Participants:
| Scene Title | God Touch |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | When Maya brings Abby breakfast, God is remembered in a house of sin. |
| Date | February 11, 2009 |
The Happy Dagger: Basement Room
It's a bedroom, for all intents and purposes. There's even a window, although it's high up on the wall, and barred with grill and glass. Should someone peek, they'll only see dirty alley way and the flat, nondescript backdrop of a separate building beyond that. The room itself is bleak, if comfortable. The walls are cement and unpainted, the floor cheaply carpeted and the bed adequately dressed, a single thing pushed into the corner of the room. An empty book case gapes from the opposite wall, and a heavy oak trunk, something of an antique and actual worth, rests next to it, previously empty but now filled with at least most of the room occupant's belongings.
Two doors after that, one that stays locked and leads to out, wherever out is, and the other torn off its hinges to reveal a very basic, slightly rundown bathroom. But it works, hot water running at will, a working toilet, partially cracked mirror moderately clean, and towels and bare necessities provided.
It's designed for existing. But not much more than that.
It's been a week. Five very long days since Abby was hauled down here against her will. What she saw on the way was a daytime view of a whorehouse - mostly empty, bar closed down, the stage lights switched off, but it was at the very least a strip club. Down, down a stairwell into basement-level tenements, and into this room.
And there she stayed.
Not for the first time, she's about to get company. Footsteps echo down the hallway outside of her doorway, and after a moment, there's the awkward scrape of a key in a lock. The door parts, although whoever is on the other side doesn't enter right away. Knuckles knock against the door, out of politeness, and a feminine voice calls out, "Buenos dias, chica?"
"I'm decent" Comes the high strung southern lilt to her spanish one. She is, clean, neat, tidy. The room saw some cleaning in the time that Abigail's been down here. It's a fishbowl as to who comes to her door with food and whatever. Some are nice, others aren't. Sounds like this one might be nice. Brothels. Cathouse. She's being kept in a house of ill repute. The irony is not lost on her at all. She's parked on the oak truck, arms loose around her knee's, feet bare and hair wet from her recent shower. THe little gold cross put back on lays at the hollow of her throat.
Her guest enters, a new face but not a woman unlike the others who have tended to her. She wears a silken black nightgown of some kind, one that stops halfway down long, tanned legs, feet bare against the cold ground, and over that, a warmer, far less sophisticated zipper-opened sweater, navy blue. Her black hair has been brushed into immaculate waves, and she wears minimal makeup - or makeup that's since faded from the previous night, her eyes dark. "Good morning," she repeats, translates, her voice heavily accented, and she looks Abby over. The door stays partially open, trusting the girl not to run away - or to not get far should she try. In her hands, a tray, and on the tray, a plate of breakfast. Buttered fruit-toast, a few slices of apple, a glass of juice. "Are you hungry?"
"Being aprisoner somewhat kills ones appetite" Abigail points out to her visitor as an answer to the question. She can handle the nightgown and the sweater. A few had come in wearing less and too far too much fun in the color of Abby's cheek and her uncomfortablness with their states of dress. The door gets a look but no more than that. She knows she won't get far so she doesn't even try. ahsn't tried since she's been brought here. Abigail remains perched on the trunk, back flush with the wall. "Thank you for bringing it anyways" She eats enough to keep a bird alive. More out of fear that it's drugged than lack of appetite.
"Ah, well." Maya moves on over anyway, setting the tray down onto the trunk with Abby. At a closer vicinity, strong perfume makes itself obvious. Lavender. "You eat what you can. Keep your strength. Wilting flowers," and she offers Abby a smile, white teeth bright, "don't last very long down here in the dark, chica."
"No, but seeds do very well in the dark, beneath the ground, waiting for their chance to break through the soil and greet the light" Abigail reaches over, picking up the slices of apple. They seem relativly safe of what they've brought. "Can you ask Logan if I can have my bible please? I already missed church and I can't attend service today. I'd greatly appreciate it." Nibble nibble, one slice offered to her visitor. "Abigail"
Maya pauses, then takes an apple, letting long fingernails dig a little into the fruit before eating it. "Maya," she introduces with the slightest of nods. "It's nice to meet you, Abigail." With a toss of her black hair, she takes a bite of her apple slice, and with a little more conviction, she reports, "I will ask Mr. Logan. I'm sure he will allow that. Or you could ask him also— does he not come down here?"
"I haven't seen him since they brought me here. His.. touch" There's a wrinkle of her nose before she polish's off one slice of apple. "There's been.. five different women, your the sixth, who have brought me my food and my clothes and some towels. But not him. It's… nice to meet you Maya" Not really nice, she'd rather not meet anyone from here. But she's here and so far the latino doesn't seem like one of the cruel ones. "So what does that mean, that he hasn't come here and i've been here five days, I think"
"I guess that means he has different plans for you," Maya says, but there's a lost tone in her voice - she honestly doesn't know what Abby's future holds, it seems. "People pass through this place for many different reasons, Abigail. The girl who had this room before you, it was because she had a gift. Before that…" She trails off for a moment, mouth forming a line, before she quickly pops the rest of the apple slice inside. "You be wary of his touch," she advises, with a twist of wry smile. "It can be, what they say— too much of a good thing."
"What was her gift?" wariness, curiosity. She understands about his touch. "Twice. He's used it twice. It's.." The last apple slice is put down, arranged just so on the plate. "My body likes the touch. I don't. I don't like how it makes me feel when his eyes glow" ABigail breathes deep, one hand bending back to twist at the cross around her neck, bend it this way and that way. "God gives me the ability to heal. They stole me so I could heal people. Thats why they have me. Some man named Muldoon wants me to heal people and I refused. So he gave me to Logan, said he could do whatever he wanted with me, so long as it didn't break their agreement" Maybe Maya can shed some light on it for her.
Maya's eyes widen a little when the name Muldoon is spoken, betraying, for a moment, some kind-hearted worry for the blonde woman, before she attempts to mask it, gaze dipping down and studying her own hands. "The girl before," she starts. Safe territory. "She was like you. Dios tocar. Touch of God." She leans her hip against the trunk, arms folding, and shrugs, voice becoming casual. "She has gone, now. Worked here for a little while, disappeared, and now you are with us. I think perhaps… you will go with Muldoon too, soon. When it is time. As for Logan…" She lifts a hand, fingers spreading as if to indicate his touch - not quite of God. "Your body likes it, but your heart turns away," she agrees. "I don't like it either. But he promised me, he could help me."
"I'm not working here. I'm here because they hope it'll scare me into working for Muldoon" So they were looking for a healer. They had one, but no more. She looks down at her fingers, spreading her own digits out, splaying them in the air. Normally well manicured, polished with clear laquer and kept neat. One nail is broken, the nail ragged where she nibbled at it to even it out. "My body's not for sale, and neither is gods gift. What did he promise you?" One pale hand is held out, palm up towards Maya, an offer of her hand to the other womans. "I want to see if it still works"
There's something like guilt on Maya's face as Abby talks, but resolve, too. Shame is something she wakes up to every day, and today is no different. Her chin tilts up proudly in defiance of that feeling. Her question is pondered over, before slowly, Maya says, "The girl before you had a gift." A sadder smile. "And the girl before her… had a curse." She obligingly flattens her hand against Abby's, a show of trust, or perhaps it doesn't matter much to her. "He can take both away. He is helping me with mine. My curse."
'It's never a curse. You just haven't found the purpose and reason as to why God gave it to you yet" Quite confidence from the blonde as her other palm flattens, making a Maya hand sandwhich. Not that Abby knew at all yet what Maya could do. The girls prayer comes softly from her lips, waiting, willing, searching for the spark and the flare. Even if there's nothign to fix with maya, no sore muscles to ease or bruise to wash away. Some sign that god hasn't abandoned here, even down in this hole.
Maya smiles ruefully, but does not argue. She's made her decision a long time ago. At the prayer, she tilts her head with curiousity, and then as the words come to a close, she feels it. The touch of warmth not quite familiar to her, but familiar to others. She has bruises, plenty of them, mostly concealed, and other aches and hurts that she ignores day to day. As she's purged of these, Maya lets her eyes drift shut, and her mouth smile. "Asombrosa," Maya murmurs, before the smile fades, and she looks at Abby. "Even the girl before you could not do that." She withdraws her hand, fingers curling. She's too cynical, now, to be enchanted - but touched, yet. The bittersweet renewal of sparking hope. "I can get you your Bible. I know where he kept your things."
"I've never met another person who can do what I can do. Not even close" She smiles in return to the Latino, relinquishing hand when it's done. A spark of hope springs up in her eyes. "He hasn't abandoned me. He's still with me. I'll make it through this Maya. So long as God's still with me, I can hang in there till my friends find me" Her palms close together, interlacing her fingers, elbows resting on her knee's so her arm hangs out. "Food safe to eat? I'm terrified that it'll be laced with something and thank you. If you can do it safely. If you can't, or if you'll get caught and in trouble don't try it. It's not worth it, more a .. comfort than anything"
"Si. The food is safe," Maya says, with a twitch of a sad smile for the woman's paranoia. Unfortunately, it's not completely unwarranted. She takes her weight off the trunk, pushing her hair back and stepping away, with the intent to leave the woman with her breakfast. "I hope your friends do find you," she says, bare feet scuffing the carpeting as she backs for the door, reaching out for it. "There aren't many of those in here, chica. But there are some, I think." And she turns to leave.
"Maybe there is" Wistfully spoken by the blonde. "If they're allowing drink orders, I could use some coffee" Addictions suck. "could be tar for all I care, but.. coffee would be nice" A piece of toast is picked up between her fingers, torn in half and considered. "Thank you maya. For being one of the nice ones who's come. If you need .. my Asombrosa? again, visit. It's the least I can do" The offer will likely come back to bite her in the ass as some point. what was Asombrosa? She'd look it up, if she ever got out.
A brighter smile, now, one of genuine amusement. Fun with words. "I will remember," Maya promises, and she raises a hand in a wave. "Coffee, next time." That's the promise she can make. With that, the Latina disappears out the door, shutting it behind her. For all the warmth of the exchange, the scratch of the key within the lock is coldly skeletal sounding, sealing Abby within her cage once more.
"Coffee" She gives a wave with the toast to Maya before her gaze swivels from the door and that now familiar prison sound, to the window and it's weak light. There's a heavy sigh before she takes a polite bite of the toast, then apple. Another day. How many more until either they sent her to Muldoon, or someone, somewhere, clued in that she wasn't in Louisiana with her parents. Two weeks. Two weeks at least, if her parents didn't call sooner. Magnes entered her thoughts too, wondering how he was being treated. "Thank you Lord. Keep with me. I need you"
 February 11th: Is That All? |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 February 11th: Death Wish |