Participants:
| Scene Title | Home Field Advantage |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Rebecca makes her first Refrain purchase. |
| Date | August 16, 2009 |
A silhouette of darkness and beauty against, graffitied in tattoos as much as the concrete wall behind her is marked in paint. Devi stands outside Anarchy Customs, leaning back on the corner of the building, enjoying the night air and the nipping flavor of her cigarette. The plume of smoke passes her lips as she looks down to check her nails before drawing her dark gaze back up the street - first one direction, then the other.
How Rebecca found herself on the Island is a entirely different story altogether. The fact is, she's desperate. The one thing that will bring relief to her pain cannot be easily found. The consequences of her actions have crossed her mind, but she's rationalized it all away to the fact that nothing else works. The several types of pain meds she's been prescribed have done little to relive the burden of pain that persists in her daily life.
But Rebecca is a novice. And naive. She doesn't buy drugs. Never once. She was the straight arrow in school. Yet, here she is on a Sunday night, walking the streets looking to score some Refrain, wearing the same clothing she came home in on Friday night from work. Probably the only thing that drug dealers and cops have in common is that they can spot an addict from a mile away. She's gotten used to the smokey smell as she passes folks by.
A mile away, indeed. The ruffled state of the woman's clothes, the need that lit her eyes with a somber glow. Devi recognized ever sign and could almost feel her own skin crawl in the need that still molests her own flesh with an inescapable itch - inescapable till the needle is brought again.
The biker's eyes roam the woman's form, and… bull's-eye. "Hey," she offers, even as she reaches out and snags the woman's wrist, turning it over to reveal the little puncture marks. "You look lost, dollface… In more ways than one." She flashes a grin around the plume of foggy smoke before the little bead of red that is her nub of a cigarette summersaults off and shatters into a dance of tiny embers in the street.
Lost? In more ways than one, indeed. The Asian-American woman turns her eyes to the woman who grabbed her arm and pulls back. Her black hair is weighted down by the lack of hygiene throughout the weekend and there's almost a dull look to her eyes. Rebecca takes a step back as if to walk away, but something holds her in place. "I was just looking.." Well, it's technically true, but no one really goes around just 'looking' in Staten. Her eyes fall on the burning ember as the woman smokes in front of her, the scene itching at her nose as she inhales the drifting streams. She tugs her sleeve back down and pulls her jacket around her tighter.
The first inclinations of withdrawal release Devi's fingers from the addict's wrist. Her aim wasn't to scare prospective customers away, after all. "What's got you by the balls?" She looks over the girl with a closer scrutiny. "What're you itchin' for?" It was perhaps the most clichi drug exchange she'd done this far.
The biker tips her head back against the wall, looking down the bridge of her nose as the woman shuffles her jacket back down over the wound. "You don't have to hide that stuff around me." She curls her slender fingers and turns her arm over to reveal a few similar markings. "Refrain." The comment is made for many reasons: to comfort the lost, needy addict - and to search for the reaction the word might inspire.
The widening of the eyes and the almost look of relief on the face of Nakano probably says more than anything more that could from from her mouth. Oh. Thank God. is what flashes across her brain. "I.. " She feels to pathetic not having any clue how to do something like this. "Do you have some?" She finally asks as she gives a small shiver, whether from the cold or from something else remains to be seen. The fact is, she probably sounds far more eager for the answer to that question than she should.
"You have money?" is the biker's response, joined by a subtle arc lofting her dark brow. Even still she begins to step away, the heavy grind and clatter ringing out as she rolls open the nearest garage door.
Seriously, the dealer could name whatever price she wants and probably get it. Rebecca's first taste was free, which is also part of the cliche. "How much for each?" she asks as she shoves her hand down into her front pocket, which was probably not the smartest move to make out in on the streets of Staten.
"Fourty a pop," Devi replies. Not particularly high, but she seems to be taking into account the possibility that this woman will be coming around a good deal often enough. Besides, she understood the woman's pain - she'd only recently fallen victim to the glowing drug herself. She stands in the doorway of the garage, the smells of oils and gas wafting out past her.
Being as desperate as she might actually look, she does pull some folded bills from her pocket. Ten twenty-dollar bills folded in half, fresh from her ATM. She starts to hand it over, then stops. "Let me see that you have it. I need five." Rebecca doesn't plan on making more trips to Staten Island than she needs to.
Devi grins as the girl smartens up and revokes the wad of cash. "Wait here." She hadn't even gotten a name, and so she forces the woman to wait outside, even as she visibly crosses the greasy garage to ascend a black-iron, spiraling staircase on the other side. It's only a few moments later that her boots thud the stairway into a dull chiming and she crosses back to Rebecca. Fingers uncurl to reveal five, beautiful, glowing syringes. Atop of them sits a card - no name, no symbol, just her number. "Got a deal?" She offers her free hand in offer of exchanging an agreeable shake.
Rebecca misinterprets the gesture as the folded set of bills is pressed into the other female's hand, as she reaches out with her other hand to gather the drugs. The blue glows in her hand and she tuckes them into her pocket as the blue light disappears. She starts to walk backwards. "Thanks." She backs away from the garage and heads back down the way she came. There's a new found rejuvination in her step as she hurries, as if not realizing what sort of dangerous ground she walks on now as she disappears around the corner.