Promise To Be Good


f_abby_icon.gif elle_icon.gif trask_icon.gif

Scene Title Promise To Be Good
Synopsis Trask makes Elle breakfast, and both spill a bean or two about their pasts. When Abby gets back, plans are laid to get them all out of the house.
Date April 12, 2019

Abby's Place - Kitchen

Last night the kids were evacuated from the apartment. It's early morning and Abby went out on errands already. As Elle wakes up it is to the smell of crackling bacon. Trask is out in the kitchen with a couple different pans on the stove wearing a pair of jeans and no shirt, because the only mannly way to fry bacon is with no shirt, otherwise your a wuss.

Apparently, Elle had fallen asleep on the couch last night. Yay. One eyelid cracks open groggily, and her nostrils are immediately assailed by fresh bacon-smell. Rolling over, she presses a cushion closer to the side of her head, blonde hair spilling over the edge of the couch as she makes an inarticulate noise.

"You don't have to play nursemaid, you know." She mumbles into that cushion, eyes closed.

Trask chuckles softly, "I like to cook, its not like I am going to be changing your bed pan or anything." He smiles tenderly. "how have you been settling in so far?

Though her eyelids stay closed, after a moment Elle's mouth turns up into a small, vaguely sardonic smile. "Fine," she says. "Has Abby been out?" Is it just her and Trask?

Trask nods, not that she can see it exactly, "Yeah she is taking care of some errands. What do you want in your omlette?" He sets the bacon out on a plate and begins cracking some eggs.

"I… don't care. Throw in whatever you want." Truth be told, Elle isn't even fully sure what her options are. Omelette-making wasn't exactly covered in Agenting 101, nor has it held a prominent spot in her range of experience. Sad.

Trask says, "Ok…Onions, Mushroom, Cheese, and Bacon" He smiles and begins making a very large omlette, flipping it a few times. "You don't talk about yourself much…you know that?""

Whatever the hell Trask is concocting over there, it does smell good. Elle inhales a very deep breath of air, and finally, she does sit up where she is, pulling her hair back into a single strand over her shoulders. "There's not a lot about me you'd want to know." She says this demurely, but there's a hint of a wry, just-trust-me edge to it. "I don't know a lot about you, either. Like, why the black ski mask?" Not that he's wearing it now, but for example.

Trask frowns a little, to trust or not to trust, at this point there is little to lose, if she really wants to know the answers she can just find a history book, and she has good reason to do so. "I'm a cop, it probably would have gone bad for me to be seen breaking people out of a federal penetentiary on security cameras." He finishes the omlette and cuts it in half, splitting it on two plates, he adds bacon to each plate as well. He then begins pouring a couple glasses of Orange Juice.

Heh. "Yeah, that'd explain a lot." Must be harrowing, living such a dual life. By nothing but the idlest of whims, Elle stretches her knuckles before her, flexing them and expecting the usual sizzling, thread-thin lines to go arcing across them.

But nothing happens. Her eyebrows lower a significant amount as she remembers. "Can't you ever turn that thing of yours off?" she demands with some irritation. The sleepiness is gone from her voice, at least.

Trask says, "Actually no….I can't …. I have actually no control over it, don't even know it's there until someone gets the expression on thier face of frustration like that one." He puts a plate on the table next to her with one of the glasses and a fork. "Tier 0 they call it in the registry, because I can't hurt anyone with it.""

Elle drops her hand without further contemplation, releasing a very short sigh. "I'm familiar with the registry, Trask, don't worry." And that also means that she can't hurt anyone with hers, either, as long as she stays within range. Woe. Putting one leg up, she climbs over the back of the couch instead of just getting off the proper side, dropping to the floor again bare-feet first. "There might be a way to control it. Have you ever tried?"

Trask shakes his head, "I tried a little at first, when it was first discovered the government working with your friends pulled me in for some testing, when they discovered the range and the fact that I couldn't control it, they let me go. It was not a pleasant time. I havn't really pushed much since then." He then heads to the kitchen, "I'll eat over here if that makes you feel better?" He makes sure she is outside of his range, if only just.

For her part, Elle treads right over to the table, seating herself neatly in front of the plate of food set up for her. "No. Whatever. It's- fine. How am I supposed to talk to you when you're way over there?" Besides, she hadn't been using her ability for anything useful, anyway, or planning on it. "I just feel better when I know it's working. It's hard to explain."

Trask smiles and walks back over settling down next to his plate. "I just wanted to make you feel comfortable." He nods to the food, "I hope it's ok…if there is anything you really like I can pick it up the next time I'm at the store." He leans back and savors a piece of perfectly cooked bacon. "So do you not want to talk about it because your ashamed of your past? Or just that your afraid I will judge you?"

Utensils. Utensils utensils. Elle's fingertips tap on the tabletop until she thinks to move her plate, revealing a knife and fork sitting together beneath the overhang. Hahar. "Just give me a moment," she advises serenely. A moment until she can taste her food, that is. When Trask asks her those particular questions about her past, she looks a little taken aback, blinking. "…Uh. Neither. I just said there isn't a lot you'd want to hear." That last part is said with an ironic crook of her lips. It's probably true! She reaches for a napkin, not looking at him again.

Trask nods, "Look if you don't want to talk about it, change the subject." He smiles, and takes a few bites of his own omlette.

At that, she does glance back at him. Several seconds tick by, and the gaze continues, coolly. A bite of omelette is twirled on the end of her fork— round and round.

"They took me for my power when I was seven." She starts out wryly, with no hint of reticence, finally just letting it all flow. "Set fire to my grandparents' house, by accident. After that, they locked me in a holding cell for fifteen years. Just an IV and shrinks for company. Told me I was too unstable to leave for my own good; I think it was just because I threatened to kill 'em all." In that bit of omelette goes, and she does a tiny swallow before continuing, aloofly watching for Trask's reaction to all of that. "I'm twenty-six years old, and I've never dated. Never ridden a bike. Never been to a beach, or swum. Are you satisfied?"

Trask doesn't have pity on his face. A stoy like that is either for show to try to work on his emotions, or its real and tragic and if thats true then the last thing she needs is someone pitying her. He nods slowly, and reaches out to put a hand on hers, "Well you don't seem all that unstable to me."

Elle doesn't react to the feel of Trask's hand on hers; he might as well have laid it on the wooden surface next to it. She smiles, and there's nothing but a saucy, entertained vibe to that smile. "You've only known me for four days."

Trask squeezes the hand then lets it go, "Well you havn't killed me in my sleep yet." He leans back. "Not saying you can't prove me wrong tonight." The smell of fresh bacon fills the apartment, there is still some extra cooling next to the stove in case abby comes back soon. Elle and Norton are at the table having omlettes and talking. "Ok…so today it sounds like we fix your little problem, and start on your list. We can hit walmart, pick up some bathing suits, and borrow the car and head for the beach. I'll teach you how to swim."

The front door can be heard to open, lock turning to warn them as Acigail comes through the front door humming to herself. Dry cleaning in hand, mail, and a bunch of folders. The stepford wife has returned. Just because people from the past are on your doorstep doesn't mean that life grinds to a halt the whole way. "Elle? Norton? Isabelle?"A creaky black cat is also making it's way in from parts unknown, tail twitching in hope of getting some bacon.

Elle is saved from having to answer this utterly baffling proposition by the sound of the front door coming open. She breaks off a bit of the bacon and puts it into her mouth as she turns, brows lifted casually and eyes wide. "Here, Abs," she calls, though it's probably unnecessary. It's pretty clear where the congregation is. "I think Izzy's still asleep."

Dry cleaning deposited in the hall closet, the perky blonde is soon entering into the kitchen, a glance to the bacon and everything else. "I'll take a few pieces, What's the plan today? I'm heading over to Dorchester to see what's up, and the plan so far" Her purse tucked on a hook on the back door and the mail/folder on a clear spot on the counter.

"I'll come with you." Elle straightens a little too abruptly when Abby mentions Dorchester, letting her eyes fall to Trask. Her smile still holds an element of bewilderment, as if the negator had just appeared from a different planet, but she does seem pleased in a newly placid way. Itty bitty exhalation through her nose. "I'll take you up on that later."

Trask nods and collects dirty dishes moving to start cleaning them, "Well then I will take a shower, and maybe make some inquiries about Bikes and Beaches. See what movies are playing. You go and have fun at Dorchester, just promise me you'll be good." He smiles slightly, offering her a little freedom without his over present negation of her powers.

"Just let me change out of my church clothes" Abby's answering as she looks between the two. WARily the blond head for the fridge, a steel bottle plucked for the lower back and it's contents poured into a glass. Swamp sludge is an apt name. There's even chunks plopping out of the bottle. "And we can head over" Bikes and … beaches… "I have bathing suits up in my room, but they may not be to your liking" AKA one pieces that cover the ass and chest. "I can write down a few places where it's good to swim and we have some bikes in the shed in the back" Did the res to of the group limit the lay low thing?

Uh-huh. When Elle Bishop hits up that beach, she'll no doubt want to be looking as sexay as possible. None of that one-piece nonsense. "Can we go shopping after we leave Dorchester?" she asks Abby, her expression that of a young female adolescent perking up to go the mall. Which, she might as well be. There is a mysterious grin on her face now as she surveys Trask, which may or may not be completely frightening.

Trask smiles, "Is there a certain type of food you like, Elle? A certain resturant that is your favorite?" He finishes up the dishes and looks at Abby. "We aren't going to make a scene, just go out on the town, and have some fun."

"Just.. Don't get me in trouble with the others. Please Norton" Taking a gulp of the green drink she nods to Elle. "We can, if you like. We can pick up some stuff for Norton and Isabelle while we're at it. Cause I'm sure your not gonna be content to stay in my clothes all the time. Just lemme go change. Give me tne minutes' and like that the blonde is striding towards the stairs, file,s mail, sludge in hand.

"I'll let you surprise me." Elle directs at Trask, girlishly tilting her head to one side as she looks at him. To Abby before she can disappear -too- far up the staircase: "Don't hurry up too much. I still have to get ready too you know." And finish her breakfast, too, because she isn't letting all this lovely food go to waste. She isn't also leaving the house in Abby's pajamas and bed-hair.

Trask smiles and nods, "Ok…I will get creative." He heads for the shower to get cleaned up before his recon mission to find out just what people do on dates in the future.

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