C O M E fly with m e [open]

[beau bettencourt]

Come fly with me, lets fly lets fly away
If you can use, some exotic booze
Theres a bar in far bombay
Come fly with me, well fly well fly away

___________________________

Beau couldn't help it these days. In his mind he mentally thought of differences between Paris and London. He had tried to quit doing it many times. He had also tried many times to quit saying his lines in French first before saying them in English out loud. but some habits he just couldn't help. Plus, it would have been easier when there were so few differences. It's not that London was horrible in some departments, but some things Beau had gotten so use to all things Parisian. Like Parisian food which was a hundred times better than this horrible thing that the English called food. Beau also thought the Parisians were a whole lot more mannered than the English, I mean you bumped into someone on the Tube and they didn't even say "Sorry" in their horrible accent. At least that Beau shut out most of those things, when he was at Hoffman.

But his black shoes pulled his body so that he dodged a very dodgey looking puddle of water, on one of the back streets of London. He might not be a native but he sure knew his name around. When they had first gotten here, Alice had so much wanted to explore the city, although finding it a bit disappointing. Beau always had a good memory, I mean what do you expect from an actor? He almost fell off the road, and got hit by a speeding taxi when a woman and her children pushed past him. "Montre où vous allez !" he yelled throwing his hands up in disgust. The woman turned around and gave him a sinister look. Beau just pulled his black jacket higher around his neck and moved on still grumbling in French about English people. He finally reached Westminister, not really sure where he was going. Then he saw the London Eye.

He always viewed it as the Eiffel Tower of London. You could see everything from one of it's capsules, if that was the right English word. Although he hated going up with twenty five other people, he wished that it was more like a real ferris wheel where it was just two to a seat. Or maybe that was just the Paris way to do it. Make it more personal, or was it the Beau way? He finally reached it, titling his head back so that his bronze curls fell back. He watched the tourists drag their kids onto, and the Londoners who had to ride it with them give them the London grimace.

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[Ilandra Petrelli]

What seems so strong



Has been and gone

Ilandra pulled her long pale coat around slim frame. It was a typical London day: cold and drizzly. It wasn't even proper rain. At least in Scotland you actually got some real rain. More than rain, thunderstorms. Real wood cracking, house shaking thunderstorms. Either that or snow. You never got snow in London, just pathetic slush along all the streets. If it snowed in England, the world shut down for Ol' England. They just didn't know how to handle it. The blond musician shivered as another load of rain fell off the rooftops above her, creating a large puddle just behind her. Oh great, just when she needed, wet ankles. One thing she couldn't stand, wet ankles and she was only wearing pumps. Maybe a stupid thing to wear on a wet day, but it looked just so much better than boots with the jeans. That was one good thing about London, you could buy a good pair of jeans for under a tenner. Hard to do that in the middle of Langholm, where there were no shops to speak of.

She could bitch to Paris and back about why Scotland was better than England, but she wasn't going to. For the last two months, and for quite a lot longer, London would be her one and only home. She sighed, taking a dark glance up at the sky. London weather. The collar of her coat wasn't keeping out the chill and the wind, even when propped up. She crossed her arms across her chest, trudging on towards the river. She didn't really have a plan on what she wanted to do. Actually, she knew what she wanted to do, but she wasn't going to. There wasn't a beach anywhere near enough, or with big enough waves. She shrugged her shoulders forward and kept walking. The river was as good a bet as any. There wasn't a great deal to do if you didn't have a booking, but there was always somewhere to walk. Something to see. The Globe Theatre was a good bet, but she didn't have any cash on her at the moment. Correction, she didn't have enough cash on her at the moment. She had a bit in her pocket, but that had been mearly coincidence by the coat she had put on. Good coincidence, mind, but just coincidence. She was someone who actually believed in coincidence, but not fate. Didn't see the point in fate. Nothing was written down saying that someone would do this. They made it themselves on the spur of the moment.

Ilandra crossed the bridge, walking behind a large group of students from one of te many collages around the city. Probably all from the same, but doubtfully in the same major. Or maybe they were, Ilandra wasn't going to look at them and judge them into groups. Prejudice. She skittered down the steps onto the plate walk. All along resteraunts were just opening up, bars lighting up inside. Way up along the line of shops, the London Eye was just begining to brighten the skies with its lights in each little sphere. She was just walking up along side the group of rowdy students, heading towards the London Eye. She wasn't actually thinking about getting on, but was just walking passed. The crowd around the ticket booth was thinning out as time grew on. Tourists getting ready to go out to dinner, and Londoners who were actually getting on were usually saving a private sphere for some intimacy. Ilandra was more or less being pushed and shoved through the throng. She wasn't tall and she wasn't wearing heels, easily missed. She wasn't in the mood to argue and just let it happen. It was only when she tripped over the smart black shoes of a new stranger did she stop putting up with it. It didn't help her much, she still landed on the ground. Why had she really wanted to wear a pale coloured coat today. Well it wasn't pale coloured any more. She got to her feet, brushing herself down. She looked up at the bronze-haired-black-shoe-wearing-stranger with an appologetic smile.
"Sorry, wasn't looking where I was going." She admitted, her light scottish accent easily distinguishable from the harsh tones of the Londoners.

The crowd started to disperse, a mother with three children taking them out of the line. There was a disapointed moan from the children and a clear cut Manchester accent muttered something about promises. Ilandra glanced after them. The ticket office man growled something at her and she turned around, asking the polite form of 'could you repeat that'
"Pardon?" The ticketman grumbled again and took a deep breath before repeating the message.
"Were you going on? It's an empty carriage now." Ilandra raised her eyebrows before turning back to the bronze-haired-black-shoe-wearing-stranger.
"Were you going on?" She asked politely, stepping out of the way incase he was. Empty carriage. Maybe she'd go on after all.

I would call you up every Sunday Night



And we'd stay up 'till the morning light

[beau bettencourt]

Come fly with me, lets fly lets fly away
If you can use, some exotic booze
Theres a bar in far bombay
Come fly with me, well fly well fly away

___________________________

It was Beau's own fault that he didn't feel like being social today. Or maybe it wasn't, he had been in a pretty good mood when he had set out this morning. He hadn't talked to Ana in a while but she was a big girl she could take care of herself, at least Beau hoped she could. People thought that it was funny how much Beau and Ana worried about each other. Each thinking that the other wasn't capable of taking care of themselves, or no one was good enough for them. Beau's friends laughed at him, but Beau found nothing funny about really. He cared about Ana more than anyone else on the entire planet. Maybe his mother but he knew that his mother could take care of herself, plus since he didn't live his parents in Wimbledon he didn't have to worry about them as much as he did Ana, that god the dorms weren't co-ed. Beau probably would have had a heart attack and put Ana in a chastity belt.

Beau brushed some flint off of his black jacket, that he was wearing while leaning on the railing that lead to the line for the London Eye. Before he could start to move away to make his way toward Parliament House on the other side of the River. A girl about his age tripped over one of his out stretched long legs. Beau just rolled his eyes, he wasn't in the mood for this now. Stupid Londoners were always in such a big hurry about things. She picked herself up, saying something about how she was sorry before turning to look at the ticket man who was speaking to her. Beau shoved his hands into the pockets of his light colored jeans. The stupid London wind kept on blowing his bronze curls into his eyes and he had to reach a hand out to push them away. The girl turned to him and asked him if he was going on. He raised his eyebrow and then pushed himself off of the rail.

"No," he said simply in his French accented voice. Like he wanted to be stuck in a capsule with twenty five other people. Especially if they were all Londoners. This is probably why all the French people got a bad name. If they weren't so stuck up most of the time then they would actually have a good reputation about things. Beau flicked his tongue over his lips before starting to walk away. He walked away from the hustle and bustle of getting onto the London Eye, and pulled out his cell phone. With a flick he opened and pressed the second number on his speed dial. Ana's line rang and rang, for a while and he stood there waiting till her answering machine finally picked up. "Ana, it's Beau, where are you" he asked in a more than slightly annoyed voice. He turned around and looked back at the London Eye. "I've tried to call you all day, call me back," he said with a sigh, and then he closed his phone. It wasn't the first time that she had gone missing in action.

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[Ilandra Petrelli]

What seems so strong



Has been and gone

Ilandra raised her eyebrows at the harsh reply. She turned back to the ticket man and shook her head. He shrugged his thick shoulders and turned away, looking for someone else to pester. He'd probably only just realised that this blond girl wasn't going to give up lightly. Or maybe he hadn't and just couldn't be bothered to talk to her. Oh Londoners. All as stuck up their own asses as the next lot. She wasn't really one to stand for that, but she had bigger problems. Or at least a bronzed topped problem. She brushed down her coat once more, trying to disperse the mud, but to no avail. It would need a good dry cleaning. She looked up at the retreating back of the man who's foot she'd tripped over. Bloody big feet.

Ilandra had never been good at being ignored. She hadn't really been ignored by the retreating Frenchman, but it was enough that he had simply walked away. She flicked back a loose lock of blond hair and straightened the lapels of the coat. This was going to be fun. Or enjoyable. Probably more enjoyable than fun. She sighed and followed him, not really bothering on the speed. She'd catch him up after a while. The longer it took, the more space she'd have. She wasn't the tallest person, only five foot seven, so a generous height. But she wasn't wearing heels. She probably should've done. If she'd known what she was doing she would've, nice big ones. They might've taken her up to his height, but she doubted it, that was just wishful thinking.

She caught up with the Frenchman and walked infront of him, blocking his path. Her pale grey eyes looked full into his. She wasn't one to step down from a staring contest.
"I was only trying to be polite, but obviously that word isn't in your internal dictionary." She began, holding her eyecontact.
"Or maybe you've just never come across it in your country. In any case, I don't like people walking away from me, when I'm trying to be polite." She unbuttoned the coat, shrugging it off whilst still keeping his eyeline. He might not've been but she still had the line of sight.
"So you can pay for the drycleaning of my coat, seeing as it was you're large feet that I tripped over. Fairs, fair." She finished, slining the pale coat over one arm. She wasn't paying any attention to the cold any more. She stood corrected, this was fun

I would call you up every Sunday Night



And we'd stay up 'till the morning light

[beau bettencourt]

Come fly with me, lets fly lets fly away
If you can use, some exotic booze
Theres a bar in far bombay
Come fly with me, well fly well fly away

___________________________

God Beau was hungry. To bad there wasn't anything good to eat, at least in his opinion in London. He wondered if he went home his mom would make him a crepe he always messed them up when he tried to make them. When they went back to Paris each summer for a while, Beau would always eat his body weight in crepes because they never had any in London. Crepes to the French were like fish and chips to to English. The other one thought that they were completely nasty and yet the one who enjoyed them thought that they were probably the best thing on the face of the earth. Beau was dying for a crepe now as he snapped his phone shut. The last time that Ana hadn't answered her phone for so long Beau was pretty sure that she had slept with Razz Perkins. Although she hadn't denied or confirmed this when he'd confronted her about. He hadn't been mad, it seemed like every girl in the entire school had slept with him

Before he could turn around and walk back toward Hoffman, or Wimbledon. He couldn't decide whether to go home for a moment, or go back to Hoffman to work on this latest script that he had gotten. The girl who had asked him whether he was going on was in front of him. She looked pretty pissed at him and he wondered if he knew her. Her face didn't look familiar. Although these days everyone he ran to went to Hoffman and he had never seen them in his entire four years there. Beau was faintly amused at her. Key word was faintly in that sentence. He had good measure to think of some nice French curse words to spit at her. Although he sat there and waiting until she was done with her little rant. And people thought that the French were over passionate about some silly things. Unless that coat was Dior, Armani, or Diane von Furstenberg Beau hardly thought that it was worth dry cleaning.

When she started to hand it to him he reached out his hand, as if he was going to take it from her. When she started to hand it, he retracted his hand and let the jacket fall to the ground. "Why would you look at that," he said his French accent very noticeable, that the, what looked like American tourist turned to look at him. He flashed them his dazzling smile and then turned back to the girl. "I have manners. When it's not my fault I don' use them. It is a common courtesy to take responsibility for things that are your fault," he said folding his arms across his chest. The wind again blew his bronze curls into his eyes but he didn't brush them away this time. There was a loud crack of thunder over head. So this was going to turn out to be one of those London days where it actually rained and didn't just look like it was going to rain for weeks on end.

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[Ilandra Petrelli]

What seems so strong



Has been and gone

The french. Personally, Ilandra didn't have anything against the French, or France for that matter. But if she was into prejudice, she was starting to hate them. Or at least the one infront of her. She didn't really have anything against any country really. She didn't particually like the Irish, but that was just because they beat Scotland in the Rugby most of the time. And football. Ilandra was very patriotic to her country. Except its food. She wasn't a great liker of Haggis, and she was a vegetarian. It didn't really go down well with the rest of the family, who were all carnivores if there ever were any. She just didn't see the point in eating an animal that was bred for that purpose. Okay if they'd been bred for wool fine, use it as wool. She was perfectly healthy, if mildly thin, not living off other animals inerds. Just not a nice thought.

The clouds opened up, just as they did in all good stories, and emptied thier contents over the city of London. The locals pulled up thier collars to keep out the sudden downpour. Ilandra wasn't concentrating on the weather. Not any more. It was wet, she was made of 65% of what was actually falling from the sky. She wasn't exactly going to drown on the sides of the thames. Or if she was, who would really care. Actually she would. One of her fears was drowning, but no-one knew that and it was a perfectly reasonable thing to fear, was it not. A lot of people would never like to drown. It was the sort of death where you knew you were going to die and usually couldn't do anything about it. Creepy. She'd never like that, she'd panic for one reason. A great flaw of Ilandra Petrelli, she was one to panic. She'd stand knee deep in water if she was in a fight, but if the water was rising, she'd find the best way and the quickest way out. One of her great skills in life, managing to find an escape route. Usually utterly dangerous and completely stupid, but they would work. With a few scrapes and cuts. She'd once accidentally locked herself into the bathroom and found the only way out through a window, two storys up. Now that had hurt. She'd managed to get most of the way down the drainpipe before slipping and spraining a wrist. Strangely enough her father had come up and unlocked the door only to find the window open. Just slightly extreme.

The coat slipped from her hand, landing in the mud plattered ground of the plate walk. She moved her eyes from the Frenchman's face to the pile of white cloth on the ground. She raised an eyebrow. That coat had cost her back £154.50. She raised her eyes back to the fellow Hoff student, features completely blank. She raised her hand and slapped him across the cheek. A tourist, or maybe it was a local, gave her an odd look and hurried away. She carried on staring at Beau, her blond hair dripping water down her back. Now she was cold, but this was fun. She didn't mind that her hair was dripping, or that she might just start to shiver soon. She cared about her designer coay lying on the ground which he was going to pick up or she wasn't going to leave. She wasn't letting this go lightly.

I would call you up every Sunday Night



And we'd stay up 'till the morning light