Participants:
| Scene Title | That Ain't Karma |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Magnes receives just congratulations from his nosy bandmate. |
| Date | May 1, 2010 |
Magnes' apartment.
Last night was a rather long night, and when he opens his bedroom door, the sleeping redhead can be seen in bed behind him before he carefully closes it. He's only wearing a pair of blue jeans, so the gradually fading bruises from the weeks before and his healing burn wounds can be seen, but overall, he appears to be doing pretty good. He stretches and yawns, then says, "Well, today should be good."
The rustle of papers is heard, and Sable's head rises quickly into view over the back of the couch. Her grin, tacked to her disembodied head, looks borrowed from a Jack-o'-lantern. "Can't be better than last night, huh boy?" she crows, brows waggling in an absolutely unnecessary way. Her arm and hand appear, lifted into the air and angled towards Magnes, "Put it here, chum. Already fuckin' like a rock star. Right on!"
How long has she been lying there?
Magnes' cheeks go red as he bashfully smiles, but he doesn't leave her hanging and walks over to low five her before heading into the kitchen. "I saved her from some muggers last night, then invited her to stay until we can get her on her feet. You mind if she borrows some of your clothes? She was a bit homeless."
"That'd be some bad fuckin' karma if I did mind, seein' how homeless I've been, on and off," Sable says, snapping her fingers after palm strikes palm, "I'll make sure 'n' pick out the stuff that's easiest to remove in the heat 'f the moment." She falls back out of view, again to the sound of papers shifting. "What's her deal? Or was it one of those rescues that, y'know, didn't leave room f'r chit chat?"
"I'm not totally sure, uh, we didn't talk for a very long time. But apparently we relate to eachother?" Magnes offers, if it counts for anything, then he starts taking things out for breakfast. Apparently today is going to be homemade chocolate chip waffles, from what she can see from her vantage point. "I don't know what got into me. I mean, I didn't even know her for an hour before I slept with her. And the weird thing is, I don't really feel bad about it at all, I feel kind of great."
"'n' why the fuck should you feel bad?" Sable says. There's a pause and a thump, as Sable rolls off the couch and lands on the floor. She gets up, a page of notebook paper clinging to her shirt. She stoops down and pulls more and more sheets into her arms, all covered in chicken scratch.
"I don't know, I'm still not sure how this stuff works. What are you writing?" Magnes asks as he looks out from the kitchen, mixing something in a bowl. She can already smell the lingering scent of something sweet in the air, even though it's not cooking yet.
"Fuckin'… like… impressions. Not even quite, like, songs yet. But gettin' there," Sable says, dropping the armful of papers on the couch without ceremony and padding over to join Magnes in the kitchen. "She still sleepin' in there? You gonna, like," she nods at the mixing bowl, "Bring her breakfast in bed or some romantic shit like that?"
"Yeah. This is for you too, y'know." Magnes adds, as if feeling the need to reassure her that she isn't being replaced. He plugs the waffle iron in, then pours some of the mix into the four molds. There's enough mix for quite a few of these. "I've been trying to brainstorm songs too, a space rock opera."
"'course it is. If it weren't, I'd steal yours. Wouldn't steal hers, though," Sable elbows Magnes, "Know you gotta make a good impression, eh?" She steals over to the fridge, opens it up, sticks her head inside, "Thanks fer makin' those deliveries, by the by. I'm feelin'," she pulls a gallon of milk from the cooled confines of the fridge, "A whole lot better."
"Well, she is pretty nice. I'm not gonna complicate things by over thinking it, but I'm gonna get to know her." Magnes looks down at the milk, then up at her, lifting the top of the waffle iron. "I hope you're about to get a glass." he reminds, knowing how Sable can be sometimes.
Sable gives Magnes a squinty eyed look, her thumb twisting then popping off the cap of the milk bottle, catching it in her other hand as it falls. She keeps her eyes on him as she lifts the bottle up wards, then tips her head back, tilting the milk so that a stream pours into her mouth. Good aim, she manages to get a mouthful without touching her lips to the rim. She tilts the carton upright again, closing her mouth and swallowing. She screws the milk's cap back on, eyes returning to Magnes with an utterly impudent look.
"You should still use a glass." Magnes repeats anyway, continuing with his waffles until he's made around fifteen, putting five on each plate, then pours honey on them. He heads to the fridge, grabbing some vanilla bean ice cream, then puts a scoop on top of each stack, handing her the carton to return. "There, that should be good."
Sable chucks the milk back into the fridge, then tosses the ice cream into the freezer, shutting one with her hip, the other with her elbow. She peruses Magnes' handiwork. "Gotta say, that's not a half bad fuckin' strategy. The whole 'man who cooks' bit. That works on any number of ladies," she scratches her nose, "Arright. Tell me 'bout this space thing you've been workin' on."
"Well, it's about this space station, and it's going to explode and scorch the surface of the Earth unless a team of Evolved in the future go up there and do something about it." Magnes grabs a wooden tray from a bottom cabinet, going back to the fridge for the milk again when he remembers he still needs it, then places a glass on the tray and pours milk into it. When he returns it back to the fridge, he grabs the tray and heads toward his room. "There's an A.I that took everything over, and thinks humans are obsolete, but one of the people on the team has a part of the A.I in his head, and he's constantly having a mental battle with it, gradually changing how it views humanity, while the original on the space station remains evil.
Sable snags her own plate, tearing off a bit of waffle with thumb and forefinger and popping it into her mouth as she tails Magnes, "Arright," she says, "But man, I think you go too easy on humanity. Mebbe the thingy in his head changes his view of humanity too. Push and pull. Gotta stretch the mind of our listeners, y'know? Everybody already thinks humans 'r' the fuckin' best. Figure we should let the robot thingies have a good say," she grins, "Man, that'd be awesome, though. Have a few electro-synth songs. Whole different style for the album."
"That's actually a good idea, telling both sides of the story. And we can have a song where we're singing about the battle in his head. One of us can sing from the A.I's point of view, and the other from the guy's." Magnes suggests, heading into the bedroom, staying in there for a minute or so, then he comes back out, closes it behind him, and heads for the kitchen again.
Sable, laking the most basic sense of tact and propriety, tries to steal a look at the girl Magnes landed both when he enters his room, and when he leaves. She doesn't get a great view, though, as evidenced by the frustration in her features. "Whasser name?" she asks, before going to sit on the couch, balancing her waffles on her knees.
"Elaine. She's Scottish, has an accent and all." Magnes has yet to sleep with a girl without an accent, strangely enough. Sable would know this both from speaking to Melissa, and the time Delilah was on the phone. He returns from the kitchen with his plate, taking a seat on the couch with his legs crossed and turning the TV on. "I hope she's a little geeky. She seemed to get one of my comic references."
"Fuck," Sable says, "Shoulda asked you to get me a fork. Goddammit…" She sets her waffle plate on the coffee table and jogs to the kitchen, returning with the utensil in question. Properly armed, she starts to demolish her breakfast, pausing to say, mouth full, "Jush make shur shesh," she gulps, "Ah… make sure she's a muse 'n' not a medusa. Can't have you turnin' to stone on me, y'dig?"
"Like I said, she seems really nice, I doubt she's gonna Yoko us. Maybe she even plays an instrument." Magnes points out, having not actually asked her yet. He's cutting his waffles up with the fork, letting the ice cream melt around on them. "Isn't it weird? I mean, life is closing in on me, then this hot Scottish redhead drops into my lap, literally and figuratively. Maybe Earl is right, about karma and stuff."
"Fuck karma, man," Sable says, despite the fact she just /minutes/ ago invoked the very concept, "You make your own luck, 'n' you got your little foundlin' by your own braves, wits 'n' sexy-ass charms. Don't you forget it. Charisma's at least half 'bout acting like you already got it."
"Now I'm suddenly wondering how much you heard last night, and I'm kind of embarassed…" Magnes hunches a bit, cheeks returning to their reddened state while he chomps down waffles. "I think you two will get along though, she kind of reminds me of a Scottish you, just, she's not crazy."
"Boy, I think it was a fortune cookie I read onec, said there's a thin line 'tween madness and genius. I try 'n' walk that line every day of my life," Sable says, gesturing at Magnes with a waffle-laden fork, "But you better hope she ain't like me. Fuckin' would strangle me if I had to spend more than a minute with myself."
"Well, try your best not to strangle eachother." Magnes shakes his head, then turns the television on, to some decidedly geeky movie no doubt. "I'm gonna shower and go out to clear the front of the apartment so people can get out easier, you mind staying in and making sure she knows I didn't ditch her, if she comes out?" he requests, sitting his plate on the table so he can head to the bathroom.
Sable's grin is mottled by a couple chocolate stains. The effect is piratical, and appropriately so. "She ain't goin' nowhere 's long as I'm on watch!" she declares, which isn't exactly - or at all - what Magnes asked for.