Participants:
| Scene Title | A Little Less PTSD |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Joseph is fine and Abby is worried. Then they plot out the next week. |
| Date | October 1, 2009 |
Old Lucy's: Upstairs
Though one might remember when a certain fiery woman lived here… Now the living area above Old Lucy's has changed hands. The open living room and kitchen are homey, a commingling of two people's tastes. The leather couch sits kitty corner to a one of red suede and a bit smaller. A large bird cage for it's budgie inhabitant takes up it's own corner beside dark paneled walls. Bookshelves with literary pieces of a variety both academic and not take up another small section.
The kitchen is large, with a rolling wood and black marble island to give more counter space to work on. Pots and pans hang from the roof and track lighting keeps it not gloomy. A proper oak dining table has been set up with matching chairs instead of the 70's castoff that the residents have been known to own and a bowl of fresh fruit sits in the center.
Down a hall lay's multiple doors. A master bedroom occupied by the oldest resident and occasionally have a pervading smell of whiskey and smoke coming from it when the door is open. A second door with a cross above it, a third with no marking that is occupied by the third resident of the premises. Two other doors lead to a linen closet and bathroom respectively. A black cat with a red velvet collar and a little swarovski charm dangling from it can be found meandering at will.
The afternoon is in a murky limbo of lateness and early evening, the light stained orange coming in through the window. The last thing Joseph had heard, past his room, had been a voice he didn't recognise and Abigail's own angry words filling the livingspace, and then not so long after, the scrabbling paws of Alicia and the telltale jingle of her leash, punctuated by the close of the front door. The dog no doubt kidnapped for the redhead to walk off her frustration.
Joseph had opted to emerge, since then, rarely getting the entire space to himself and prone to sequestering himself in his room if he doesn't. The windows are cranked open to allow for cooling air to flood in, and steam billows up from a pot of water currently cooking the dried pasta shells in the bubbling water.
Instead of pacing back and forth for a simple, bland meal to be done, Joseph sits in the center of one of the leather sofas, an acoustic guitar balanced comfortably on his knees. He'd already spent the morning tuning it and so, by the time he has company, the twangs of its strings ring pitch perfect through the mostly empty apartment. He's dressed in a loose sweater and jeans, feet clothed in socks. Expression studious, there's more concentration than enjoyment about his demeanor as his fingernails catch on the tuned metallic strings.
Alicia's getting a lot of walks. Between Joseph, Abigail and likely Leonard, she's a well kept dog. The door opens, keys pocketed as the red head reaches down to unsnap the leash and let the black dog free into the apartment. "Afternoon Joseph. Hope I didn't disturb you earlier" She can hear the boiling water and cooking pasta has a scent all of it's own. "You cooking dinner for all of us or just yourself?"
There is a kitchen down below, in the bar and Abby's been known on occasion to grab a meal from there instead of cooking herself. Not to mention the plethora of muffins and cheddar dill biscuits that were the direct result of her foray to heal Felix last night.
The dog makes her meandering beeline towards her owner, who takes his hands off the guitar long enough to lean over it and run his fingers through her dark curls, skritching floppy ears. "Afternoon," Joseph greets, not getting up immediately as he offers a smile towards Abby, before gently pushing Alicia away. "Oh— no, I'm just eating that plain, I'm not feelin' up for anything more exciting. You and Leo kind of got the cooking thing covered." The smell of baked goods hasn't quite left the room, even.
"Heard we had company, earlier," Joseph observes, nonchalant as he sits back and grazes his fingers light against the guitar, the random chord quiet beneath the sound of his own voice and the stove.
"There's a jar of sauce, store bottled sauce. Or you know, throw some olive oil on it, salt, pepper, and it's just a good" She offers, instead of plain pasta. "It was uhh, His name is Magnes. He was taken with me on Staten, he's a friend. He's also.. he's well meaning and misguided at times. He stopped by to tell me about something that he did, that I didn't approve of. He left to go think about it" Her jacket is peeled off and hung up.
"How are you doing? You finding stuff to do or should I be taking you with me to the ferry houses to do stuff? Since I doubt you'd want to work down in the bar"
Setting the guitar aside, Joseph pulls himself up off the couch, inspecting his fingers where the strings have left tracks through the calloused tips. Smoothing down his sweatshirt, he heads for the kitchen to obediently take out a couple of the items Abby suggested, oil and salt. "Don't worry about me, I can waste time like no one's business," he says, picking up a wooden spoon to stir amongst the boiling pasta, unsticking a few, bringing that hand up to rub the back of his knuckles against his brow before returning spoon to pot.
"Could stand to get out more'n I do, I guess. I just haven't been feeling so great lately. And— heck, I remember Magnes," Joseph says, with a glance back at her over his shoulder. "Didn't he come by the Guiding Light once? And chose to stay a while 'cause've some girl." His attention is back towards the stove, so Abby will have to infer the half-smile from his tone.
Oh. Right. That day. "take it that he never came back?" She follows into the kitchen, lingering near the door. She's not going to interfere with his cooking. Against the doorway she leans, crossing her arms. "I have class out in Long Island city every second night of the week, if you want to kill three hours out there, you can come out with me then. Or there's this bookstore out in Roosevelt Island. I'm sure you'd go have fun in there. She's got all sorts of old books, Ms. Ichihara. One of my favourite places to go. Or…" Abigail cranes her neck to look at the pot. "Or I can call Flint. Tell him you need to be walked and fed and watered, and made sure that you're not gonna snap on us" She's worried about him. Even she wasn't this calm after being taken.
"Oh, he came back a coupla times, it was just some time ago. I think he found somethin' there he liked, but. Religion ain't like a switch you flick on and off." Joseph has his back to her, and so ~concerned vibes~ could do better to bounce off a less oblivious brick wall, although once he lowers the heat a fraction, he turns back to her to lean the small of his back against the counter, hands braced on the edge. His eyebrows go up a little at that last suggestion, fingertips drumming restless where they've braced.
His smile is a little crooked as he says, "I don't think even Flint thinks Flint's the best person for that. Not like he couldn't be, but— " Joseph's mouth shuts into a rueful line, and then; "You're worried."
"Of course I am. You look like you're gonna vibrate out of the room, and your fidgety. Like Liz, only you're a little less PTSD. Myabe, Flint can help you with it because the lord above knows that I would only drag to you to my shrink, and they'd want to talk" Abigails not budging from her spot, somewhat locking Joseph into the kitchen as it is till she chooses to leave or Joseph pushes past her.
"Sometimes too, Flint doesn't realize what he can do, if he doesn't know he's doing it. He's good at just.. being there and being present till you decide to just talk. And then, he'll jsut grunt, but at least he'll listen" for the most part.
The protest of 'I'm always fidgety' dies before he can start to think about shaping his mouth around the words, simply listening instead, though Joseph does furrow his brow at 'like Liz'. His hands conspicuously go still, as much as his shoulders remain a tense horizon now that she's penned him in. "Maybe," he concedes, gaze dipping down to the kitchen floor. "I dunno, I've— I get the feelin' he doesn't feel good about things unless he can fix 'em proper. You saw how quick he took off when I didn't need healing." And the night just previous, but it's nothing Joseph can refer to without it's context, so he leaves that there.
Despite his resolution to still his hands, he moves once more - picking out a bowl for himself, a fork, moving to run his hands under the tap to clean them. "And I think if I start talkin' to someone who don't wanna hear it, I might just vibrate out the room like you say," he admits, with a nervous breath of a chuckle down into the sink.
"Then i'm sure someone in the ferryman will listen. There's a nurse, she's served in the military oversea's" But she's not going to push it, not more than she already has. "It's not something you should do right now, have to do right now, but it's something to think about Pastor Sumter. I can't imagine frankly how'd I'd have been without Dr. Yee and …Ariel. Probably never have met you, and still curled up in bed and never leaving the apartment. You have nightmares yet?"
He switches the faucet off, picking up a towel to dry his hands, though his movements are slow as he steers his attention back towards Abby, eyes narrowing a little at that question. The sound of the boiling water stands alone for a moment before he says, "They were worse when I was in there. In the last few days, they seemed realer than the real thing. Since then— "
Joseph shrugs, tosses the teatowel aside, a hand up towards his still slightly overwarm brow. His expression has gone drawn and grim. "Sometimes. Providin' I can get to sleep in the first place. Ones that make me think that— being out, being here, is just a vision while I'm still trapped back there."
"Hokuto's gonna think that I know nothing but people who get kidnapped. Tomorrow or saturday, we'll go to the bookstore, I'll drop you off. You'll tell Hokuto that I sent you. She'll help you with those" Because it's Abigail, and Abigail knows everyone. "She's helped me with my dreams, and with Flint. Liz as well. Maybe then you can find some books and some peace, find something"
Abigail shifts in the doorway again, there's a way out for Joseph to take, she's not blocking it anymore. "Is there anything that I can do right now, to help you Joseph? Anything that you need?"
The prospect of fixing his dreams gets a cynic's eyebrow raise from Joseph, but the prospect of a quiet bookstore and peace doesn't sound so bad either. So he nods, once, with a tentative smile, and turns off the stove. His hand curls around the plastic covered handle of the pot and goes still at her question, and the fact he really does have a completely identifiable thing to ask for is deeply ironic for the fact he couldn't possibly state it out loud.
One more day. He lifts the pot off the stove, heads to drain it into the sink in a gush of hot water through the strainer, his hands cautiously still. "Right now? I think you've about covered everythin'," he says instead, with a brighter, brief smile towards her as steam swirls through the air. "I'll remember to start makin' food for three, eventually. Maybe on Sunday you can show me where you used to go for service, before."
Before. Before-before. The doorway is free of her blocking it, and the unconscious tension that had lined up through his shoulders and arms seems to bleed away beneath observation, under his sweater.
"I know a place, on Staten Island if you want to remain with the baptists. But St. Johns was my church of preference, close to the ferryman. And don't worry, if you want you can always pop downstairs when your hungry and have one of the girls give you a menu, order from the kitchen. I admit to doing it every now and then when I have too much homework and Leonards working late"
Her fingers rap on the doorway before she pushes away from it. There's a cat to feed, bird's cage to clean and refill her things lest Teo think she's not taking care of his queen. "It'll take time Joseph. Before things seem right. Maybe in a month, maybe so, you and Pastor Ashby might think about rebuilding"
"Might do," Joseph agrees, if only to be able to fill in with an answer. "I might not push my luck with Staten Island this weekend, maybe the next one over. St. John's'll be fine. And, you know— so will I, alright? Like you say, church or no church. This ain't my first rodeo, as far as bad things happenin' goes."
"I'm starting to think we're in for a tour these days Joseph. And I don't want to imagine what's waiting for whoever wins first place" THe chirping sounds that start to emanate from the living room give evidence that Abigail's setting in to cleaning Pila's cage and has let the bird out to sit on her head and shoulders. "Let us pray at least, for a quiet week yes? We'll go to St. Johns this weekend. Maybe i'll introduce you to Pastor McCoy. I bet.. I bet you'll both find each other insteresting" Because who doesn't like the smell of brimstone and hell after a pastor leaves via an evolved ability.
The sound of cutlery, and then the sound of Joseph cleaning up, is a gentle series of porcelain clicks and splashes of water. It acts as an undercurrent to the noise of the twittering bird, before he emerges with his bowl, a fork stuck more or less perpendicular in the mess of food. "We'll see how allergic I am to churches come Sunday," he says, detouring to pick his guitar back up by the neck, offering a slightly tighter smile. "Figures that the church on Staten Island somehow outlasts the one in Greenwich Village."
He gestures with the bowl. "I'll take this into my room - just holler if you need anythin'. I'll be sure to pray for a quiet week, certainly."
"Ahh but the one on Staten is a Luthern one, being taken over by a baptist texan, and he's just started. We'll see how long he lasts. I'll keep an ear out. The same goes for you" She's work off her frustration that hasn't bled off and her worry through cleaning, like always. "Movie will be on later, feel free to come join us!"