Participants:
| Scene Title | The Ghost Of… |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | From adoptive mother to birth mother, a revelation is shared. |
| Date | April 28, 2011 |
With the topside of the iconic Grand Central Terminal in ruins, it's its basement level that sees most activity, as covert as such activity may be. Entrances are sealed (at least, to those who don't know any better) to the upper levels leading above ground, whether with rubble, or with manmade additions of gates and blockades, and so most will find their way to this place via the countless tunnels that run like arteries in what could appropriately be termed the heart of Manhattan's train system.
Electric lights shine pallid white in the arching ceilings of the basement concourses and foyers, running off their own generators and so power is only used conservatively. Here, the wide open spaces are used for storage that is destined to be moved either towards the arching doorways opening to platforms and subways for shipping out, or waiting to be dragged down to the subbasements for longer term storage. The floors, the walls, the ceilings are differing kinds of tile and vary in cleanliness.
Tables have also been set up so that supplies can be sorted, shifted, packed properly. Folded cardboard boxes awaiting use can be discovered in most corners. Signs on the walls in the form of crude spray paint indicate where things might go, from food, to clothing, to medical supplies, and some things even more exotic. This is a place of motion and organization.
Last but not least, a makeshift recreation room has been set up for the workers of the Grand Central Station, and this can be found within what used to be known as the Whispering Walls. Famously, this interstitial space was known for its strange acoustics, wherein one could whisper to a companion from one far side of the corner to the other by talking directing into the curving corner, where sound would travel along the curve of the arcing ceiling. This, of course, still works, but now the space is no longer simply a foyer - there's a semi-portable kitchen area offering simple food and beverages, a television (which gets no reception, but is hooked into a VCR and a DVD player, with a modest library for both), a card table, a few comforts such as couches and armchairs.
Upon one of the walls, is a rough but well-meaning mural, a mock up of an aquarium - an addition that came after the Ferrymen claimed this space as theirs. It seems to grow in size every several days, with new aquatic characters added each time.
Busy busy busy. That had been Robyn Quinn's day so far, no doubt. Late night thanks to some unexpected visitors, and early morning due to her desire to end her work day early today. Even being at the studio at six sharp, she'd still managed to be out at noon, much of her daily work done, her playlist set up for the next day, and some of the last arrangements for Friday's events set up - really, anything else she was going to be able to do could be done from home.
Home, however, wasn't where she had found herself headed once she left work, however. Trips to Grand Central terminal weren't something she afforded herself too often now, but every now and then she still checks in, to see if there's any major news to pass on, if there’s any supply runs that need doing, jobs to be done, and other similar tasks. It’s usually easy enough for her to get in and out, even if she can't render herself invisible like the photokinetic who had originally shown her the way.
When she arrives that afternoon, though, she find there's little she can do for the moment, unfortunately, besides maybe retrieving some more supplies to be shipped off to Pollepel - the usual, as of late. And she's all ready to go when decides to stop by the Whispering Walls, see who's about. If anyone needs help.
Finding Gillian wasn't what she expected. And that leaves Quinn lingering at the entrance for an uncomfortable amount of time, just watching her read, before she finally speaks up. "G-Gillian?" As if to make sure she has the right woman, stepping the res tof the way in and towards her. She's suddenly feeling incredibly nervous.
There's lots of reasons to stay over in the Terminal. For one, it's a Terminal. In more ways than one. It's comfortable, it's a communication hub, and it allows the sending of messages— or the waiting on replies. In this case, waiting for a reply from her brother— or what part of him is on this island— and his fiancée.
Though Gillian won't admit she's not looking forward to seeing the fiancée again.
Not because she doesn't like her— but out of something a little more selfish. And petty. And not something she really wants to see in herself, much less have others see in her.
The book in her hands is illuminated by a nearby light, allowing her to read the scribed lines. It's not a printed book, but a journal of some kind— her own.
The blank covered book is pushed shut as she hears her name, frowning a moment as if trying to recall the woman.
"I'm— sorry, I don't remember your name…" she admits right out of the gate.”Do you need something?"
"Aaah…" Quinn hesitates a moment, hands slipping into the pockets of her thin hoodie as she approaches. "Quinn. Robyn Quinn. I don't think we've really met. I've seen you around the island though. An' the lighthouse meeting, a few other things…" Which is kind of weird to think about, now, knowing what she's about to bring up with. "I'm not bothering you, am I?" is a genuine question, coming to a stop just short of where Gillian sits, an eyebrow raised. She does offer a hand, though. Part of a proper introduction and all."If I'm not bothering you… there was something I wanted t' talk t' you about. If you have time?"
"You're not bothering me," Gillian says, leaning back against the wall she's planted herself in front of. "Yeah, I remember you from one of the meetings, but— nice to meet you, Robyn," she says with a smile, looking rather tired and emotionally wrought, but that's fairly common these days with people.
"So what'd you want to talk to me about?"
"Well…" Still nervous. Who could blame Quinn? She moves to take a seat a bit down next to Gillian, moving to sit cross-legged once she's comfortable. She looks out ahead, instead of at the woman she'd been hoping to talk to. This part is hard. How do you broach something like this?
"First of all, I wanted t' thank you for savin' me a trip out t' Pollepel," she remarks with a bit of humour and a smile. "I mean, I need t' go out there soon anyway, t' talk t' Kaylee, but I was hopin' t' talk t' you soon anyway." Leaning back a bit against the wall, Quinn lets out a slow breath, eyes closing. "I wanted t' see if you've… you know. Heard about the dreams lately, and all that."
Based just on the grimace, it's plain to see that Gillian's had some knowledge of the dreams, in a way that she doesn't seem really fond of. Happiness and light were not really part of her dreams. Or many people's really. "Yeah, I heard of them— from Kaylee," she says after a few moments of hesitation, trying to control the look on her face.
"Kaylee's the one to talk to about it— she's been collecting reports. She's even nice enough to edit out details you'd rather keep close to the chest." Or broken heart, as the case may be.
Quinn purses her lips a bit, still looking ahead. She offers a bit of a nod in responds to Gillian. "Yeah, I've been supposed t' be working with her. Findin' out what people saw. I kinda… fell outta that after my last few. They haven't been too great, seein' my fiancée marry someone else, seeing her daughter's first birthday. Myself shooting people…" Not that she really thinks Gillian wants to know about, or cares about any of that. But there’s a point.
There's a long moment of thought before Quinn sits up a bit, clearing her thought. "But one a' them that I saw was me, an' the woman I was with, we were with a girl." Her lips twitch a bit. "Her name was Jolene." And then she looks over at Gillian, hesitant and worrisome. And hoping she didn’t just make someone very angry. Or very sad. Really, she's not too sure how approach this, somewhat direct seems like the best way. Right?
For a moment, it looks as if Gillian is having a difficult time breathing. Or at least her breath comes unsteady, and she hugs the journal against her chest, pressing it against the locket hidden under her shirt, so that the locket presses closer to her heart.
"I— I had a dream about a Jolene," she admits quietly, knowing there's no sense in denying it. Not when that's one of the details she shared with Kaylee, and one of the details that would be kept in the woman's books. "I— what happened?" Her hazel eyes aren't really looking at the older woman, instead looking off in a direction… probably not even seeing what's in front of her.
Okay, so, maybe that wasn’t the best way to move into the topic. Quinn hadn't wanted to tell what happened Gillian what had happened in her dream, her head hanging a bit. So, instead, she tries to find a way to divert.
"I know you did," is the soft, cryptic reply given, Quinn looking unfocused. She distracts herself a bit by letting her finger light up, tracing shapes with the light on the air. Nothing that lingers, she's still working on that. "Ah, my dream was…" A loud swallow. "I… I can tell you. Or you can ask her yourself."
"I— what?" Gillian says quietly, looking at the woman as if she's not sure whether she's speaking English or not. On a different day, she might think the woman was playing a prank on her, or just being mean. But she recalls something Kaylee said.
Kasha. Hannah.
Where there's one, there could be more, like the man who could replicate himself as lightning and the would-be President. They had not been alone either, supposedly.
"What do you mean?" she manages after a moment, but as she does, there's something filling the air. It's subtle at first, but there.
Power. And Robyn Quinn just happens to be closest.
Another swallow, a hand rubbing at her cheek as she looks back up at Gillian. A sympathetic look on her face as she pulls hers legs up, she doesn't really hesitate before she continues, mostly because she doesn't want to risk being throttled for keeping Gillian in suspense.
"I found out the other day that the drummer for my band, that we got back in November… was my fiancée’s daughter that I mentioned," Quinn says softly, chin moving to rest on her knees. "And then in the park a bit later, a young woman I'd met through her once before told me she was the same. Jolene… fuck, I still don't remember what last name she was usin'. Somethin' that… that started with an M. She stayed with me an' my wife in the future, an'… she told me. An' she said she was yours, but you were on the island…" Which should explain why Quinn was coming out there looking for her. She shivers a bit as that feeling permeates the room, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.
Jolene. M.
There's something vaguely that tugs on a memory, but it doesn't click. There's too much worry in her eyes. Gillian shifts the journal around so she can grasp the silver locket with a floral design in her palm, before she nods slowly.
The leak of energy slows down again, before it gets too out of control.
"I— where can I see her?" is all she asks, voice breathless. No questioning beyond that, just the most simple one. "How can I contact her?"
"I don't know where she lives." Which is the entirely honest truth, Quinn's hand dipping into her pocket. "She said she'd spoken t' you before. I guess… knowing what I know now about Adel an' Kincaid," yes, there's another, "that doesn't really surprise me."
Taking a deep breath, Quinn tentatively reaches over to place a hand on Gillian’s shoulder, while the other hand pulls out her phone. "I can give you her number, though. I doubt she'll mind." A bit of a smile at that, before Quinn leans back again. "She wants t' talk t' you, after all. I feel bad, spoiling the surprise for her, but…" Like she said, she doesn’t think Jolene'll care.
She's spoken t' you before.
"Marley," Gillian finally says in a rough and hoarse voice. "Like the Christmas Carol." The ghost of… Her eyes press closed and she hunches over a bit, as if trying to curl in on herself. In actuality, she's trying to keep from crying. The hand pressed to her shoulder can feel her shaking.
"I— phone number— thank you," she says, even more hoarse as she sits back up, opening the journal and pulling a pencil out and handing it over. The pages it's turned to have no words, just doodles. Doodles of faces, doodles that could be potential tattoos. But plenty of room to write a phone number down.
Blink. Quinn stares for a mention at Like the Christmas Carol. If it weren't for the emotional moment, she'd be smiling at that. That's clever. But that's not something she really should be thinking about right now. Instead, she slides a bit closer to Gillian, the hand squeezing her shoulder. "I'm sorry." Presumably for putting her in this state with this news. At least, that's what she'd admit to…
Handing over the phone, she lets out a bit of a sigh herself. "She's a good girl, if it makes you feel any better," she says quietly. "I've spoken to her a few times. But she was pretty adamant…"
"I'd— I'm…" Gillian takes in a slow breath, sounding as if she's wavering as she writes down the phone number and then closes the journal once again, before she hands the phone back. "Give me a few days— I… I'm actually grateful that you're telling me." Cause the alternative scares her more— what if she couldn't keep it together in front of her daughter. From a future she's not sure she even wants.
"Thank you," she tacks on the end.
Quinn closes her eyes, giving a quick pair of nods in response to the thanks. "It's nothing. I.. I'm glad. That I was able t' tell you first, I mean. Because I know when I found out about Adel, it didn't put me in the best place at first. So… I thought you might want t' know. That, an' I wasn't sure you'd be comin' back anytime soon. Some folks, they seem t' have taken up long term residence out there…"
Taking back her phone, the device is slipped back into her pocket. "So, you're welcome," is added with a bit of a smile, and look back towards the entrance. "I- can set somethin' up, if you'd rather, she offers. "Or I can, you know… leave you t' think about it. I know it's a lot t' take in, an'… I don't want t' impose."
"I can handle it," Gillian says a little too quickly, looking down at the closed journal— It's abrupt, giving the idea that she may very much like to be alone right now, to adjust to the situation.
But before Robyn Quinn can get too far, her voice raises up again, "Wait— maybe— you should set up a meeting." There's hesitation, and worry in her voice.
But she's saying it for one simple reason.
If it's left up to her, she has a strong feeling she won't do it.
So she opens the journal, scribbles a phone number, and passes it over. "Just make it a few days from now… somewhere… out of the way. Maybe in the ruins."
Quinn's up to her feet and brushing off her (probably ruined) work pants when Gillian's voice comes forth again. She stops midmotion, eyes sliding off to the side a bit. A slow nod and a moment of hesitation, before she bends back down to take the number. Her own is offered in return. "You can call me any time," she says quietly. "If you want to change you mind, if you just want to talk. Whatever." There's a bit of a roll of her shoulders, Gillian's number quickly entered into Quinn's iPhone, the device set back into her pocket afterwards.
And she lingers for a moment, eyeing Gillian before she leans forward, wrapping the other woman in a tight, but brief, hug.
"I'll wait a few days. Give you time t'… you know." She rises back to her feet, looking back towards the entrance to the area. "I'll see you later. Remember…if you need anything…" A wave of her hand as she trails off, another lingering moment, and she starts off, leaving the woman to be alone.
Hopefully, the next time they meet, she wouldn't be horribly made for her for what she didn't tell Gillian…