Mohinder arrives at his apartment. He just witnessed a lot of odd looks come his way, but can not understand for what reason. He walks into the bathroom and looks in the mirror, seeing that every single visage was justifiable. There were doodles covering his face. A heart unde either of his eyes, long cartoonish eyelash lines above them, and 'FUNNY' was written on his forehead in large, striking letters. How could he have let this happen to himself? He turns on the sink and begins to scrub, halfheartedly.
- - -
The next day, Mohinder comes to work to find the same desk awaiting him to sit down at, the same pile of books waiting to be reread. The dar drags on again, and as much as he tries to avoid it, Mohinder begins to drift off into sleep. H wakes up earlier than normal to the sound of the shop door slamming shut and his name being called.
"Suresh" the voice says. Mohinder looks up to see Peter staning in front of the desk. "Suresh" Peter says in that, very eerie, monotoned voice, as Mohinder starts to sit up.
"Yes? What is it?" he asks
"Did you talk that journalist about Nathan?" Peter asks with a look in his eye that tells Mohinder that je already knows the answer. "Did you?"
"Yes." Mohinder replies, trying to give the response a hint of defiance, btu instead it sounds like a mixture of being threatened and submissiveness. "But I didn't tell him any information."
"Did you tell him to call me?" Peter questiones, looking skeptical.
"No. I didn't, I swear. It was on his own decesion."
"Fine. But I had better not find out you are just telling me what I want to hear." Peter says after a short pause.
"You have my word." Mohinder offers, but it doesn't seem to be enough. Peter glares at him for another few seconds, then leaves the dismal shop. Mohinder looks at the clock. Still and hour and a half until closing time, but he considers leaving early. Thinking twice, he changes his mind, not wanting to give the store owner another reason to fire him, should he find out. Mohinder buries his face in his palms and waits for the minutes to pass.
"So, Mr. Nakamura," Amelia says with a bright smile, looking at him through the mirror of her make-shift vanity table. "Tell me something about you. Something that no one else has heard before! Mind, it doesn't have to be a secret or anything...Just something fascinating; something you'd ordinarily want to bring with you to your grave."
"Uh..." Hiro stutters, trying to think of anything to say at all.
"Mr. Nakamura, what do you think of this expression?" she askes, then moves her pupils to the corner of her eyes and smiles all-knowingly. Hiro examines the expression through the reflective glass.
"Uh...pretty...?" he says. She loooks at him and smiles.
"Oh thank you," she says with a standing up and facing him. "You're so clever, you know." she says, then gives Hiro a quick kiss on the cheek. "Come with me, Hiro. We'll find something to eat."
"Oh, ok..." Hiro says not knowing what else hw could do. They walk outside and begin to wander through a maze of tents.
"Hiro, you mist be my best friend. In fact, you are my only friend." she says. "I've known you for all of about half of an hour, but how ong does it take, right? Best friends are destined! Nothing will take you away from me!" She smiles at him. He tries to force one back. How long will he be here? Will his power ever come back? Should he hang around with this girl, or should he go? The smell of chicken cooking drifts toward them. No need to leave right away.
They arrive at a small clearing in the tent forest where the food is being cooked. Some of the other performers were lining up to be served. Some were dressed as warriors, several were nobles. There was also a group in gold leotards.
"They're in intermission. They're putting on Macbeth." Amelia explains. She points to the men and women in the leotards. "Those are our acrobats. They close the show." She lookes around the whispers into Hiro's ear. "Between you and I, they aren't very good." Three women dressed as witches walk by. One stops in front of Hiro and Amelia.
"Amelia! How are you, dear?" She sais looking back and forth and Amelia and Hiro.
"Kerishma, I am perfectly well. And yourself?" Amelia asks.
"Abominable, thanks. But, I knew I smelt new blood in the field. Who is your new friend here?" Kerishma asks. Hiro recoils at this slightly, thinking perhaps she may have been a real witch. But, if she was, it wouldn't be much a difference from himself.
"This is Hiro Nakamura. Mr. Nakamura, this is Kerishma." Amelia says and Kerishma smiles.
"Pleasure." she says, reaching out a hand to shake Hiro's, but he bows instead.. She smiles at Amelia. "Well, friends, if you'd like carrot sticks, just follow me." she walks away, and looks behind her, seeing they are not following, she waves goodbye.
"Kerishma is a vegetarian, you see. It's just bonkers if you ask me, but well...Kerishma is probably the smartest person in our company, so she wuld know best. Maybe I'd best become a vegetarian..." Amelia says. They get on line and the smell of chicken becomes stronger. "Perhaps not." She says with a smile.
They stand on the line for several minutes until they get to the fromnt where an ogre-like man is cooking the chicken on a giant barbecue.
"Load us up, Mr. Troll!" Amelia tells the ogre-man with a wide brilliant smile. He gives them each two pieces. "That's all?" Amelia asks in mock astonishment, "I thought you knew me better, Mr. Troll!"
"Sorry, love." He smiles and gives her two more pieces.
"Thanks!" Amelia says and she and Hiro sit down with the other performers at a long table. "His name is actually not Mr. Troll at all, but it is Jeremiah. Everyone calls him Mr. Troll." Hiro nods, accepting this explanation. They eat some of the chicken.
"He cooks very well." Hiro says.
"Yes, he does." Amelia agrees polishing off her second piece.
"Looks like Amelia's at it again!" a man shouts from down the table. A few other peformers laugh. Amelia glowers at them.
"They think the fact that I eat a lot is humorous, but, really, it isn't!" she tells Hiro, saying the last two words loudly. "They just don't understand me, though." she says putting down her half eaten third piece of chicken, and staring at the her palms under the table. After, a short pause, she looks up at Hiro with a worried expression and starts talking quickly. "I mean, tehy don't understand that I"m all bone and muscle. Also, I dance a lot, everyday. Of course I eat a lot! Why is that so funny?" Hiro looks at her.
"It's okay. I am sure they are only kidding." he reassures her.
"Yes. Yes, you're probably right." she says with a quick smile. "I'm not hungry anymore." she stands up. "Are you done?" Hiro nods and stands up too. They walk back to Amelia's tent.
Peter arrives back home after having set Mohinder straight. He takes off his coat and openes the refrigirator door. It is empty save for expired milk and cold pizza. He shuts the door and the phone rings. He amswers it with an indifferent hello.
"Mr. Petrelli?" says the voice across the line
"Yeah...are you that guy from the newspaper?" Peter asks recognizing the mysterious, enigmatic voice.
"Yes, my name is Victor Angoissant." he says.
"What do you want now?"
"It hasn't got to do with your brother's obituary."
"Well, then what?"
"Well, you see, you sounded pretty upset about your brother's death. I just got the feeling that you desperately wanted, needed a few more minutes with him." Victor says. "I know how to help you. You've heard of clairvoyents, haven't you? People who can speak with those who are gone. Most of them, are, in fact, charlatans but, there are those who are true. I, Mr. Petrelli, carry this power. I can help you talk to your brother."
"Really?" Peter says unconvinved. "And how can I believe you?"
"Why shouldn't you? Don't you think that perhaps some people, not many, but some are, indeed, gifted with outlandish powers?" Victor replies. At this, Peter says nothing. Victor has a power too.
"Why are you coming to me with all this?" Peter asks him. The griever, ordinarily, was supposed to seek out the medium. Not the other way around.
"Well, Mr. Petrelli, my prices are not something the average person can afford. I don't get the chance to utilize my gift very often. Also, my job writing obituaries, to be frank, as much pleasure as I get out of it, it isn't very good in regards to salary. You, being related to a Senator, should have access to all kinds of opulence, or at least you should now." Victor says with an evil guffaw. Peter pauses.
"When can we meet?" Peter asks.
"As soon as possible...Tomorrow at midnight, Central Park."
"I'll be there." Peter says and hangs up the phone.