Participants:
| Scene Title | Joining Charon |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | People are running late, but Abby and Grace meet up outside the Hangar while Candy takes a stroll in her borrowed body. Eventually the conversation moves inside, and Abby asks to officially join the Ferryman in whatever capacity they'll take her. |
| Date | June 12, 2009 |
In a time that seems long ago, Greenwich Village was known for its bohemian vibe and culture, the supposed origin of the Beat movement, filled with apartment buildings, corner stores, pathways and even trees. There was a mix of upper class and lower, commercialism meeting a rich culture, and practically speaking, it was largely residential.
Now, it's a pale imitation of what it used to be. There is a sense of territory and foreboding, as if the streets aren't entirely safe to walk. It isn't taken care of, trash from past times and present littering the streets, cars that had been caught in the explosion lie like broken shells on the streets nearest the ground zero. Similarly, the buildings that took the brunt of the explosion are left in varying degrees of disarray. Some are entirely unusable, some have missing walls and partial roofs, and all of the abandoned complexes have been looted, home to squatters and poorer refugees.
As one walks through the Village, the damage becomes less and less obvious. There are stores and bars in service, and apartment buildings legitimately owned and run by landlords. People walk the streets a little freer, but like many places in this scarred city… anything can happen. Some of the damage done to buildings aren't all caused by the explosion from the past - bullet holes and bomb debris can be seen in some surfaces, and there is the distinct impression that Greenwich Village runs itself… whether people like it that way or not.
Mid afternoon in Greenwich village today means that it's overcast. Threatening to rain and people run around on the streets minding their own business's, heads down, talking into their various digital devices. Others drive through with their cars, honking horns impatiently, busses lumbering by in their noisy spelendor. The city is never quiet. You can't even get quiet in the midtown ruins if you tried.
One added sound in the putting of the scooter that preceeds Abigail heading to the Hangar. She'd left a message for Grace saying that she needed to talk with the woman, but was running late tanks to traffic, a teacher who went over time in a lecture and lots of red lights. Of which she's stopped at another one, fingers tapping on the handlebars of the shimmery green ancient looking Vespa, waiting for the light to turn and looking around the streets in case she saw the object of her own impatience.
Candy has decided to out and have a walk, now that she is in a body that isn't recognizable to anybody who watches the news. Candy is walking in the body of an irish woman, her eyes taking in the sights and sounds as she walks along. A smile on those lips as she adjusts the strap of a backpack that she has over her shoulder.
There would be a point to waiting inside in that the weather is less than ideal. On the other hand, it isn't raining now — and with Abby running late, Grace decided to take the time to run a quick errand of her own. Walking has the convenience of not getting caught behind traffic, though it's just as hampered by red lights. Now heading back home, the woman moves quickly down the sidewalk, long strides speaking of intent and direction. The sound of the Vespa is familiar in a sense, but it's one more motor amongst many; easily disregarded, at the moment.
Candy in her borrowed body is seem, noticed, brushed over since Grace is seen next. The visor of Abby's helmet flips up when she grasps it, taking the light as it turns green and zipping over the one lane she needs to be in so she can pull ahead of Grace. "Ms. Matheson!" Called over the din of the street, her blue eyes flickering to Candy before landing squarely on Grace, She's gone back to blonde it seems when the helmet is pulled off. She was red the last time she stayed at the Hangar.
Candy watches the green Vespa move over and then stop in front of Grace, but the young woman doesn't exactly pay it any attention. She can't, being in the body that she is in means that she no longer has her powers, so she just figures its best to mind her business. Her eyes don't, however, they cut to the side to watch the two as she passes them by.
The name gets her attention as the engine sound did not; Grace stops, pivots, peers in the direction of the sound of her voice. One dark brow arches, before the woman's lips pull up in a small, subtle smile. "Abby," she calls back, the pitch of Grace's ruined voice less strong than that of the younger woman; harsh, coarse, the rasping timbre of gravel grating — it doesn't carry so well. "I was beginning to wonder if traffic had started flowing backwards or something."
"It's horrible today. No sun, everyone starts driving like.. like Mr. Balderson from church" The Scooter is turned off, helmet dumped onto her seat. Candy watched with a frown due to the attention that she gives her and Grace. "I uhh, I needed to talk to you. I didn't want to say it over the phone and I'd invite you over, but I got.. house guests. Claire Bennet and Flint Deckard."
Candy continues on her way as she isn't stopped, enjoying a day out in the weather. Even if it isn't all that nice.
A hint of a wry smile tugs at Grace's expression. "There's an interesting pair," she remarks. The woman nods towards the nearby townhouse. "Why don't we move inside — in case it starts raining again — and we can talk there?"
"Just let me lock up first" Abigail murmurs with a nod. The helmet snatched up, a lock gotten out so she can secure the bike. Not that many people tend to try to make a run for something that has the name "Lazarus" and a big old gold painted cross on it's back end. " Probably something that deserves privacy" When she thinks about it. "How's Allistair? I have to get him my new schedule to see where I can fit him in for more lessons"
Grace says, "Last I heard, things were moving along fine for him," Grace replies, as she waits for Abby. "It's been a while, though. We're not exactly the best at condition updates," she adds, with some measure of dry amusement. The woman leads the way over to the building, opening the door for her guest. "Would you like something to drink? Did you eat?"
The Hangar
A wrought-iron fence borders several small garden beds and the stone stairs leading up to the house's front door. The house itself is a structure of old stone - not even concrete blocks, but quarried stone — with natural-color wood doors and window frames. The windows on the ground floor are barred.
Inside, the level is divided into only three rooms. The first is the foyer, with polished hardwood flooring, a freestanding coatrack on either side, iron-dark against soft-amber interior walls. The main staircase spirals up from one corner of the foyer, girded by a wrought-iron railing.
To the right from the entrance is the kitchen. The walls just off from white, the floor tiled in dark gray. In the center of the kitchen is a black-topped island, matching the counters that line the room. One wall is dominated by an eminently modern stove framed by an anachronistic brick hearth. Cabinets above the counters have glass doors; the windows above the sink are framed in light-colored curtains, the illumination they let in adding to the expansive atmosphere.
The dining room takes up the back of this floor. The far wall is brick and stone, with a facade of a fireplace mantle in the center. Interior walls have been painted a tone intermediate between amber and ivory, which is also the accent color in the dark rug beneath the long dining table.
"I haven't eaten yet, no. I was going to do that when I got home." She likes the hangar. She's always liked it. Of all the ferryman places, this ranks right up there at the number spot. 'Some water? Or if you have some tea, that'd be lovely" Once she's through, out of Graces way so she can close the door. "No, I suppose that the network doesn't allow for really frequent updates does it? I came to ask you if there was anything that I could do for the Ferryman. I'm not working at Old Lucy's anymore and the scholarship gives me enough to pay my rent and my food, all that stuff, so I'll have more freetime and want to do more good things with it"
Grace chuckles briefly. "We have — a bit of almost everything," she points out. The Hangar is nothing if not well-supplied. "One tea, coming right up." Now she leads the way across the townhouse, into the kitchen at the back. "Oh, it allows for updates," the woman replies. "But most day-to-day information sticks on the 'neighborhood' grapevine. It doesn't make it across the city — and frankly, we like it that way. The less we know about one another, the less anyone else can find out."
She fills a kettle with filtered water, puts it on the stove to heat. "You know we like whatever help we can get," Grace answers, after Abby finishes speaking. "You are most certainly welcome, in any capacity you care to fill." She smiles towards the younger woman. "Most of what we do is supply work, message-passing, and waiting; that and the logistics of keeping people hidden. More hands are always needed."
Abigail shucks her shoes, habit from her own home and from where she was raised. No tracking mud and dirt across floors. nosiree. An elastic is pulled from her wrist then gathers blonde lacks into a hasty ponytail. "Right now, I don't have room to have someone stay. I'm helping Flint and Claire, well, no one really associates her with me. I know there's a safe house near the university. I could help out there I'm sure. I had another reason for coming Ms. Matheson. Grace. I can't heal for the Ferryman anymore. I had a run in with a man named Tyler Case and my gift is gone. You'll likely want to take my name off the emergency numbers for who to call" Up to the counter she's now parked, blue eyes watching the other woman.
"There's plenty to do other than play host," Grace points out. Her head bobs in a brief nod, agreeing with Abby's suggestion. "That will work." Turning to remove the whistling kettle from the stove and fill a mug, offering Abigail a selection of tea flavors to pick from, she finishes the little kitchen chores before returning to the conversation. "If you want your name off, we'll take it off. But you're learning to be a paramedic, aren't you?" Folding her arms on the counter edge, Grace leans against it, looking across at Abby. "Your ability is not all that you have to offer. I will only strike your name if that's your interest."
"In six months time, i'll be an EMT Grace, but till then i'm just learning. I don't think that they'll be wanting me to practice my newly found skills on them. They're people in need of help, nto guinea pigs who come to you" She points out. "All I can really do for now is slap bandaids on people, peroxide or neosporin up a scraped knee. I can't.. do what I've done in the past. I was only called when someone got into a car accident and it was something that would require a hospital" The blonde points out again, fiddling with her little tea bag of Earl Grey, looking down to the tea and as she dips it into the water, bathing it almost.
"Maybe six months from now I'll be.. Ben worthy level of a medic, not even then since he's had medical school training. I meant more just, don't have them calling looking for miracles anymore, I can't very well.. provide them. But I can babysitt for the ones who need a reprieve and do little things. I have to head up to Columbia from tuesdays through fridays, so I can pass messages. Heavens, I could cook, I wouldn't mind making casseroles and other stuff that freezes good and they can be run over to the safehouses and stuck in freezers."
Blue eyes level upon Abby, the older woman's gaze cool. "Abigail. Answer me this. Do you think we would call you to a car accident if you don't have the ability to help there?" Grace isn't angry or offended, but there's a definite touch of annoyance in the raven's voice. "We don't have such resources that we can afford to apply them inappropriately. Give us a little more good sense than that, at least!"
'You did before Grace" Abigail answer honestly and truthfully, slender fingers curled around the cup. "But if I hadn't come today and told you, so that you could alter it, you wouldn't have known that I couldn't do anything of that sort anymore. And then there'd be a call and then I'd be getting up out of bed so I could track down Dr. Pepper and drag him with me do that someone COULD do it. Now you do know"
Grace looks over at Abigail, and that lopsided, subtly rueful smile returns. "Don't tell me 'I want' to do anything. Ever." Her voice doesn't convey amusement well, in any variant, but the woman's expression does — though there is also a firm edge to her tone. "Tell me what you want."
"I want to do..something" There's a shake of Abby's head that makes the ponytail swish back and forth across the leather of her jacket. "I need to do something. I need to find a new purpose. I need.." Blonde brows, darker than her hair ever is furrow. "I need to know that I can do, can be more than I was. Can be more than God's Gift made me Grace. Do you understand? I'm floundering and someone pointed me in this direction. That I could be used in more ways than I was before. I won't go back to Phoenix. They still don't rightly mesh with my principles and my heart. But the Ferryman do, always have. You've all given me shelter when I needed. I can do the same. Right now, I'm full up. But in the near future, the Inn at Bethlehem will have space again in it's manger. I can help with keeping the buildings clean, doing laundry. Little details"
Grace dips her head. "Then that's how it'll be," she confirms. "You sure you don't want anything besides the tea?"
The former healer's head shakes again. "No. But thank you Grace. I got pork chops thawing in the fridge and I got some baking to do for church" She taps a finger on the table. "I know you have St. Johns yes but.. There's.. The Guiding Light. The junior Pastor there is Joseph Sumter. He's gifted himself. I think…" There's a faint nod from her. "He might be someone that could be approached"
One corner of Grace's mouth tugs back in a faint smirk. "We have a lot of places, Abby," she points out. "I'll keep that in mind," the woman agrees, nodding briefly.
"Well. Then." There didn't seem much else. She knew it would be short. "I'll let you get on with your day then, and I can get on with mine. Jsut cause i can't make miracles anymore, doesn't mean the world stops turning. Thank you for the tea Grace. It's lovely as always. Tell Alistair that i'll try and come after service on Sunday and sneak a lesson in." Abigail offers her hand out to to the gravel voiced woman. Something the blonde rarely ever did.
Grace never minded the lack of handshakes; hesitates for a momentary but noticeable second before accepting the proffered hand. Despite this, her grip is firm — and neither held too long nor cut off abruptly. "I will. He'll look forward to it. You're always welcome here."
"I know" She knows that always. "Tell Jezebel to be careful on Staten. Might want to move folks off there. I got told there's something coming down the pipe for there. Involving the Law. I think they're gonna make a move and clean it up. I don't know if that' filtered your way or not" Her own is a strong handshake, after a second, and she pulls away as well as the appropriate polite time.
"Wireless keeps tabs on them. We've got covers in place, and plans for moving the ones that can't be covered. But I appreciate the warning, and I'll make sure it gets passed along," Grace affirms with a nod. "You might find Jezebel up at Columbia soon, yourself; she's been talking about going back to school. Might actually take the leap and do so before much longer."
"I'll pester her then. Thank you Grace, for everything. Every little thing helps" A minute bob of her head, more to herself than anything. "I'll just rinse my cup and see myself out. Don't worry" A smile offered up, nearly reach her ears. One less call in the middle of the night to worry about, and one more thing to keep her busy. To make her feel like she's doing something good. Makes her soul a little lighter.