WE ARE NOWHERE

[elle]

"His name is Peter Petrelli." Elle Bishop reached into the pocket of her jacket and held up a picture of the man she was looking for, her eyes on the Irishman's in front of her, searching for any spark of recognition. After a slight pause - one that was quite revealing, and one that Elle needed no special training to know was suspicious - the pub owner shook his head, looking right back at her without wavering. "Never seen him before." A small grin tugged at the corner of Elle's mouth. "Never seen him before," she repeated, stressing the first word in the sentence. Another straightforward answer from the man - "No." - and Elle offered him a friendly smile. It was amazing, how well she could fake one. "Cool. Thanks." She turned around, tucked the picture of Peter back into her pocket. But she wasn't about to leave empty-handed, without accomplishing anything. That just wouldn't do.

Furrowing her brow, Elle turned around again to face the man who was obviously withholding information. "The thing is," she started again, taking a step toward him. "I talked to a few people from the docks." Her head tilted to the side slightly, her blue eyes scrutinizing. "They said they saw him in here." She crossed her arms, made an attempt at looking politely confused. A third time, the pub owner denied her, and Elle was becoming quite frustrated. "I don't know what to tell you," he said. "Hmm," Elle continued. "So either you're lying-" There was a small grin on her face. "-or all those other people are lying. It's just kinda hard to tell who's lying, you know?" By the end of the sentence the grin had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, leaving her looking quite humorless, and removing any of the humble curiosity she had feigned beforehand.

The man took a few steps forward, closing the distance between the two and standing far too close for Elle's taste. "Like I said. I don't know this Peter. That it now?" Elle clenched her jaw before replying, raising her eyebrows and standing in front of the considerably bigger person quite unflinchingly. "I guess so," was her reply, a hint of annoyance obvious in her tone. She turned, as if finally leaving the place. "Sorry I couldn't be more help," the man said from behind her, and Elle glanced out the glass pane in the door. She couldn't see anyone immediately outside the pub, and her quick search was quite good enough for her. She had never been shy about the things she did, anyway. "Yeah," she said after a few second's pause, before turning the lock. "So am I." A small bit of energy gathered inside of her, slid through her body and to her fingertips, and a small bold of hot blue electricity escaped her fingers, welding the lock so that it couldn't be turned again.

She knew she shouldn't have been doing this, shouldn't have been making a mess. It was her job to find Peter Petrelli and that was it, but she couldn't push down the frustration and anger at this man inside of her. That anger only fueled the tingling warmth that was rapidly growing inside of her, and when she turned around the warmth was in her hand again. This time, instead of a small shock of energy, this was an entire ball of electricity. An utterly calm and collected look her on face, - despite the punishment she knew she'd have to endure when all was said and done - she threw the ball of electricity at the uncooperative Irishman, with every intention of killing him. But before she could see it hit, before she could smell the burning flesh and hear him scream, the pub around her was gone.

Her eyes widened and electricity appeared in both of her hands as her adrenaline pumped. Had she been grabbed by a teleporter? She spun around quickly, almost losing her balance, but could see no one. Maybe the teleporter had dropped her and left immediately after. She had felt no hands on her, though. And where the hell was she?

The room she stood in was round, hardly furnished. There were a few chairs here and there, and off to the side was what looked like a trap door. Taking a few cautious steps, her hands still slightly raised and pulsing with blue bolts of electricity, she looked out one of the many windows. It only took her a moment to realize where she was, and the blue waves of an unfamiliar ocean gave it away. A lighthouse. She saw a quaint town in the distance, and beyond that, wilderness. And she had no idea where she was. She felt despair for only a moment, but it was quickly replaced by anger, and she turned around and kicked the nearest chair. "SHIT," she yelled, clenching her fists. She stood still, closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, calmed the current flowing through her body. Her father would be so angry with her. And how was she going to find her way back to New York? Her movements jerky and her mind still spinning, Elle walked over to the fallen chair and picked it up before falling into it. "Sorry, Daddy," she said aloud, her voice low and defeated.