Participants:
| Scene Title | Used To Be Home |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | An experimental daycation from Eltingville leads to two strangers chatting over dessert. |
| Date | June 15, 2011 |
Nothin' says lovin' like a bun in the oven.
…Or so the saying goes.
There aren't many bakeries in Eltingville, no real good ones anyway. Like good furniture, the government doesn't seem to think that the residents there need good baked goods. Usually Delia wouldn't care, in fact, most times she wouldn't care but today she feels the need to thank someone.
Nothing says thank you like cupcakes.
"Do you have any with eyeballs on them? Or could you put eyeballs on them?" The redhead looks up from the case holding a vast selection of little cakes to eye the woman behind the counter. She's not really the owner, she's just filling in part time. "I don't mean real eyeballs, just — never mind. I'll take two chocolate, two lemon, one of the pink ones, and one of those bacon ones."
Trask says, "Bacon flavored Cupcakes?" He stands near the counter himself, looking at all the flavors when he hears the order. His accent has a touch of the latino. "I know they say everything is better with bacon but come on…." He grins softly and nods to the redhead.
Lifting one shoulder, Delia sneaks a look at the stranger out of one corner of her eye before turning to actually look at him. He doesn't look dangerous but neither do many of the people that seem to hurt her or the ones that she knows. "They might be good… the lady I'm giving these to might like them." She does seem to cater toward the eclectic, judging by the bikini/knife combo she was wearing at the beach.
Turning back toward the glass case, she eyes a few of the more regular pastries. The redhead seems torn between something that looks like a little pyramid of chocolate rumballs and some pastel colored petit fours.
Trask looks over the case himself, he hmmms softly then points to the rum balls, "give me a half dozen of those, for here, and one of the butterscotch cream cheese muffins in a bag? And what the well, one of the bacon's too." He grins at her again.
What Trask receives as an answer is a slight tick at the corner of the young woman's mouth. It could pass for a tiny smile, or at least an expression that isn't quite so downcast as the one she's been wearing up until this point. Folding her arms over her chest, she hunches a bit self consciously and lowers her head to look behind the glass again, still catching small glimpses of the man at her side every few seconds.
"You'll have to let me know if you like them," she ventures in a more courageous tone of voice. Not that it's likely she'll see him again but it doesn't hurt to be friendly. "Maybe then I'll get brave enough to try them myself."
Trask says, "Well I am getting 6, I am sure I could spare one, if you would like to join me?" He grins a little not actually looking at her when he says it, eyes on the back of the room near the menu.
Delia's eyebrows shoot up high on her forehead and she ducks her head and twists to look at Trask. "Of the bacon cupcakes?" The clarification is made just as the woman behind the counter passes the redhead the small box of confections, tied with a string. It's by that string she holds it, swinging it gently at her side, not enough to actually harm the cakes inside.
"I'll uhm.. I'll take one of the petit fours and a raspberry ginger ale please." Digging into her pocket, she pulls out a small handful of quarters that might be enough to cover her expenses. She places it on the top of the counter, watching as one of the coins rolls dangerously close to the edge. Oddly enough, she doesn't chase after it.
Trask chuckles and shakes his head, "No of the rumballs, sorry I didn't catch which one you were talking about."
"Oh.." she says with a shake of her head. "I've had those before, I know what they're like." By the wrinkle of her nose, Delia doesn't like them all that much. As she waits patiently for the stranger to get his order, and to receive her own second order, she pushes one of her thin sleeves up to her elbow. It's a little too warm outside to be wearing heavy jeans and a long sleeved tee, no matter how thin, but she doesn't seem bothered by the heat.
It's air conditioned inside anyway.
"So you like them then?" She emits, making a feeble attempt at continuing their conversation, uncaring about how vapid she might sound. "The rumballs? My mom used to make them every Christmas for company… my sister and I snuck some once."
Trask chuckles "Actually I saw you eyeing them, and figured I would try them, my mom never made anything with alchohol."
"Seriously?" The young woman's eyes widen, as disbelieving as if Trask had just announced that he was a top draft pick for the NBA. Everyone knows that white boys can't jump. "Are you part of a cult or something? Or was your dad an alcoholic?" She also seems to be missing a sensitivity chip somewhere in her brain.
Raising a hand, Delia attempts to make amends when seeing that she just might have said something wrong. "I mean— sorry— I mean … I guess that I just figured everyone's parents did stuff like that. My mom loved parties, she'd get ready for hours."
Trask says, "My mom hated parties, but that is because she always worked at them. My dad…he might have been. I don't remember him much." He smiles and pops one of the rum balls into his mouth, wincing for a moment as he does at the strength of the taste. It takes him a few moments of chewing to get his mouth clear again.
"Oh." Is all Delia can say to the answer of her questions. "Sorry…" about never knowing his father. Reaching out, she accepts a little plate with her bite sized iced square and her glass of soda, trying to balance them both in one hand while keeping the box of cupcakes well away in case she trips and spills. It's been known to happen.
Nodding to one of the tables in the back corner, she begins moving toward it carefully. When she gets to her seat, she places the glass down first before the plate and then the box, only then does she sit. She tugs at her jeans to make certain that her ankles stay well hidden while she parks herself down but there's an outline at the back of one leg. A clunky piece of jewelry.
Trask raises an eyebrow as he sees the anklet, taking the seat opposite her he places his own bag to one side, and puts the plate of rum balls on the table, "You know you leae the country for 6 months or so and all jewlelry styles change completely again."
Her face reddens as attention is brought to the tracker and she slides her foots well under her chair. "It's uhm… What you get if you've been caught." Caught doing what, she doesn't reveal. Delia toys with her dessert for a half a minute, remaining silent before looking up at the man across from her. "I'm Delia by the way." There's a little bit of gratitude in her voice, perhaps because he was kind enough to sit with her even with the anklet on.
Trask nods, "Karl…Can I asked what you were caught at? Shop lifting? Drunk Driving? I thought usually those were for house arrest."
"I live in Eltingville," she offers as the only explanation, as though it should be enough. "I'm not like the rest of them though, they don't want me. They probably just want to know where I go and stuff like that. I don't know…" Taking a drink from her gingerale, she silences for another moment to allow the man to absorb the information, maybe run if he needs to.
Trask says, "What is Eltingville? The rest of them? Sorry I just got into town, been gone a little while.""
"A prison, it used to be home." Delia says of the ghetto. Perhaps it's on a subconscious level that she raises her head and looks in the direction of Staten Island before turning her blue eyes to Trask. "It's where they're putting the evolved that they catch or relocating the ones that were on Roosevelt. The ones that can't leave have anklets like mine… but like I said, mine's a bit different."
Trask ohhs softly and nods, he puts a hand on hers, "I see….well its not the first evolved prison. I think time will see things work out, one way or the other. We just sometimes have to roll with it, to find out where exactly the plan is going, and sometimes we got stick a lead pipe in the spokes. Remember how they say to live, Strong and Free?"
Furrowing her eyebrows into a tight vee, Delia pulls her hand away quickly and reaches toward the box of cupcakes to pick it up by the string. "Yeah… Free…" Her anklet ticks against the metal leg of her chair, letting off a small sound as she stands. "Someday but not until I get it off." She doesn't even know how she's going to manage it yet.
"Thanks for the company," she says as she pulls her sleeve down and takes a step for the door, "maybe I'll see you around sometime." It's all he receives for a goodbye before the bell jingles and she's hurrying down the street without so much as a side glance at him through the window.