Participants:
| Scene Title | Undeserving |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Tying up a loose end that leaves revelations for others and disappointments for a healer. Why don't they JUST TAKE THE HEALING! |
| Date | January 26, 2009 |
Outside Le Rivage
Helena was ditched. Left at home after a evening of Abba courtesy of Mamma Mia and a promise that she'd be back at some point to help start cooking. That and Helena was left with money to go grocery shopping. Abigail however wasn't grocery shopping. When you only have three days left to live, you like to try and clean up loose ends, things you meant to do but never got around to it. Or never heard from some people. So it comes to be that there's a blonde woman, in an expensive coat, inexpensive everything else, parked outside le Rivage apartments, watching the building. Waiting to make sure that Colette is gone so that it's safe to approach the building. Safe in her mind. That and she doesn't have the mental capacity frankly to deal with the girl. Coffee in hand, gone through one already with it's husk of paper beside her and waiting to find it's final resting place in the trash, her blue eyes are trained on the apartment complex across the street.
There's another blond out on the street, younger, mostly in the way she acts. Tamara walks up behind Abby's bench, plucking the empty coffee cup out of her companion's hand and leaning on the back of the street furniture. "You were waiting a long time," the teen remarks, tone pleasantly cheerful. "It's not a bad thing. But there's others, too."
Southern blonde swivels to meet with northern blonde, see who had the audacity to steal her empty drink from her. "Tamara" She's got a thing for faces. "Maybe. But a promise is a promise no matter who to. How are you? Sit? I'm waiting for someone"
"Yes." Yes which? Take your pick. She walks around the end of the bench to sit beside Abby, flashing a brief and bright smile at the young woman. "Promises are important. Shiny and sticky. Are you worried?" Tamara segues from offhand observations into a curious question with no warning and less actual transition, head tilting inquisitively to one side.
The other coffee cup is cleared, moved to her lap instead of beside her. Make room for Tamara. "Who isn't" soft little sigh. "You know a Judah Demsky?" Her attention split back and forth between Tamara and the buildings. Waiting for the man to show, or, the other one.
There's a moment's pause, the creasing of brows in thought. "He knew the mirror," Tamara remarks. That appears to translate into a 'yes'. "Don't worry. Nothing happens," the girl continues, reassuring, as Abby regards the building suspiciously. "It's quiet today." Her lips press together into a thin line; it won't be quiet for much longer, as time goes.
"Enjoy it. It won't last" There will be screaming, people dying, world ending, all in a days work for a crime fighting duo. Wait, wrong show. Par for the course for Phoenix and for New York City. "We're moving. You were right. I was quiet. I did like the place. Maybe i'll like the new place too" One leg gets crossed. "Get off the island Tamara. Till thursday"
Looking over at Abby, Tamara smiles and shakes her head. "No," she refuses gently. "Those shadows aren't yet." Succeed or fail, the girl will be here to see it through. "Don't worry about him. He didn't agree. Not everyone can. You could say hello. You could go home. It's a long night."
"I could say hello. But Colette might be there and I don't want to deal with her and her simpering. Not very christian of me. I get so mad when I see her" A tic of Abby's left betrays the annoyance of that. "He hasn't called though. He won't want it. I don't know why i'm sitting here"
"She wasn't," Tamara informs Abby, offhand. She looks down into the empty coffee cup, running one finger around the styrofoam rim. "Because you're here," is her response, delivered with a nonchalant shrug. "But it meant I could say hello."
[
"I like it when you say hello" There's a smile. "Means I get to hear answers in riddles and figure out whether to take them as is, or decipher the meaning" The corner of her mouth stays up in a half smile before she gathers her purse, reaching her hand out for the empty cup in Tamara's hand.
The younger girl smiles back at Abby. She holds the cup up in front of her face, relinquishing it only reluctantly at the healer's insistence. "Not many hellos for a while. Had to be that way. She's learning. They both are, differently. Look to what's coming," the precog finally advises. "The rest took care of itself."
'It's okay. I'm not offended. we do what we have to do" The coffee cup is put with it's twin and Abigail moves over to the shimmery green scooter parked nearby. Keys pulled out from her pocket to undo the storage and put the cups in to be disposed of later. Secured again. The scooters name so neatly lettered just below the seat. Lazarus. The backtrack, offer her hand to Tamara. "Introduce me to him?" no comment to acknowledge the last two sentences.
The storage compartment is studied with a birdlike tip of the girl's head; Abby receives the same scrutiny when she turns back around. For her part, Tamara hasn't moved otherwise; doesn't, until she can set her hand in Abby's with a peculiarly formal grace, smiling serenely up at the younger woman as she rises to her feet. "Yes," the seeress agrees, before leading the way across the street.
Abigails used to scrutiny. It's par for the course when you do what she does and the way that she does. The hand though on her, not so liked, but Abigail tolerates it, even tightening her hand around the other womans for a moment letting her guide her across the street and towards their destination. Judah Demsky's home.
Judah Demsky's Home
Across the street becomes into the apartment building, down a ground-floor hallway. Room 109. Tamara taps her fingers on the door, a light percussion that does nothing more than presage her opening of it and her progression into the apartment. She was here not that long ago; it's still unlocked. "Juudah," the girl calls, sing-song voice foreboding nothing serious — but the use of a name indicating something at least moderately important is afoot.
Tamara's just… walking right in. Okay. Abigail is following, one hand on her purse, the other draped at her side, relaxed, peering this way, that way, looking for the owner of the apartment while simultaneously, praying that there's not gonna be a gun to her head for walking into someones apartment.
If there are any guns in the apartment, they most certainly are not pointed at Abigail's head — or Tamara's, for that matter. Seated at the table in the kitchen's dining area, today's crossword spread in front of him, Judah Demsky watches the two women let themselves in from behind the rim of his coffee cup. The expression on his face is surprisingly neutral for someone whose personal space is being invaded by a stranger, but this probably has something to do with the aforementioned stranger's escort. Judah lays down his pen, though he does not rise to greet them. Instead, he slides a leisurely glance toward the other man at the table and takes a sip of his drink before lowering it from his mouth. "Friend of yours, Tamara?"
There is definitely a gun in the apartment. It's in the holster draped over the back of Felix's chair, under his suitjacket. He's usually good with concealing his reactions, but now ….not so much. Abby. Fel's eyes are wide behind his glasses, but he says nothing, letting her react first. Assuming she does. He's got a cup of coffee at his own elbow, mostly neglected.
Tamara turns her head just enough to fix Felix with a look. But her words are spoken to Judah. "She wanted to meet you." There is, perhaps tellingly, no direction from the seeress that Judah should follow any particular course of action; in fact, with the introduction made (by her standards), the girl figuratively washes her hands of the matter. She pads across the apartment to lean her arms on the back of Felix's chair (and his jacket), peering down over his shoulder at the forlorn cup of coffee. "It's cold," Tamara complains to the agent.
Holy crap. Felix. Dantes. Whatever you want to call him. Propriety and manners make the blonde in the expensive coat stop just inside the door, that and outside shoes, inside a house. She doesn't know whether Judah's the kind of guy to want the shoes off to preserve the floor, or whether it's free for all. Her blue eyes go back and forth between Judah, Felix, Tamara, Judah, Felix, Tamara. "Uhh, Hello" The familiar southern accent to Felix. Wariness, surprise, lots of mental cursing. "I'm Abigail"
Abigail. Judah raises both his eyebrows at Tamara's introduction, though his gaze does not leave the blonde by the doorway. She isn't what he pictured when he received her letter all that time ago — a little too young, a little too pretty by their culture's standards. Now that he thinks about it, he isn't sure what he was expecting, but Abby isn't it. "I know who you are," he returns evenly, gesturing to an empty seat at the table with a vague motion of his hand. "Sit down if you want."
"Yes, it is," Felix says, lamer than a truck full of sick Thoroughbreds. "I'll microwave it. Abby, I'm Felix," he says, haltingly. He's already rising to heat the coffee. Or reheat it, more accurately.
Tamara braces her elbows against the chair back and cups her chin in her hands, watching the agent's progress across the room. Her head is ever so slightly canted, expression contemplative. Not that microwaving coffee isn't an everyday occurrence or anything like that.
"Shoes off, or on?" The southern drawl rolls off her tongue. "A pleasure to meet you Felix" Okay, he doesn't want to let it be known that Abigail knows him. "I uhh, I met Tamara outside. She invited me in. Instead of me waiting outside. Is… Colette here?" She's undoing the belt to the woolen jacket and looking for a place to hang it.
"You can keep your shoes." Judah gave up keeping his carpet clean a long time ago. With a large dog and a teenager occupying the same space, keeping the apartment pristine has become something of an exercise in futility. And speaking of Colette— "No," he says. "She's out walking the dog and avoiding me. Why? Did you want to speak with her?"
Fel is trying to appear relaxed. However, Felix relaxed is one of those rare things, like a solar eclipse, so he doesn't succeed terribly well. He's really busy with that coffee, for the moment, it'd seem, not meeting anyone's gaze.
'No. No. Colette and I…" Abby licks her bottom lip. "Better if she's not here. It could get awkward, and fast and I'd probably leave before you know" There's a wriggle of her fingers. "I was.. trying to clear up some loose ends. You got my letter yes?" Abigail's nervous. Registered or not, it's still very awkward.
There's a moment of hesitation on Judah's part — the first since Abby set foot in the apartment — and the expression on his face begins to darken. "I did," he says, "and I hope you'll forgive me for neglecting to answer it. I felt that it would be better for the both of us if communication ended where it began. It's not that I don't appreciate the offer— but there would be questions I'm not in a good position to answer."
Felix returns to the table, hot coffee in hand again. And is as mute as a stump, merely listening. Really, it's not his business…..and yet, it SO is. Curiosity and cats, etc. Colette, on the other hand, is in for some hard questions.
Tamara stays very still until Felix has settled back into his chair. "That's better." The teen peers over at Abby and Judah, then breaks away from Felix's chair and meanders around to the other side of the table, filching the crossword puzzle from in front of Judah so she can study the upside-down page.
That was when she was unregistered. Now she is registered. "There won't be questions now. I'm registered. I've helped SCOUT a few times, but I can understand, like I said, if you don't want to" A glance to Felix, unsure if he knew she was registered now either. All that brings her to the table, or at least her hands on the back of the chair that he motioned to. "I know Agent Ivanov. He's one of the ones who told me about you. Vouched for you. I met him in the diner I used to work at"
Felix winces at that, fractionally. Outed. Woops.
"The Nite Owl," Judah says with a small nod, "of course." Felix receives a reproachful glance from the detective but no verbal reprimand, at least not yet. He's a federal agent — he has an official excuse to keep secrets from his friends. "I'd rather, Abigail, that you use your gift to help the people who need it." Dark eyes move across the room to an old set of crutches propped against the wall near the door, and he allows himself the tiniest of smiles. "My injury doesn't prevent me from doing my job, and to be honest it's been a helpful reminder. I'm not immortal — I'll probably live longer if I remember that."
Felix is spurred into waspishness. Mostly as a kneejerk reaction to his own guilt. "Don't be so damned saintly, Judah. You've been stumping around like Ahab for weeks. Let the lady fix you."
Tamara pages: Go ahead and skip me.
There's a wince from the blonde at the look Felix gets. "He's not been hiding me on you. I promise. He only knew because I showed up to work looking like a battered wife and the next day immaculate, and really, from what I found out, it's going to be a drop in the bucket to what I usually do. I promise, it'll be.. five.. ten minutes. I'll be out of your hair after, you won't see me again and from … of your praises Colette sang, you… you deserve it" Abigail protests, her hands tightening on the back of the chair.
"Go to St. Luke's. Fix a single mother with terminal cancer, a quadriplegic child who wants to learn how to walk. There are people who are more deserving of your help than I am. I'm five or ten minutes of your time you could be spending elsewhere." As if to demonstrate his point, Judah stands up, grasping at the edge of the table for support. "It doesn't matter whether or not you're registered. There will still be questions. The nature of my relationship with you, for instance. Felix's relationship with you. There's nothing I can say that won't raise eyebrows in my department."
Felix flicks an annoyed look at Judah. "None of those people are cops, Judah. That quadriplegic child, whatever their talents, won't be instrumental in keeping Volken from bringing Ragnarok down on our heads. She came all this way, let her do so. I owe her, so do it asa favor to me."
'Wow. Does everyone think I just sit and stare at walls, squandering it? A caffeine addiction for nothing" It's not spoken rudely, nor sarcastically. the blondes a little off put. "It's okay Agent Ivanov. He doesn't want it. That's fine. I understand. It unsettles people. Thank you Officer Demsky. I had to try. Thank you for your time, I should go then" Her hands are unpeeled from the chair. 'Agent Ivanov. It's good to see you again. Tamara, another time. Thank you for bringing me up" The honey blonde turns then, heading for the door, digging hands into her pockets.
Abby saves Judah the trouble of arguing with Felix, and for that he is grateful — almost as much as he is for the offer. "It's nothing personal," he insists lowly, sinking back down into his seat, much slower than he initially rose. At a loss for what else he should say, he purses his lips slightly, adopting a sullen but aggravated expression as he watches the healer take her leave of the apartment.
Felix is wearing the bitch collar right now, oh, yes. But he clamps down on his retort, and says, quietly, as he shakes his head at the waste, "Abby. Be careful. And let me know if I can help you," His knuckles are white, around the coffee mug.
Setting the crossword page back down with precise, delicate care — even oriented such that Judah can read it! — Tamara looks across the table at Abby. "Be careful," the seeress advises softly, echoing Felix's words.
'Can't help me Agent Ivanov. No one can help me. Keep an ear out. Get them out of town by Wednesday morning" That's all they're going to get cause it's tossed back as she's going out the door. "You too Tamara" She closes it quietly behind her, just the click, leaving it up to them to lock it, if they're that kind of person.
 January 26th: Strings Attach Themselves |
 January 26th: Sharing Salma |