Participants:
| Scene Title | A Different Distraction |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Corbin and Daphne's morning gets interrupted by persistent headaches, cheesy ringtones, and dead bookstore clerks. |
| Date | March 5, 2010 |
Le Rivage - Corbin's Apartment
The thing that makes this apartment a bachelor pad would be in the way it got thrown together. Miss-matched furnature all in dark colors, a rug that's completely out of place on the floor, a table with newspapers opened up and piled all over it, books stacked up on the side. The only thing that could be considered clean would be the desk, with a desktop on one side… and a laptop opened on the other. Both almost always on, with screensavers running when not in active use.
The television, while LCD, wouldn't wow the world into wanting to sit down and watch their favorite movie. A PS3 hooked up for DVD viewing, of which a small collection is stacked on the floor nearby, in no particular order, and a little further away is a storage crate of VHS tapes, and a VCR— the dead medium. That crate seems to be mostly documentariesL and old movies.
Sleeping for the first time somewhere new is never easy for Daphne. She tosses and turns and normally cannot sleep. Last night, she fell all but unconscious into a deep sleep once the last kiss was shared, the last of the pillow talk whispered. The sleep was not untroubled however. Strange dreams — not nightmares, but nonsensical and delirious phantasms danced through her mind all night, driven apparently not by the faerie Mab but by a fever.
The speedster wakes, shivering beneath the bed clothes, though a run through her short locks finds them sweat-drenched. She slips from the bed to make the trek across cold floor to the restroom. Halfway there, her legs suddenly weaken beneath her for a moment — numb of feeling, a feeling too familiar to her to avoid. She stumbles for a half-step but then the sensation is gone. In the restroom, she uses the toilet, then washes her face and her hands. Feeling a bit more human, she walks slowly back to the bed, trying to get in without disturbing Corbin.
As gentle and quiet as she may be, almost as soon as she gets close to the bed, the lone occupant rolls over, rubbing at the side of his head with a hand. Corbin's usually ragged hair looks even more rumpled thanks to just waking up, but the fingers running through helps some. "Morning," he yawns out, pushing up a bit. The sheets fall down his bare chest to pool at his waist, and he glances toward the clock with digital numbers reading out the time. "Still got a couple hours before I need to be anywhere," he notes outloud, half for reference, half with a teasing sound to his voice.
"I didn't snore did I?" And he was accurate enough with his honest description. Loud breathing every so often, a snort or two, but not the rumbling kind of sound that makes one want to smother the guy, at least.
She can't think of a witty comment. She can barely think. "No," she says, curling into a ball rather than reaching for him. She flips her pillow over, looking for coolness, the other side dampened by her sweating. She lies her head down and closes her eyes. "Did I?" she asks, as if an after-thought. She doesn't snore, though once in a while she does kick. One hand comes to shove her hair out of her eyes, and she sighs sleepily, a long, shuddering thing that's almost a groan.
Some people aren't morning people. Immediately this is probably what Corbin thinks when she immediately lays down and switches the pillow around. "Nawh, you just kicked a bit," he teases, and while she can't really see it well, he's frowning a bit, until he suddenly smiles and begins to get out of bed. "I promised you waffles, didn't I," he says, obviously showing his 'morning person'ness rather quickly. How many people smile that much when they just woke up— unless he was awake for a while and faking it.
As he moves away from the bed, he slips on a pair of sweat pants. "I'll go take care of that… do you have any drink preferences? Coffee— orange juice?"
The mere mention of food gets an official groan from the speedster. "Ugh, no. Just a glass of water. And Tylenol. No waffles," she murmurs, her voice muffled from the pillow that Daphne's face is now pressed into.
"Are you always this cheerful?" The last is said a bit crankily, as if being positive and cheerful is a fault. And didn't she know that before she got into bed with him? He is, after all, the Star. But she feels like crap and here he is talking about waffles with that silly grin on his face. "I can't do cheerful right now." Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed, apparently — except she's back in it.
"No waffles?" Corbin asks, as if confused by this change of events, even as he looks at the way she's groaning, and muffling her voice into the pillow. There's that frown again, whether she can see it or not. "I'll go get the Tylenol and water." Now that he looks at her, this is much more than waking up on the wrong side of the bed. The headache from last night is recalled, even if it didn't stop them from…
"I'll be right back," he says, trying to regain his cheerfulness, as he hurries into the kitchenette and begins to pour water. She'll hear that easily enough, and hear when he gets back next to her side, sitting the glass down on the night table along with the bottle. "Do you often get headaches?"
Daphne is not a good sick person. It brings back everything, all the memories of being poked and prodded by doctors and nurses, all the whispers about her in town when she lost her ability to walk. Her face still buried in the pillow, she shakes her head, a childish act thanks to the childish fears that being sick bring with it. She slowly sits up though to reach for the bottle of pills, shaking out four this time. Three didn't help, four should be better! She tosses them into her mouth and reaches for the glass of water to chase them down. "I just need to sleep… can I just sleep?" she says, a slight whine in her voice that is very unlike her.
This isn't how he'd expected the morning to go, in the least. The clock's still showing a very early time. Corbin does remember her saying she would sleep til noon sometimes… Maybe it's because of that? "Yeah, of course you can just— "
~ Open your eyes, I see
~ Your eyes are open
~ Wear no disguise, for me
~ Come into the open
That would be the sound of a song suddenly playing, partially muffled by the clothes it's piled under. With red tinge on his face, he hurries over to the pile of clothes, digging around quickly.
~ When it's cold outside
~ Am I here—
The song, a very 90s sound to it, suddenly clicks off as he picks up his cellphone and answers, "Corbin Ayers?"
Flustered.
The phone ringing gets another groan from her, and she rolls over, sprawling into his side of the bed and burrowing then under the covers. Apparently she has no plans to get out any time soon. "What kind of ring tone is that?" she mutters. Normally it would probably amuse her, but today everything just seems — well, grim. She does tilt her head slightly, lifting her head enough to hear his side of the conversation in curiosity. Who would call this early? It's good they were already awake or she'd be really annoyed at the phone call.
A cheesy one…
There's a sheepish smile from him, whether she can see it or not, but most of Corbin's attention is on the other side of the lone. "Yeah, I know Hunter, she works for me," he says into the phone, then there's a long bought of silence. He stays knelt down, there's a whispery voice just barely heard on the other end. When he speaks again, there's something suddenly different about his voice, "When?" One single word, but somehow it seems even harder than the way he'd spoken when faced with the nightmares, and the prospect of who had really been behind them.
That firmness fades as quickly as it showed up, suddenly almost stuttering, "No— no, don't call her. I'll take care of this. I hired her, I don't think they even met… Thanks for contacting me."
Click, the phone's off.
"Daphne, I'm going to need to go," he says, standing and putting the phone on the dresser, moving to get some clothes on. "That was a— police contact I have. Something happened and I need to go. Do you think you'll be okay here for a while?" She said she wanted sleep, looks like she needs sleep— now she'll get to do that without him.
Hunter? Daphne knows of the Hunters, but it's a common name, and the correlation to the girl she saved and the girl she stole from and the girl who works for Hokuto don't mesh in her feverish head. The only curiosity is for that shift in tone in his voice, the fact that something is wrong. Even though she's sick and a bit unclear in the head, she can tell that much. "Is everything okay?" she murmurs, able to come out of her self-centeredness for a moment and focus on him, on the fact that someone may be hurt or worse. "I'll be fine," she adds, her own voice a little uncertain — will she be all right? There's that doubt again.
A pair of jeans and a shirt later, and Corbin's back at her bedside, leaning down to press a light kiss on the back of her head, pressing into her hair. "I wish I could say everything was okay. I'll try to be back, but I'll call if I need to stay out longer. Just make sure the door's locked when you leave," he says, moving away and hesitating.
He should give her a key, but something about that speaks far too intimate for him. If she weren't sick, she'd register the pause. If he hadn't just heard a woman he hired was murdered in her home last night… he'd probably draw conclusions about her illness… But for the moment…
"Well, you'd wanted to sleep, so— I hope you feel better."
"Okay," Daphne says, her voice not much more than a whisper. Her head is wet where he kisses, though the fever seems to have broken for now. "Be safe… whatever it is. I'll sleep a couple of hours and get out of your hair, if you're not back." Her eyes flicker closed again. She's so tired, despite sleeping most of the night. She'll be there when he returns.
"I'll bring something to eat, something that can sit in the fridge, in case you don't feel up to it," Corbin says, also considering the possibility of her just not being there either. It's wishful thinking. But he already knows he won't be back in time for lunch… Dinner maybe. "I'm glad you stayed last night," he adds, as he slips into a pair of shoes.
Glad, but at the same time, probably wishes she felt better in the morning… Can't have everything, though. Somemore movements, and he's going for the door, with a coat pulled on.
"Me, too," Daphne says in a very small voice, perhaps unheard as he's already across the room. She doesn't want anyone to see her like this — but she doesn't regret anything about the night before. She is beginning to regret her meeting with one Molly Walker.