Finding Claude

So as you've heard, I found Claude. Actually he found me. I was just checking into a new place when I heard a familiar voice out of nowhere.
"Tarot! What the bloody blue blazes are you doing here?!?"

I looked where I'd heard the voice but saw no one and Clyde the pigeon went nuts. I forced myself to remain calm and to not immediately jump on Claude, as I'd know his voice anywhere and I knew it had to be him. "I've been looking for you everywhere!" I said, trying not to yell.

"No kiddin'. Some wankers found me but I gave them the slip. Now what am I gonna do with you?" And then I felt Claude's hand on my arm, guiding me away from the crowds into another room. Once we were alone he went visible. I was glad to actually see him, but he looked like he'd been through something rough, more so than usual.

"Are you OK?"I asked, worried.

"No. Bloody fridge in my room is empty and my stash of gin is runnin' low too." Then he added "I 'ad a run in with some uninvited guests and you lookin' for me hasn't helped, either."

"I was worried about you. Something isn't right. Things have gotten more dangerous."

"Understatement of the century."

"It's not the Company, it's worse. I saw it in my visions. I think the government is involved."

"Well that explains the blackops run in I had. You really need to be more discreet. Come wi' me." And he led me to where he was staying. Then he had me sit in a chair and he tied me up with some rope even though I said several times that I wasn't going anywhere now that I'd managed to find him again. "Hush. I need to think." He said. So I sat quietly and tried not to distract him. He grabbed some bottles and began to drain them, occasionally muttering to himself. The rope didn't hurt. It was some kind of nylon like stuff, soft with no hard sliver like bits. It was kinda like the rope I'd accidentally hung myself with only softer. I couldn't have gone anywhere even if I'd wanted too. Claude certainly knows his knots though I doubt any villains would have secured me in such a way that it wasn't painful. Claude continued to drink and talk to himself until all the bottles were empty, and then he went to this laptop. It was a different one from the one I'd seen him using last. I remember him saying something to me along the lines of "you're off your trolley," and shaking his head. Then he untied me and told me we were going out but I was not to drink at all.

"Do you want me to read my cards?'

"Absolutely not! I want you to distract the mar-other customers not attract those wankers in black. And no drinkin'! I mean it." Then Claude saw fit to go through my luggage. "Good no fake beards." Then he said, "Smashing! Put this dress and cap on, and these stockings, and some make up too, that ought to work."

I took the white scrub dress and nurses cap as well as a pair of fishnet tights, figuring that Claude wanted me to distract some guys at wherever we were headed. "What if some one tries to buy me a drink?"

"Turn 'em down. Tell 'em you're on meds and can't take anything. Probably be spiked anyway. I'll be right nearby, not that you'll see me and I'll grab any drinks they try to give you."

So I got dressed as Claude had indicated and we went out. I'll let him tell you about where we went as I'm sure he can give you a better account. Only reason I'm able to blog at all is because when we finally got back, Claude just passed out on one of the beds and didn't take the time to tie me up again. I don't care if he does tie me up again, I'm just glad to have found him.

How Best to Utilize this Momentary Lull in Forward-Moving Activity

At the moment when our paths last separated, you may recall that I, a mere mortal of this Earth, a denizen of its ordinary unsplendor, obtained superhuman powers beyond anything you could imagine. However, just as Oedipus's ascension to the thrown, there were grave, eye-gouging consequences. Certainly I may still have the eyes in my head, but those who witnessed me, the abomination that had become me, most assuredly desired no lesser fate than the one Oedipus delivered upon himself.


I was indeed hideous. Kirstie Alley would have been a welcome sight for those unfortunate souls gazing upon my scaly excuse for a body.

Thankfully, however, it was not my destiny to forever stay a monster. In fact, just as I had first postulated, my destiny lied in trapping unsuspecting females in my web of manly allure. Countless years spent as a geneticist/taxi driver hindered my romantic endeavors. But the new, improved me, rendered far more perfect in every which manner, is definitely an object to be desired.

Desired, perhaps, a bit too much.


I soon found myself the proprietary property of a clandestine governmental organization, led, mysteriously-so, by the mysterious man in horn-rimmed glasses known as Noah Bennet.

Yet is it my destiny, is it God the Cockroach's will, that I be detained and locked away for eternity, to allow such an ingenious encephalon to waste away inside my unconscious skull in the bowels of an arbitrarily numbered building?

Apparently it is not. Hiro Nakamura saved me from such an ill-fated destiny.

As my fate reversed, another's came to a fiery end.

Are we not all marshmallows roasting in the hot flame of destiny?

It seems now destiny has brought me an overflow of unused time, spare instances to be done with as deemed fit by me. With Sylar dead and the US government no longer intent on incarcerating me, what am I to do? Dare I go back into the shadows of my father's research, toiling away for hours without concern for my own desires? Is the life of a learned scholar my destiny once again? Or is it that of a self-absorbed playboy, flaunting my exotic charm and newly-acquired pectorals at Honduran harpies?

Or perhaps my fate lies elsewhere even still? Perhaps I have a destiny in this very cyber-reality in which you're now reading this?

I only recently joined the fast-growing craze known as "Twitter". In all my years spent researching genetics, studying at posh Indian universities, driving New Yorkers around in taxis and watching MTV, not ever have I come across a bigger time-waster. And is it coincidence, or perhaps something greater, that I now have an abundance of that very resource which to squander frivolously?

Is it not your destiny to become one of my Tweeps?

@hornedrims ur glasses LOL!!

Claude Rains (with a new Account)

No, It's really me this time and not Tarot gone drunk and crazier than usual with a glued on fake beard trying to impersonate me. Seein' as Tarot has seen fit to raise a right fuss lookin' for meand all, as well as my recent uninvited guests showin' up, it's not safe to use my old account, so I got a new account set up. I'd have used Tarot's but her blog is just too bloody pink. I think I could drink a whole bottle of gin and it would still be too pink. That and they probably have a trace on it. Why no one has caught Tarot yet puzzles me but goin' through my stash 'ere last night, after tyin- I mean making sure Tarot was safe did give me time to think, and I reckon that maybe it's part o' Tarot's gift, 'er not gettin' caught and all. I'd managed a good haul, before I ran into Tarot again, plenty of alcohol and even more cash. Anyway, as you lot 'ave no doubt noticed, I've been busy, really busy. Too busy to blog, in fact. On top of nicking things and findin' new drinks, I had to save this bloke, Lee, and never you mind why. I don't care how drunk I am, not gonna get that one outta me. Not gonna tell you he's supposed to marry my- never mind. Now, on top of all that, it seems I have to babysit the anorak seer. On the plus side, Tarot's gift should come in 'andy, provided I can keep 'er outta trouble. The rope I boun- made her comfortable with should do for now, at least while I try to blog.

What I will tell you lot, is where I'm not. I am no where near this thing:

No, really, I'm not. I know Daphne Millbrook had told Tarot I

was there but she was mistaken. I was gonna hide in there but some bloke in a brown

pinstripe suit threw me out. Woulda been a cool hideout too, lot more space in there than you'd think. Loads more. Coulda made my own pub and had a good stash of other stuff there, too. I'd have

gone after the bloke that threw me

out but as soon as the doors closed there was a loud groanin' noise and it vanished. No, it's not the drink talkin', I mean it. I needed a drink after seein' that! Why you starin' at the screen like that for? What you never saw somethin' strange enough that you needed a drink? You're reading a blog written by a man who can vanish at will and you 'ave trouble believing in blue boxes that are bigger on the inside and vanish? Well, it's your problem, not mine. I bloody know what I saw and 'eard.

I also just got word that my ex-coworker is lookin' to redeem himself. Also noticed him shootin' me and leavin' me for dead didn't seem to be on his list for making up for past mistakes. Him taserin' me wasn't there either. Doesn't surprise me. I'd never trust 'im again, even if 'e was sincere and 'adn't left all that off, but if I thought that I could get a free drink out o' 'im and a good laugh in the process, it might have been worth lettin' 'im think 'e could patch things up. Then again I could always just nick a gun and a taser and shoot 'im a few times, I owe 'im at least that much. Could nick my own drinks, too. The sodding wanker. Not worth the effort and I don't plan on crossing the Pond again any time soon. Better beer over here anyway. 'Course most beer can beat the near-beer Peter had at 'is flat, and rubbish though it was, it was better than nothing. "Save water, drink beer!" that's what I say. Or was it "Save me a beer, and I'll save the world?" No that's not it. "Choose your ale?" Not it either. I had it writ down somewhere here in my 'otel ro- well where I'm stayin' any way. And no, I'm not gonna tell you lot where I am. Not that drunk, not yet, any way. Still more pubs to hit tonight in Lon- well in town anyway. I'd better go hit the pubs again. Getting sloppy and I'm startin' to sound like Spoon Fed not to mention I don't feel like bein' sober any time soon and I've completely drained my stash.

Dunno what I'm gonna do with Tarot, when I leave to go hit the pubs, though. If I leave 'er here alone she might get into trouble. But I really don't want 'er gettin' anywhere near alcohol, not after what 'appened last time. While 'avin' a decoy can be useful, especially with some of the crap I 'ad to deal with just recently, I really don't wanna press my luck and I think everyone is safer if the daft fortuneteller is with me. I suppose I'll 'ave to take 'er with me, though now that I think about it, she could be useful and distract the crowds while I work. So long as she doesn't draw their attention with 'er gift, we should be fine. And by them I don't mean the marks, the other patrons. I mean my unwelcome visitors and whoever sent them. I guess I'll 'ave to try takin' Tarot along. I'll let you lot know how it goes.

Redemption Song

My name is Noah. Yeah, that's right. You can all call me Noah. It's part of "my becoming a new me" thing. I'm working on being less mysterious, and I've created a list of all the bad things I've done and plan to make up for them.

Number seventy-two on the list: neglected my blogging duties.

It's true. I normally blog from work (I get paid hourly). However, since Primatech recently blowed up, I haven't had a dull office to sit in for eight hours a day. Still, that's no excuse.

So, to make it up to you all, I've decided to blog from home, on my own time. I'm not even getting paid for it! And yet here I go, typing away. I could be spending this time doing something that makes me truly happy, like shooting people or kidnapping or watching Battlestar Galactica. But instead I'm typing a blog post.

So, there. Enjoy.

Hmm...yeah, okay. So, I guess one post doesn't quite make up for it. Fine. I'll write more, but after I find out who the final five Cylons are. Promise.