A Dog With Two Bones


colette_icon.gif tamara_icon.gif tasha_icon.gif

Scene Title A Dog With Two Bones
Synopsis A meeting between two is interrupted by a third, and awkwardness abounds.
Date April 27, 2010

Le Rivage

"It's cloudy, it must be Tuesday."

Those were the words of greeting by the doorman at the Lobby of LeRivage this afternoon when the daughter of Detective Judah Demsky made her way downstairs. The old doorman's sense of humor is something that often shoots over the head of the detective's adoptive daughter, probably the heads of other people who reside here at Le Rivage as well.

With the kindly if not a bit senile seeming Harold having gone on break and Colette Nichols left to loiter in the lobby, the afternoon's cloudy light spills thorugh the front doors of the tenement building in muted quality. Seated cross-legged on a chocolate brown sofa near the unoccupied reception desk, the dark-haired teen has for the first day since being injured forsaken her sling, trying to return some semblance of mobility to her right arm. In her lap, a dog-eared old softcover book is open. Colette's read through this book too many times now since she bought it almost two years ago now, but the red-covered copy of House of Leaves isn't so much for her own enjoyment right now as it is intended to be a gift.

Beside her on the sofa's leather seat, Colette's cell phone sits silently, reminding her of the time that the old analogue clock on the wall here no longer accurately tells. It's not surprising that the girl she's waiting for here is late, but with the weather as bad as it is, Colette's not about to split hairs on schedules.

Flipping through the book, Colette pauses as she finds a place marker that had slid down inside who knows how long ago. The faded receipt of a Chinese takeout order, August 27, 2008 is printed at the top of the receipt. Colette's dark brows furrow, teeth toy at her lower lip and green eyes wander away from the book in her lap…

With no doorman at the door, Tasha slips in, bundled in a bright yellow plaid coat and a bright green scarf, all in all in a sort of sixties "Mod" vibe now that she's had a chance to clean up. The clothes are new, thanks to her mother who took her shopping when discovering that the girl's clothes were still in Boston but for a small backpack's worth. Brown eyes fall on Colette and she hurries forward.

"Hey," she says, her voice a little breathless from tramping through the snow from the subway station — even a short walk is hard work in cold weather and thick snow. "Sorry I'm late. Though no one in their right mind is out," which puts her not in her right mind, of course, "it's slow as hell to get anywhere. Plus on the way here the traffic was all jammed 'cause of those damn penguins crossing the road. Some old man was trying to herd them so they wouldn't get hurt. It was cute." She flops on the seat next to Colette, smiling as she sees the other has no sling around her arm.

One gloved hand moves into her pocket to touch the white rosebud Tasha found peeking out of one of her boots when she got dressed. She isn't sure how and it certainly isn't like her mother to leave her a flower — in a boot of all places. She tilts her head curiously at Colette. "I didn't tell you where my mom lives, did I?"

"N— No you didn't…" It's a distracted answer, and Colette closes her book, trying to play it off as that having been what distracted her. Spotting the scarf, Colette's eyes widen a touch and a sheepish smile crosses her lips, shoulders hunching up. "I… was gonna' get you one," the teen notes, motioning with her nose to Tasha's scarf with a lopsided smile. For all the bright color Tasha's dressed in, Colette seems so much more drab, which is strange given how colorful her ability is. A black peacoat, brick red turtleneck sweater worn beneath, the charcoal gray of a woolen scarf and dark jeans marked with white threading down the sides all seems very uniform in color and texture. It does make the green of her eyes seem to pop out, though.

"How'd um," Colette's dark brows furrow, one thumb brushing over a dog-eared corner of the book at her lap, flip-flicking it back and forth, "how'd everything with your folks go?" It's something of a touchy subject, undoubredly, and when Colette's dark brows lift up it shows her hesitation to approach the subject.

The smaller of the two teens glances down at the book on Colette's lap as well, more for something to look at while she answers the questions. Her hand goes to her throat and the scarf, and she smiles. "You don't have to replace my scarf, silly. I mean, you saved my life, you nut," she murmurs first, tugging her own a little looser now that the air is no longer painful to breathe in. "My mom made me go buy new clothes. Luckily the black coat she couldn't tell what was on it, but she could tell it was … you know. Dirty." Bloodstained. Tasha did wash it and the rest of her clothes. She'll keep the black coat for other Ferry missions in the snow that might end up with someone getting bloody.

At the question regarding her parents, Tasha's eyes drop, and one shoulder rises and falls in a telltale shrug. "My mom was great. My dad … you know. The usual. Don't smoke, don't swear, why'd you drop out of school. I let him think it was about … you know. Boy stuff." She makes a grimace.

"And I asked about Ferry, tried to play it like I heard something about it in Boston involving his department, but he kinda… just… no." Tasha shakes her head, closing out the conversation on that topic, and switching to another awkward one, pulling the white rose from her pocket and handing it to Colette.

"This was with my stuff this morning… I thought… maybe somehow… not that I think you're a stalker or anything…" Her brown eyes get wide.

No, Colette's not the stalker.

Empty as the lobby is, no one's there to give away her approach except Tasha — and by the time her awareness has caught up with her eyes, Tamara has crossed her field of view, closed the distance to stand behind the couch. The girl is barefoot, dressed in washed-out jeans and a white shirt decorated with vining yellow flowers and one orange butterfly; her long blonde hair is loose and probably hasn't been brushed since whenever Tamara got up this morning. The conspiratorial finger at her lips, the cheerful curve of her grin, don't quite ameliorate the shadows under her eyes; it's a little debatable whether the seeress slept much last night, or maybe even for several nights before.

Tasha doesn't have much of a window in which to give away Tamara's approach, and Colette even less of one to react, before her fingers press against the dark hair of her target's left temple; she deftly slides something to perch behind Colette's right ear. A brief burble of quiet laughter and her familiar voice are enough to identify the ambusher: "Surprise."

Colette's rose is pink.

Colette freezes at the touch of the hand at her temple and the familiar voice that usually brings a smile to her lips. It's easier to smile when you aren't feeling so guilty. Turning slowly, Colette reaches up at the same time, fingers toying with the rose tucked behind one ear until the pads of her fingertips find the silken petals, the thornless stem, and gently pull it away so it can be seen. Looking down, wide-eyed, Colette looks from her rose to the one Tasha holds, then up to Tamara.

"T-Ta— " Colette breathes out a sound, it's not quite the rest of the blonde's name, but it sounds something like it. Swallowing tightly, Colette offers a nervous look to Tasha, then comes right up and onto her feet, sending her red-covered book down to the floor with a smack of the spine hitting tile. "You're— " Colette's eyes dart to the hallway, then back to Tamara, "how long have you been— "

Now she doesn't know what to do, presented with Tamara's smile in the same frame of reference as Tasha. There's a story relevant to this that Colette's never heard, about a dog with a bone in its mouth that sees its reflection in the water, the dog opens its mouth to try and snatch the bone in the reflection, and drops the one it has. Now it has nothing.

"T… Tasha," Colette says with a nervous smile, "um, this— this is Tamara." There's no introduction the other way, apparently Tamara already knows her.

The smaller brunette's lips part as she sees the strange blonde pad barefoot into view and lift that finger to her lips to tell Tasha to be quiet. And there is a rose, which sends Tasha's gaze down to her own flower, white to Colette's pink, now juxtaposed against her friend's dark hair.

When Colette drops the book and then murmurs the name Tamara, everything becomes clearer — if not clear. "Ooh," says Tasha softly. She swiftly bends down to pick up the red book spilled from Colette's lap, the white rosebud juxtaposed like blood on snow — but in reverse.

Finally, she stands so she is not the only one sitting, turning to set down the book and the rose on the brown sofa, before smiling at Tamara and offering a hand. "Hi, I'm Tasha," she says, unnecessarily, perhaps, but some habits are hard to break.

The thing about bones is that they no longer make choices of their own. People — do.

"Hi." Tamara greets Tasha, not exactly formal but at least it's a direct acknowledgment of the introduction. It takes a measurable moment longer for her study of Tasha's hand to transform into jolting recognition: right, I'm supposed to do something. She glances to Colette before reaching over the couch to shake that offered hand, briefly and with a perfunctory air. Even as their hands touch, the seeress' focus has moved on. Blue eyes flick to the space between the younger girls, beyond them; still no one's here but they. Means no one can complain when Tamara vaults the back of the sofa to slide down into the corner seat, apparently not content to stand awkwardly around the piece of furniture. Feet pulled up on the cushion beside her, the girl drapes her arm along the arm of the couch, resting her head against its curve, this pose apparently the only concession the seeress cares to make to her own fatigue. Blue eyes settle on Colette, smile beneath them faint, wistfully gentle. But she doesn't say anything.

Not right now, and not just to her; silence stands for another beat. Tamara's head tilts as her attention redirects to Tasha, or as near enough as can be; she smiles again, casually amicable. "I'm not a dragon," she informs the brunette — both brunettes. "Didn't need to bite."

Grimacing very subtly, Colette flicks a green-eyed stare to Tasha, then changes her expression to the smile she knows she should have on her way back to the sofa. "You look tired…" Colette offers in a hushed tone of genuine concern, immediately kneeling forward onto the couch and leaning over to Tamara, lifting up a hand to reach for her shoulder — hesitating the barest of moments — then changing her mind at the last minute and brushing the knuckles of her left hand against the blonde's jawline. There's a delicate way her smile carries there, brows raised worriedly as she settles down at Tamara's side on the sofa. Colette's hand moves up, threading an unruly lock of blonde hair behind one of Tamara's ears.

"Thank you…" Colette offers quietly, holding up the rose in exlanation, then as she moves to settle down with one leg folded beneath herself, she lifts it back up to tuck behind her ear right where Tamara had intended it. It's evident when Colette turns to look at Tasha that there's color on her cheeks, though the emotional content of her expression is much easier for the more lucid of the two young women to read, there's some bittersweet juxtapositioning of relief and sadness playing at each other; she's both thankful for and struggling with Tamara's presence.

Nodding to the space on the sofa at her other side in indication for Tasha, Colette turns her attention back to Tamara, laying a hand down on the blonde's shoulder. "Were you visiting Judah?" She asks in a hushed tone, trying to smile a bit more despite herself. "I— wish I'd seen you when I was there last night."

Tasha's expressive brows knit with confusion at Tamara's strange wording — didn't need to bite? Does she mean Tasha? Does she mean herself? Colette? Who knows. At least she's been forewarned of the Seer's manner of looking at the world so she half expects the confusion — there is a tumultuous wave of something else beneath the surface that she pushes aside, or tries to.

Nodding dumbly, the petite brunette moves to the other side of Colette and sits. She sets the book down, the rose on top of it, then awkwardly shoves her hands into her pockets as she stays quiet, to allow Tamara to answer Colette's questions — all with an uncertain but polite smile on her for-once quiet lips.

Looking up at Colette, Tamara's eyes narrow slightly, tracking back and forth across her expression with the attempt to both judge the younger girl's response and gauge her own best course; but in such a context, these can only be bewildering things. For all her insight, the seeress has no answers here — discounting the spoken, which has nothing to do… but she'll try. "He was busy," Tamara replies, after a moment more to collect the words, framing her responses with — to Colette's ears — deliberate care. "Sleep first, yes. He was there later. You were going out." She doesn't stir from her chosen seat, but looks between the two younger girls as she falls quiet again.

Looking over her shoulder to Tasha, Colette shows that troubled look again, though she is quick to try and hide it. "Judah— my dad— he… he's looked after Tamara," such as he can, "since I've known him. He's always kept her safe," though some times Colette wonders how the truth of that statement actually stands up, and if it's more Tamara keeping Judah safe, by way of being a surrogate for something he lost. How true is that for Colette?

Turning back to Tamara, Colette leans in, lifting a hand to the blonde's cheek and pressing her nose to her forehead, planting a small kiss there afterward. The silver of Colette's ring on ungloved fingers is cool against the seer's cheek, even if the symbolism of it might be lost on her by now. "You want me to take you home?" Colette offers with a wrinkle of her nose, a faint but proactive attempt at not looking so piteous. "I'll carry you if you say no," she jokes lightly, slouching back against the sofa, looking from Tamara to Tasha then back again. "Or— delegate it to Tasha, 'cause you know— stitches." Of course Tamara knows.

But then, she hasn't been sleeping. Tamara's been awake, for too long judging from the circles under her eyes. Furrowing her brows, Colette leans up from the sofa, slides off and comes to crouch in front of it with a hand on Tamara's knee, green eyes off and over to Tasha before settled back on the seeress again. "What's— been keeping you awake?" It's hard to ask for specifics, even harder to guess at them, but for all the perceived weight that rose behind her ear emotionally offers, the weight of worry for Tamara's well-being is greater.

"Ahh," Tasha says softly, nodding at Colette's words regarding Tamara and Judah. "Yeah, you should get some rest," she says, trying to be helpful but feeling rather … redundant, is the word that comes to mind. "I can help… or I can… do you want me to go?" The latter is said more quietly, more for Colette's ears than Tamara's, though she offers the blonde a sympathetic smile. A hand comes out of her pocket and to her lips to chew on a nail a little nervously.

"Thank you for the rose," she adds, a little louder though no less uncertainly, to Tamara. Her brows furrow again and her dark eyes drop. "You two can visit, and I can catch up with you later if you like," she says to both. "I can go get coffee or … something."

"You — won't," Tamara says to Colette, shaping the verb's syllables with some effort. She shakes her head slightly, then looks over at Tasha; smiles at the other girl, a crooked tug of the corner of her mouth. "Stay. I — will go."

Pushing herself away from the arm of the couch, Tamara kneels on the seat, letting one hand — her left hand, and the counterpart ring — rest on Colette's shoulder. "Awake, asleep," the seeress replies with a hapless shrug; her earlier precision in speech vanishes as quickly as that. "Lines are figments in the waterfall. Quieter now, a little. Wasn't for long anyway," she finishes, reassuring smile falling somewhat short of meaningful effect.

But for all that her words take leave, Tamara doesn't move right away. She pauses a moment, head tilting to one side, studying the girl before her. Two fingers of the seeress' free hand come to rest against the bridge of Colette's nose. "You forget what shadows are," she says quietly. "What made them, makes them, over and again." A moment's pause, and a rueful, lopsided smile. "Don't be afraid," Tamara concludes softly, instruction and benediction delivered with a brush of fingertips across Colette's forehead, nudging dark hair to the side. For whatever the words are worth, in the end.

Rather than expect Colette to move from where she kneels, Tamara again takes the unorthodox route of going over the arm of the couch, bare feet landing less loudly on the floor than shoes would have.

Two directions to go in, and none of them ultimately chosen. Colette sits up as Tamara moves, one of her hands lifting up to touch her forehead where Tamara had, green eyes wide and lips parted for words that don't come. When Tamara speaks, each sylable is important in its delivery, but when Colette speaks the inverse is true. She needn't use words to communicate to Tamara, but words are all Tamara has to Colette. It's a funny mirror that way, and in that sympathetic lack of communication Colette conveys wordlessly her inner turmoil.

The noise in the back of her throat, somewhere between the beginning of I and a whimper are more for her own sake, but communicate that same wordless sense of confusion to Tasha somewhat more vocally.

Watching Tamara move, Colette's green eyes are wide, the weight of her words hanging on her as heavy as the rose now: Don't be afraid. It has so many ways to contextualize, so many things Colette's afraid of, and in her statue-still posture. Like an animal that was waiting for a moment to spring on prey, Colette bolts up from her seat, boots noisily squeaking against the floor as she rounds the sofa, comes up behind Tamara and wraps her arms around the blonde from behind.

There's a firm grip there, and Colette rests her head against the back of Tamara's, nose buried in lighter hair. For once she has words she wants to spare, words she wants to say, but uncertainty and nervousness rob her of them, but Tamara knows the context of things she could have said. The I love you's, the stay's, the I'll still be there when you look's. They don't get said though, just the embrace, which lingers extra long in place of words. Sometimes touch is the grounding factor, sometimes Colette just needs to hug someone she cares about.

When her arms unwind, when she lets Tamara go, her boots clunk softly against the tile floor of the lobby. Teeth steady her lower lip for all that control over her emotions can't. Green eyes divert to Tasha, and silence conveys for her a world of words that don't get said. She may not be able to see all the myriad of possibilities, but it doesn't take a prophet to know when someone's hurting.

"I forgot to fed Jupiter," is the dumbest thing she can blubber out to Tamara's back, standing there between the sofa and the blonde; the dog with two bones at the water's edge. The silence was too much.

"No, d-don't leave," Tasha says, standing when the other girl is suddenly climbing over the sofa the same way she entered. Funny that it is Tasha to murmur some, at least, of the words that Colette doesn't manage to say to Tamara. "Stay — I …" she gets up, glancing at the door out to the snowy street outside, clearly thinking of fleeing so that Colette can spend time with Tamara.

One foot moves back, and then the other, the book and the rose still on the sofa as Tasha edges toward the door, her face contorted with confusion and that other unnamed emotion she isn't ready to wrestle with, rising from her depths and to the surface, flushing her cheeks and choking her throat.

Long distance to Colette: Tasha nods. and when are we dess-daph-clara-ing sorry I was posing here than the joanna scene — her relationship with mom is like SO SO DIFFERENT, she's all snuggling up and playful with her compared to vincent, so funny

"I know."

There's a wry humor to her voice, and lurking beneath the serenity of the smile Tamara casts over one shoulder. "It's okay," she continues; those two words apply to so many things, not just for Colette. Blue eyes flick to Tasha, the older girl shaking her head slightly. "Three was too many; and the mirror sleeps. One step only, others for other days," she advises.

A last smile to Colette, the sybil's sympathetic wisdom; she brushes her fingers against those of the younger girl, then turns and pads towards the hallway, not a backward glance in sight.

Slowly lowering her hand when Tamara moves to retreat, Colette watches her with wide eyes as she rounds the corner past the reception desk, headed barefoot to the hall Judah's apartment lies down. Colette's shoulders curl forward, a hand lifted up to her face as she keeps her back to Tasha, fair fingers raking up through her hair and curling gently in inky locks. She sucks in a breath, troubled despite reassurances, then swallows sharply and uses the sleeve of her sweater to wipe at her eyes before turning around to the couch.

Of course there's just a rose and a book there, and Colette looks for a moment like someone who just realized they didn't know where they were. A jolt of panic from being alone in the lobby, until she turns just enough to see Tasha backing up towards the door. Throat working up and down, Colette doesn't say anything, just stares with wide green eyes at the other brunette, absolutely helpless in her expression.

Colette's lips part, words don't come though, and as she turns the rest of her body towards Tasha's direction, she's reaching up to pluck that rose out from behind her ear, waiting to see what the other girl does.

When Tamara disappears, Tasha's feet stop backing up; her small features marred by a frown for a moment, she finally smiles uncertainly at Colette. "I'm … I'm sorry if I scared her away," she offers softly, dark eyes flitting to the hallway the Seer disappeared down before they return to the wide green gaze of her friend.

"You can follow her if you want. I understand. We can catch up later," she offers again, now that Tamara isn't there to hush her with cryptic words and riddles. Tasha's fingers dig into her pockets, coming up with her cigarette pack and the hot pink lighter — though smoking means going outside into the polar weather.

"She's pretty," she adds, a non-sequitur voiced by the confused feeling whirling like a tempest through her. Her eyes drift to the rose on the couch and her feet move her forward once more until she reaches the sofa to pick up the flower once more, lifting it to her face to smell it but more for a reason to avert her eyes.

"She is…" Colette agrees quietly, her eyes down at her feet, teeth toying with her lower lip. Turning to look from where Tamara disappeared and to where Tasha stands by the book and the rose, Colette finally breaks into movement. The young woman clears the space between herself and Tasha, slowing as she gets closer in hesitance, before taking those last two steps quicker than she'd made the entire approach at. Colette's arms come out, wrapping around Tasha and her chin rests down against the shorter girl's shoulder, then is adjusted so Colette is hiding her mouth against the yellow plaid of her coat.

Fingers curl into the garish fabric, green eyes shut, and it's something of an awkward embrace, though the breathed out noise of Colette crying that comes after implies that she's not going to be following. Why is anyone's guess, but the tightness of her arms around Tasha, and the second time in a single day that she's felt ashamed of herself.

Colette's shoulders jerk with the hiccup of a restrained sob, nose trailing down along that yellow jacket's shoulder before she presses her forehead against Tasha, hiding her face entirely out of embarrassment for being so emotional. Despite being a couple inches taller, Colette feels so much smaller like this.

When Colette comes to her, Tasha inhales sharply, surprised by the sudden motion that has them suddenly embracing. Her arms wrap around the other, fingers swapping the rose to the hand that holds the cigarettes and lighter before her left hand slides to Colette's neck. Her fingers splay, dragging through the hair the nape of Colette's delicate neck with her free hand.

The hand clutching cigarettes and lighter and rose pays no mind to the fragile cancer sticks or the more fragile rose, crushing against Colette fiercely as she lets the girl cry. She simply holds and accepts, letting the other lean on her as long as she needs.

Her free hand slides slowly from Colette's nape to her jaw and then her cheeks, wiping one and then the other with gentle fingers. Her own eyes are downcast as well, staring down at their feet on the lobby floor.

It doesn't last long, the emotional outburst, the release of all that tension that tries to say do you see now in relation to how her life with Tamara is. For the first time she feels like someone might understand the difficulty behind the emotions conveyed, and the uphill battle for someone's love she's been fighting. Maybe she forgets the shadows, Tamara's right on that, but Colette doesn't have her foresight— and if she did she probably wouldn't like what she sees coming. She'll have to deal with that hurdle sooner than she expects.

Still no words when Colette turns her head to the side, nose pressing against Tasha's neck, cheeks warm and damp with tears. One of Colette's hands slides around from Tasha's back, fingers latching on to one of the buttons on the front of her coat for support. Lips come to the brunette's cheek, feverishly warm and as soft as the rush crushed against Colette's back.

"You…" Colette whispers, breath cool against the alternating moisture of tears and a kiss, "look like a clown threw up in a Hot Topic." She needed to laugh, and that's exactly what she does.

At the kiss, Tasha's front teeth rake over her full lower lip before Colette's words make her snort and then laugh. "You and my dad. Fashion police, shit." She leans back to look at Colette, arching a brow at the other before finally releasing her. "At least," she says, "you won't lose me in the dark. Or in the snow. Or among anything that occurs in nature, unless I stumble into a marigold patch. Do marigolds grow in patches? I don't even know." She shoves the cigarettes back in her pocket and then the rose a little more gently, though it's bruised and lost some petals in the fierceness of the hug.

Tasha brushes her fingers over Colette's cheek again, face pulling into a sympathetic moue. "Your dad good?" she asks, to change the subject.

Offering a toothy smile at the way Tasha plays along, Colette nods her head, lifting one sleeve up to her eyes to dry them again. She bites down on her lower lip, head nodding again as she exhales a breathy, exasperated laugh. "Yeah— yeah my— my dad's fine," Colette offers in a hushed voice, looking back to Tasha with a clear expression of both lingering emotion and appreciation on her face, color full in her cheeks. "He ah, we— we talked a lot. I— I got him to, um, I showed him video of the aftermath of the vaccine raid. The— coffin-y thing?" There's a faint crook of Colette's lips into a smile as she wipes at her eyes again.

"He said he was gonna' help…" Colette's lips lift into a sorry smile, as if embarrassed that she had the luck with her father, while Tasha had something a little less productive. "He— he's gonna' help us now. He trust me, trusts— " Colette shakes her head slowly, lifting a hand to straighten the collar of Tasha's jacket.

"Yellow looks cute on you…" is more honest than her joke earlier, green eyes lifting up to the brunette, hand moving out to touch knuckles at her jawline, the same affectionate gesture she'd offered Tamara. "Um…" though she's more nervous around Tasha, and the hand drops after just a fleeting touch. "I— I'm sorry about…" Colette motions to the tucked away rose. "I don't— I don't know why she does things sometimes."

"That's great," Tasha says, brown eyes widening and a genuine smile lifting her full lips before her eyes drop to the side, shyly at the touch on her jawline. "I'm glad you could talk to him, and that he trusts you. And quit looking like you ate the last chocolate chip cookie. Just because you got a cool dad. I'm not going to be jealous of that and hate you or anything. I'm glad for you."

The word jealous causes her brows to knit for just a moment, a flicker of uncertainty on her face for a second. "Don't apologize for that, either. You told me what it's like, and it's not your fault, and she didn't… she didn't do anything wrong. It was sweet. I just don't know what it means," Tasha says in a hushed voice, afraid of saying something wrong of the girl that Colette is in love with. She glances away, her eyes catching on the red book for a moment. "Your book, don't forget it…" she says, using it as a welcome distraction and reaching to pick it up.

Smiling faintly, Colette's eyes track a path to the book, and there's a wistful smile on her lips. "I have a hard time knowing what she means and why she does stuff too sometimes. I— I misunderstand her a lot, see— things that aren't there in what she does." Which is to say a romance where they may be something more platonic, something that isn't what Colette's been struggling to have for herself these past two years. Moving away from Tasha, Colette steps to the sofa and leans down, picking up the red book and brushing her hand across it, as if its brief time on the floor had sullied some of its worn-in charm.

"I bought this book… because it was almost impossible to read," Colette explains with a smile, looking back over her shoulder to Tasha. "It's— like a puzzle and a story." The silent smile that follows implies like her. "It's— got a lot of sentimental value to me, I've had it for a while…" walking back over to Tasha, Colette turns the book around and offers it out to the brunette. "I— I wanted you to read it. It's creepy but it's— I think you'd like it."

There's a sheepish smile, and Colette's doing more than just offering a book. Colette's trying to offer an explanation in allegory; here is how my life has been, I want you to experience it. It's as much the figurative open book of her heart as she can possibly offer to another person.

"I wish I'd thought to get you flowers instead…" Colette weakly adds at the end with a nervous laugh. "I don't think roses come in green, though."

Tasha's lips part in surprise as she is handed the book, taking it and turning it over in her hand, to glance at the back, before glancing up. The book is held to her yellow-clad chest, and she offers a smile. "That's really … I will take good care of it," she says, knowing the book means something significant, and that it isn't offered lightly.

Her hand moves out to touch the pink rose not shoved in a pocket, and then the same hand touches Colette's cheek lightly. "You already gave me a flower, remember? The most beautiful one I've ever seen," she says softly, her eyes dropping down again, dark lashes fanning blushing cheeks.

A slightly shaky breath is exhaled and then Tasha looks up. "So. Where to? Let's go get some caffeine and food. When do you wanna go back to Staten, or are we sticking around here? I talked to Roger in Boston, and I don't think there's anything going on there. I might stay a while," she says, brightly, one arm looping through Colette's. Apparently the worries about things being too complicated have been pushed aside, despite the fact they haven't been resolved.

Colette's slow to smile but quick to blush at the touch to her cheek, though when she turns to look over her shoulder, it's to where Tamara retreated to. Her eyes close and she looks back, staring down at the floor and then subtly up to Tasha, then a more fixed look at the question. She's too shy to say more than the nervous laughter that bubbles up at first, then squeezes the arm hooked around hers, hugging it to her side gently. "I was supposed to see Cat today, but… I think it can wait till tomorrow. I— I just wanna' rest and… and try to clear my head." Brows furrowed and green eyes lifted to Tasha, Colette offers a faint smile as her hand moves down to the brunette's, not so much just looped arms, but fingers lacing together in a squeeze.

"There's a coffee place a few blocks from here at the corner that's still open…" Colette offers in quiet explanation, "then I think… we can hit the subway." There's a wrinkle of the teen's nose, head tilting forward, "I— wanna show you Grand Central, we can paint you a fish on Joseph's wall, and… and we can talk." Trying to focus on the positive, on what she thinks she has at her side, Colette offers a warm and tender smile.

"And um…" Green eyes down to the floor as she takes the first step, tugging Tasha gently by the hand, "I hope it stays boring in Boston." Colette's green eyes flit to the side, meeting Tasha's darker ones.

"You're needed here."

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