(no subject)
When Elle comes at last to find her, Eden is, quite frankly, a little disappointed.
Whether that's because she had expected Elle to be better, faster, or because she's tired of the life she was living last time she saw the girl, she can't quite say. Both maybe. She's known about Elle's presence on the island for a few weeks now. Elle's never been a quiet girl and she announces her presence brassily, loud and sharp and coarse, not caring to keep her business her own. For someone who's been raised to this life, to espionage and assassination, she's not especially good at it, Eden thinks. Elle doesn't fully grasp the concept of stealth, indulging instead in pageantry. Eden knows she herself was never really meant to be a spy, that Bennet picked the wrong girl because she had the right power, but she's still better at this part, still knows to keep herself to herself.
And then, too, there's the paranoia, the perfectly fucking rational paranoia. Sylar's shown up before, tried to kill before, on this ground. That he's dead in the ground means nothing here. Eden's always waiting, always watching.
So Mr Muggles is the one who notices first, of course.
He sounds the alarm in short shrill yips, dashing to the door and hopping, half-twisting in the air, engaged in doggy gymnastics. Eden instead picks her way over to the door, slow but sleady. For a moment, she stands poised to strike, but when she opens the door at last, she elects instead to duck behind it, leaving an open doorway, empty but for that fluffball.
It's not actually the first time this has happened, Mr Muggles barking at nothing, Eden preparing for a battle that doesn't come. They both leap at shadows, claw at clouds. She's not entirely certain he isn't a little mad himself. When Elle finally creeps in, right before Eden's about to shut the door and chastise them both for fools, it's kind of a surprise.
"This is your idea of sneaking up on someone?" Eden asks, deadpan, stepping out from behind the door with brow raised. She blocks Elle's strike with a well-timed kick that just misses Elle's head, up high, sharp. Out of practice as she is, she's sure she'll feel this tomorrow, but hell, that certainty's actually a nice change of pace given what she left in Texas.
Elle's hands find her shoulders, back her up hard against the wall, but the barrage stops there, Elle staring at her with unnerving unease. "Bennet faked your death," she accuses, because it's the only conclusion she can come to. Why Elle of all people still fumbles after logic, Eden doesn't know.
"No," she says, giving the blonde a sharp shove, wresting out of her grip. "It happened. Believe me, I was there, I think I know."
"That's not your power," Elle replies, hands curling up at her sides, fingers curved in that familiar arc that will produce nothing but empty air. Eden glances from her hands to her face, eyebrow arched - really? "And that's not yours," she says, pointing to Elle's hands, "not anymore. You really haven't figured that out yet?"
Or maybe she'd been hoping Eden hadn't, lips pressing into a tight frown. "Where's Bennet hiding?"
"Hell if I know. He's gone."
"Oh, please." Elle rolls her eyes, sneers. She's a paltry villain out of a melodrama. Eden might lack the certainty of getting to go home alive, but suddenly it hits her again that she doesn't miss that life at all. "If the mutt's here and you're here, Bennet's here."
"Have it your way," Eden replies flatly. "Search the island. You won't find him. He disappeared. People do that here."
"How?"
"You already had a welcoming committee. Forgive me if I'm not prepared to play hostess."
Elle shoots her a look, crackling like lightning. It's all that's left of it, something Eden's grateful for. She doesn't want to lose another home in a fire. "Forgive me if I want to get out of here," she snaps. "If Bennet knew, why didn't he take you with him?"
"Oh, come on. This stuff isn't planned," Eden scoffs. "He didn't figure out some big secret. Besides, again, dead. Someone has explained that concept to you, right? You've killed enough people to get that, haven't you?" The barb hits its mark, just for a moment, Elle's hands curling into fists. "Your power doesn't work here," Eden continues, "you won't figure out how to get out until whatever it is wants you gone. You're stuck." She walks in closer, bold, hands hanging at her sides. Elle doesn't look ready to fight, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. "My advice? Deal with it. Once you do, it's not so bad here."
Elle shakes her head, eyes narrowed. "Some of us still have lives to get back to," she says, soft, sinister-sweet. "Shall I give Gabriel your regards when I do?"
That takes a few moments to process, Eden's face contorting in disgust when it sinks in. If anyone could play nice with the devil, it's Elle, the curve of her smile now a promise that she's as deranged as ever. "Get out."
"Touchy."
"Get out, Elle. I don't have anything you want."
Elle's gaze flickers across the room, up and down Eden's figure, her brow arching slowly. "No," she says finally, "I guess you don't. But I'll be watching you."
Eden just rolls her eyes, ushering her out and shutting the door behind her, leaning heavily against it. If anything, this place could do with less of her past, not more of it. Elle can watch all she wants, but Eden's done.
Whether that's because she had expected Elle to be better, faster, or because she's tired of the life she was living last time she saw the girl, she can't quite say. Both maybe. She's known about Elle's presence on the island for a few weeks now. Elle's never been a quiet girl and she announces her presence brassily, loud and sharp and coarse, not caring to keep her business her own. For someone who's been raised to this life, to espionage and assassination, she's not especially good at it, Eden thinks. Elle doesn't fully grasp the concept of stealth, indulging instead in pageantry. Eden knows she herself was never really meant to be a spy, that Bennet picked the wrong girl because she had the right power, but she's still better at this part, still knows to keep herself to herself.
And then, too, there's the paranoia, the perfectly fucking rational paranoia. Sylar's shown up before, tried to kill before, on this ground. That he's dead in the ground means nothing here. Eden's always waiting, always watching.
So Mr Muggles is the one who notices first, of course.
He sounds the alarm in short shrill yips, dashing to the door and hopping, half-twisting in the air, engaged in doggy gymnastics. Eden instead picks her way over to the door, slow but sleady. For a moment, she stands poised to strike, but when she opens the door at last, she elects instead to duck behind it, leaving an open doorway, empty but for that fluffball.
It's not actually the first time this has happened, Mr Muggles barking at nothing, Eden preparing for a battle that doesn't come. They both leap at shadows, claw at clouds. She's not entirely certain he isn't a little mad himself. When Elle finally creeps in, right before Eden's about to shut the door and chastise them both for fools, it's kind of a surprise.
"This is your idea of sneaking up on someone?" Eden asks, deadpan, stepping out from behind the door with brow raised. She blocks Elle's strike with a well-timed kick that just misses Elle's head, up high, sharp. Out of practice as she is, she's sure she'll feel this tomorrow, but hell, that certainty's actually a nice change of pace given what she left in Texas.
Elle's hands find her shoulders, back her up hard against the wall, but the barrage stops there, Elle staring at her with unnerving unease. "Bennet faked your death," she accuses, because it's the only conclusion she can come to. Why Elle of all people still fumbles after logic, Eden doesn't know.
"No," she says, giving the blonde a sharp shove, wresting out of her grip. "It happened. Believe me, I was there, I think I know."
"That's not your power," Elle replies, hands curling up at her sides, fingers curved in that familiar arc that will produce nothing but empty air. Eden glances from her hands to her face, eyebrow arched - really? "And that's not yours," she says, pointing to Elle's hands, "not anymore. You really haven't figured that out yet?"
Or maybe she'd been hoping Eden hadn't, lips pressing into a tight frown. "Where's Bennet hiding?"
"Hell if I know. He's gone."
"Oh, please." Elle rolls her eyes, sneers. She's a paltry villain out of a melodrama. Eden might lack the certainty of getting to go home alive, but suddenly it hits her again that she doesn't miss that life at all. "If the mutt's here and you're here, Bennet's here."
"Have it your way," Eden replies flatly. "Search the island. You won't find him. He disappeared. People do that here."
"How?"
"You already had a welcoming committee. Forgive me if I'm not prepared to play hostess."
Elle shoots her a look, crackling like lightning. It's all that's left of it, something Eden's grateful for. She doesn't want to lose another home in a fire. "Forgive me if I want to get out of here," she snaps. "If Bennet knew, why didn't he take you with him?"
"Oh, come on. This stuff isn't planned," Eden scoffs. "He didn't figure out some big secret. Besides, again, dead. Someone has explained that concept to you, right? You've killed enough people to get that, haven't you?" The barb hits its mark, just for a moment, Elle's hands curling into fists. "Your power doesn't work here," Eden continues, "you won't figure out how to get out until whatever it is wants you gone. You're stuck." She walks in closer, bold, hands hanging at her sides. Elle doesn't look ready to fight, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. "My advice? Deal with it. Once you do, it's not so bad here."
Elle shakes her head, eyes narrowed. "Some of us still have lives to get back to," she says, soft, sinister-sweet. "Shall I give Gabriel your regards when I do?"
That takes a few moments to process, Eden's face contorting in disgust when it sinks in. If anyone could play nice with the devil, it's Elle, the curve of her smile now a promise that she's as deranged as ever. "Get out."
"Touchy."
"Get out, Elle. I don't have anything you want."
Elle's gaze flickers across the room, up and down Eden's figure, her brow arching slowly. "No," she says finally, "I guess you don't. But I'll be watching you."
Eden just rolls her eyes, ushering her out and shutting the door behind her, leaning heavily against it. If anything, this place could do with less of her past, not more of it. Elle can watch all she wants, but Eden's done.