Elle Bishop (making_sparks) wrote in genomeproject, @ 2008-04-08 21:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | elle bishop, narrative |
What became of Elle? [Narrative]
[More or less covering the immediate events following Elle's extraction from the Petrelli home.]
Elle hadn't spoken in over a month; not since she'd woke up in the passanger seat of Noah Bennet's car with a voice that sounded like Eden's ringing in her ears. She'd done plenty of talking then, demanding to know how she'd gotten there, how much time had passed, what had happened to Andre and the Petrellis and her father. After that, Elle hadn't said a thing. She'd screamed and cried and made all manner of noises, but none of them were words.
He'd left her alone in the car while she melted his dashboard, surveying the wreckage of Hartsdale and wondering if Petrelli's timeframe had taken into account the hysterics of the recently orphaned child. She emerged in a cloud of smoke that smelled like burned plastic and a bill to be placed on someone's desk in the morning. Bennet knew what she was, the thing she'd been hammered into. Somewhere within that slight, blond figure was a child seeking comfort in the only way she knew how. The paternal side of him wanted to wrap that child in his arms and let her weep. Thankfully, the practical side of him was enough in control to see that, while something inside of her might be vulnerable, there were extra-thick walls of trauma, psychosis, and rage seperating him from her, and every one of them was electrified. So Bennet kept his hands to himself.
She hadn't even glanced at him, though she looked in his direction, getting her bleary-eyed bearings on the shattered foundations of the facility that had been her home for sixteen years. The worst of the debris had been cleared away, and it wasn't more than three minutes before Elle had melted the massive steal beam blocking the delapidated entrance to the underground levels in two. Bennet followed, watching as she blew the faces off defunct security panels and shocked dead circuitry into life. In those bunkers and vaults, no doubt designed to withstand an attack such as Adam's, she found boxes of paperwork, data disks, and all other manners of items. They brought them back to the surface, where Elle obliterated one pile, and left the other for him to load into the trunk of the still-smoking car.
It took a total of thirty minutes. Elle spent the other fifteen finding the remaints of her room, half-collapsed under twisted metal and mostly exposed to the elements. She took few of the surviving items; some pictures, an iPod with a screen cracked by the piping that had landed on it, one or two articles of clothing and jewelry, a stuffed alligator, and a shoebox removed from beneath part of the flooring that had remained unburied and in-tact. When she was finished, she climbed back into the car, and listened to the miles fly by as Bennet drove back to Kirby Plaza with the windows rolled down.