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Meredith wasn't there to read. She was still looking for a way out.

She had been all over the barge, checking every square inch for some sort of hidden door or broken wall that would allow her to escape. She recalled falling off the deck during the port, and as a result knew better than to think that leaping overboard would solve her problem. Despite having found no possible way out yet, she hadn't lost hope. The violently mad seldom feel as if their plans are a complete waste of time, even when all the evidence suggests otherwise.

She began navigating the stacks of books, unbothered by the small blonde woman looking around in the aisle she began to head down. She didn't know her, after all, and was equally unaware of the affect her physical appearance would have.

Elle glanced up from a book on applied electromagnetic radiation - booooring, even to her - and saw someone who looked an awful lot like Libby headed right for her.

"What, are we book buddies now, Florence Nightingale?" she sneered, closing the ponderous science tome with a loud snap. "You wanna start a book club?"

Meredith paused. "Excuse me?" Did this woman know her from somewhere? Was she in league with that redheaded British bitch, and all of the unknown others running the show here? In any case, it was better to err on the side of caution rather than snap, like she had with Donna. She'd had a little time to acclimate herself to this place now, and that enabled her to think her actions through more thoroughly.

"Look. I don't know what you want, but I don't have time for this."

"I want you to leave me the hell alone," Elle said, dumping the book back on the shelf without actually bothering to set it upright or find the place it was supposed to go.

A few stray sparks jumped from her palm to her fingertips, but she closed that hand into a fist, not ready to unleash her ability on the other woman just yet.

"Are you stalking me now? Like you were stalking your stupid boyfriend?" She took a couple steps forward, blocking the woman's path.

"Contrary to what you apparently believe, I didn't come here to get in your way," she replied, finding herself aggravated at the woman's first statement. The comment about her 'boyfriend', however...that genuinely stung. She assumed that this stranger was talking about Harry, the man who'd murdered her brother, the one she'd hunted for fifteen years. This woman clearly knew what was going on, and was taunting her in a particularly vicious way.

"I followed him because we had unfinished business," she said through gritted teeth. "You must already know that, not that it should be any of your concern...unless you're looking for an argument. I can provide one if that's what you want."

"Unfinished business?" Elle echoed sarcastically. "Is that what we have? 'Cause I'd be happy to finish our business."

It wasn't like she'd mind an argument. She was definitely sick of Libby picking on Peter - Elle could only imagine what had gone on during and after Sylar's dumb little 'quest,' but judging by the things Libby had said before, it had to have been pretty bad. And really, Libby needed to be put in her place once and for all.

"You know..." she said slowly, her eyebrows drawing down as she bit her lower lip. She raised one hand and flicked a tiny bright blue spark at the woman. "I've been put on a plastic-utensils-only diet, but I bet I could find a metal spoon if you were that desperate for me to finish what I started."

Edited 2009-03-18 23:12 (UTC)

"What, you're going to attack me with a spoon?" she asked incredulously. "What would you manage to do with it, aside from making yourself look like a fool?"

She shook her head, unsure of what to make of that odd threat and the little spark produced by the stranger. "So, it looks like I was right," she mused. You're one of them, she thought to herself, her mind becoming overtaken by wrathful hatred at an alarming speed. "If you want to try finishing this, that's fine by me. You're not the first bitch who's needed a lesson in not fucking with me." Her hand went up to her ever-present scarf and loosened it, once again concerned that her perceived enemy might try to strangle her with it. She didn't remove it, however, and what lay beneath stayed hidden.

Elle was beginning to get the feeling that something was up. Of course she knew about the twin phenomenon - she did have the Hallie to her Annie running around, after all.

But Libby got a twin? Either that or serious amnesia, 'cause she was pretty sure Libby had said something about hurling when she found out Elle's plans for that spoon. That wasn't something she was likely to forget.

Even if this was a twin, they were still totally having a stand-off, and Elle wasn't one to back down from a fight. That'd be weak. Elle was supposed to be strong, and now that she had her ability back she could prove just how strong she was.

"You'd be surprised what I can do with any little metal thing," Elle said, falling into a much more cheery disposition now that it was becoming apparent that this wasn't Libby. A few more sparks formed between her fingertips, dancing back and forth and casting flickering blue light on her face. "What's your name?" she asked with almost childlike curiosity, looking at the electricity instead of the woman.

"How about you give me yours, first?" Meredith asked back. "You must already know who I am, just like the first one, who wanted me to tell her his name, as if she didn't already know...unless she really was mistaking me..." She cleared her thoughts with a blink; it didn't matter what the circumstances had been. Donna had deserved it for jerking her around, regardless of what reason she might have had. "I'd like to know the name of the next person I need to take care of."

In response to the continued little electrical show, Meredith pulled off her scarf and set it on one of the shelves surrounding them. The large, twisted scar from her failed suicide attempt was laid bare, and her legs tensed a little in preparation, just to be safe.

"What did you do?" Elle asked, trying to appear blase. But she loved watching people squirm and she'd love to know what that scar was all about and of she could use it to make this lady squirm. A good story that she could use as leverage, maybe, or just a physically sore spot. Whichever. Other people's scars were fun.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked, tossing another spark at the woman's bare neck, just to see what her reaction would be.

"I tried to kill myself," she snapped. "Cut my own throat, but I didn't die. What else does it look like?" Her aggravation with this woman continued its uphill climb.

She flinched instinctively away from the spark, a simple knee-jerk reaction, but the little display itself didn't frighten her. She'd seen much stranger things in her life...so many strange, genuinely terrifying things...

"And no, it doesn't hurt...not now, even after I cut through it again. I must have succeeded that time, which would be fine if I'd ended up where I should be. My work is finished, I've kept my promise, and I don't appreciate being caged like a rat here, alone." She smirked. "So if you're one of the people running the Good Ship Alcatraz, I suggest you tell the rest of your friends to quit the fucking games and let me go."

"Running?" Elle scoffed. "I'm not running this place. I wanna get out."

Had she found an ally in crazy throat-slitting lady? Probably not. If Peter couldn't get her out, what was the chance some suicidal nutjob could?

The first thing Armand noticed when he entered the library was that there far more books than he'd expected. The second thing, however, was that he heard voices. Ladies voices. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but at first they'd seemed a bit heated.

They were calmer now, but you never knew with ladies. He'd only come to see the library. He loved reading.

Treading softly, he wandered among the stacks, looking for them. Ah. There. "Ladies, do you need any help?"

Meredith wasn't sure of how to answer this strangely-clothed man. No, she didn't want him interfering in this fight...yes, she wanted help finding her brother. The completely opposite desires left her verbally poleaxed and unable to speak for several moments.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" she finally managed to ask, casually bringing a hand up by the side of her neck as if pondering this question intently. In reality, she was merely hiding the scar there from his view.

Elle glanced up at the newcomer, immediately extinguishing the electricity. He was pretty.

"I might need a book all the way up on the top shelf," she said in her best impersonation of a damsel in distress, cocking her head and leaning on the bookshelf. She could definitely have some fun with this one. But she remained tense, aware that there was also a potential enemy only a few feet away.

Armand gave the ladies his best smile, the one he'd used on his sister's theatrical friends back in Paris. And he bowed. Habit. "I'm Armand St. Just. I hope I'm not intruding."

The blond girl's request prompted him to look around for a stool. As he placed it near where she was pointing. "Which book, mademoiselle?" He glanced back nervously at the older lady and hastily added, "As soon as I do this, I can leave you both in peace if you wish." He stepped up onto the stool, ready to pull down whichever book was needed.

"Not at all, Mr. St. Just," she insisted. "You're more than welcome to join us." She casually plucked her scarf from the shelf with her free hand and wound it back around her neck. This man clearly wasn't looking for a fight, and his mere presence might allow her to learn more about the cocky little blonde girl. For example...

"I was just having a chat with my new friend here, ah..." she continued, before assuming an expression of embarrassment. "I'm sorry, we've only just met, and I can't even recall your name," she said to Elle, as if feeling guilty for the supposed mistake.

"That one," Elle said, pointing at a random book that she couldn't quite make out the title of. It didn't matter which one he got, she just wanted to watch him doing it.

More specifically, she wanted to give him a surprise shock when his back was turned, just to see how he'd react to that.

"Golly, you look so competent up on that ladder." She stepped towards the boy - Armand, was it? - and idly ran her hand across his calf.

Oh, the woman had asked her something, hadn't she? She'd suddenly gone from interesting to a nuisance, and while Elle would stay on her guard, she'd rather ignore the potential threat and focus on the potential fun.

"It's Elle," she answered vaguely.

When Armand turned to reach the book she'd pointed to, just at the edge of his reach to the side, he felt her hand on his calf. And squeaked. A very embarrassing noise to be sure, but he'd not been inoculated against such behavior. Young ladies in his time didn't act that way, unless they were whores or had no morals.

He wobbled, but didn't fall. "Watch that, Mlle. Elle." Saying that made him giggle. 'Elle' meant 'she' in French. Well, whatever else this girl was, she was most definitely female. He snagged the book in question.

"Did you need anything, mademoiselle?" he asked the other lady before he climbed down. "Tis easier while I'm at it, as you see."

Meredith smiled vaguely and shook her head. "No, thank you," she said, "and I'm just a little too old to be a mademoiselle...although I'm flattered." The next logical step would be to introduce herself, but if she really looked enough like someone else here to be continuously mistaken for them, she didn't was to spoil that advantage by giving her real name out for anyone to look into. She searched for a name, and had to bite her tongue to keep from bursting into laughter once she'd decided.

"You can just call me Harriet," she offered. "Harriet Siegal. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Elle tucked the name Harriet Siegal away for future reference, but her attention was still on Armand. Squeaking, giggling, that little klutzy thing he did with his feet... he was adorable.

Nothing serious. She had a boyfriend. She didn't want to make Peter upset. But she could still play a little.

She sent a jolt of electricity racing up Armand's leg - nothing damaging, of course, because of the stupid restrictions in this place - but maybe he'd fall down. Or maybe he'd surprise her, who knew?

"As you wish, Mme Seigal." Armand had one hand on a shelf, to steady himself because Elle had not removed her hand from his leg. The words were on his lips, to tell her he was married and shouldn't be being touched by lovely young women, when he felt the shock. He dropped the book with a thud.

The hand on the shelf is the only thing that kept him from toppling down after it. He fell against the range of shelves with a cry of surprise and pain. No. this wasn't the worst pain ever, but he wasn't used to being hurt. His leg muscles tried to spasm and cramp, confused by the electricity. He bit his lip hard, sweating breaking out on his forehead. He didn't dare move back from the shelves now and leaned against them, trembling a little.

"What... was that?"

Meredith had watched Elle's display of flirtation with mild disgust. She was acting like a bimbo, and Meredith assumed that she'd never been able to commit to any one person in her life. Then again the person thinking that had committed to only her dead brother for fifteen years, so she really wasn't equipped to make that assessment.

"That was the young mademoiselle, messing with you. Isn't she a charmer?" she answered him, rolling her eyes at Elle.

He didn't fall. Neat. He was more agile than he looked.

Elle shrugged, flashing Armand her innocent look and big blue eyes but keeping one hand pressed firmly to his leg. "Sorry, I have trouble controlling it sometimes. It's a reaction. You get that, right?"

Her attention turned to Old Lady Siegal as she raised her eyebrows, the innocent look dropping away. "Hey, what was it you were saying about 'taking care of me,' or something?"

Armand swallowed several times before he felt steady enough to push away from the shelf. The entire range swayed dangerously from his weight. "Apology accepted," he said. He still felt too flustered to converse normally. And Elle still had her hand on his leg.

"I need my leg back, mademoiselle." He glanced back over his shoulder, trying to plead with his eyes for the older lady to intervene. He wasn't about to kick Elle or anything to get her to let go of him.

She met Armand's eyes, and read the plea for help there. "Yes, on that subject...I'm afraid I'll have to take care of you right now," Meredith said with a little smile. "Come now, it's time to stop sexually harassing Mr. St. Just." She knocked against Elle's hand to free the Frenchman's leg, careful not to actually grab her hand let the light show continue.

"Do you need help getting down?" she asked Armand, glancing up at him.

"Oh, I thought you meant something else," Elle responded, all of her attention on the woman now. Her hand fell away from Armand's leg when it was knocked, but she immediately put it back, idly running it up and down his calf.

"You said something about me being a bitch, and I had to learn not to fuck with you?" She said it like the bad words were ones she barely knew. "It kinda sounded like a threat."

Armand started to answer Meredith, but then squeaked again when the hand came right back. "Stop it!" he snapped at Elle, though his voice was still ridiculously high and far from commanding. "No threats, no touching..." He held onto the shelves grimly, trying to think dire, unpleasant thoughts instead of about the hand on his leg. This had the opposite effect of what he meant to do, and he blushed again.

"I'm a married man," he added, his tone almost pleading.

"That's enough," Meredith finally spat, seizing her opportunity by placing her hands on Elle's shoulders and pretending to attempt shoving her away. She leaned in, as if following through on the push, and whispered rapidly, barely pausing between words: "Tell me who you thought I was and I'll drop the fight. We'll find a way off." She hoped Elle would agree, because after learning that she wasn't one of the ones keeping her prisoner, she didn't really care to waste her time on a pointless fight. She needed allies, and she needed a way out.

She finished by shoving Elle weakly, hoping that she'd take the hint and make it look real.

So Harriet wanted to be friends? Elle didn't trust people who played nice. And she didn't want an ally, she wanted to have fun.

But she made the shove look real anyway, stumbling back a few feet and sparking up, both hands curling around crackling balls of light. "Watch who you're shoving," she sneered.

Her gaze turned to Armand. "She assaulted me. You saw that, right? I wasn't doing anything to her!"

Armand took his chance and his courage with both hands, and jumped off the stool. He landed awkwardly, but between the two ladies. "No fighting," he admonished, trying to sound stern. "This is a place for quiet and respect, not brawling."

He ducked his chin and tried to give the older lady a brief, thankful smile. Then he turned fully to face Elle. "Mlle. Elle, you should keep your hands to yourself if you don't want accidents."