could figure out that the fidgeting was from his addiction and he carried sunglasses so that he could hide bloodshot eyes when he was to drunk to function. He gave his shrug again, how many was it in the last ten minutes. "My aunt, but she canceled. She just likes to check up on me every once and a while," he said taking another sip of his drink. "I guess she knows that I can take care of myself now, even though I've been taking care of myself for a while,"
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