A Little More Remorse


quinn_icon.gif sable_icon.gif

Scene Title A Little More Remorse
Synopsis Quinn and Sable hang out on a rooftop; much is discussed
Date February 11, 2011

Greenwich Village

She rang, but Sable waits outside, leaning at sharp angle against a street sign that informs people when street sweeping occurs, and thus when they must suffer having to get up early and move their cars. Decked out in hoodie and leather jacket, well insulated, the diminutive woman scans the tops of buildings as she awaits her companion, arms crossed over her chest. The light of day is ebbing away, leaving the sky a tie-dye of hues, though the fullness of it is hidden by the dark outlines of the buildings clustered around the Verb.

It takes a few minutes, before Quinn slides out teh front door of The Verb. She's bundled warm in her black jacket and pants, though she doesn't actually look that cold, at least when te wind isn't blowing. Her hair, back down to the bottom of her neck, is even less styled than before, giving a genuine look of frizziness Quinn doesn't seem to care enough about to take issue with it. Hands slipped into pockets, she gives a bit of a weak smile in Sable's direction as she patters down the steps. "Hey," she rekarks quietly, eyes half lidded. She looks a little tired - no surprised, given the night before.

There's nothing weak about Sable's smile, but she's not one for pale shades of anything. She pushes herself up off her lean and pads over to Quinn. "Y' look like shit," she says, grinning in mean good humor, "right fuckin' proper f'r a rock star after a big gig. Right on." She steps forward and gives Quinn a tight hug about the middle. "Said it plenty times already, but it bears sayin' now unt' eternity. Congrats, Quinngirl," she leans back, mean grin back again, "knew I was keepin' y' 'round f'r somethin'."

"Thanks. No ridin' my coattails, though. We're going t' build you somethin' of you're own, okay?" Quinn ruffles Sable's hair, for once not meant as a means of indicating how short the other woman is and instead a genuine motion of affection. "I feel pretty good, actually," she notes with a grin. "Just not a lotta sleep last night. Still kinda adrenaline high, 'an making sure everythin' was back in it's place took forever. Plus… there's the whole… FRONTLINE thing," which is spoken quieter than teh rest. Thanks, Delilah, for passing that on.

Even in teh hug, though, Quinn rolls her shoulders. It's unintentional, but there's still a bit of… tenseness to it that she possesses, even if Sable doesn't seem to. "I should be thankin' you for helpin' out so much. Might have t' hire you on permenant life."

Sable lifts her chin, tilting her head into the ruffle, then steps back, weird eyes peering up at the taller woman. "Hon, you know I'm destined f'r great things. Why else did they try 'n' change th' course 'f history?" Sable appears to firmly adhere to the 'Wyld Stallyn' theory regarding the motives behind the time travel craziness of past months. The mention of FRONTLINE, however, causes Sable to tilt her head sideways. "Frontline? That- that's like a news program, ain't it?"

"We'll talk about it later," Quinn replies quietly, turning away from the building. She probaby already shouldn't have mentioned it outloud, but she's going to put anything more on that off for the moment. "So… what's up? the Irishwoman inquires as she starts down the sidewalk, aimed towards- Midtown. Not the most fun things to see off in the horizon, but there it is. "We, uh, haven't talked much lately, I guess."

"Shit like this needs time," Sable says, giving a shrug, her own strategy seeming chiefly to lie in taking things in stride, "I have faith thing's'll work out, if we place proper trust, y' know?" Her eyes cut over to Quinn. "Or am I doin' wrong by bein' so out 'n' clear 'bout our- like- big ol' elephant?" like in the room, get it? "Fuck it, jus' walk with me, eh? I wanna," she jerks her chin up, "get up top one 'f these buildin's. Get a good look at- like- what man hath wrought, eh?"

Wrinkling her nose a bit, Quinn looks down at the concrete in front of her as she walks, rather than over at Sable. "Depends on who you ask, I guess," is the most honest answer she can give without speaking for other people. "I won't speak for Elaine, but, I dunno. I guess I don't mind it, I just feel like things are way more complicated now than they're meant t' be. Which is… [artially my own fault," though she doesn't elaborate on this matter. "So, wait, what do you want t' look at?"

"Gal never had her heart broke b'fore," Sable says, giving a single shrug, though it's not insolent by any means. Helpless, maybe. Resigned, "don't know it's gonna mend, 'ventually. Not that I'm sayin' she's t' blame f'r feelin' so she jus'- don't know better. I mean… naw, y' don't get better, but… y' do." She shakes her head. "Nevermind. I ain't fit t' speculate. Not m' place." She points over into an alley, where dumpster and fire escape make for a good clamber point. "Le's try that. Looks good."

She adds over her shoulder as she jogs over to the dumpster and sets a foot against a groove in the metal. "Wanna see what th' end 'f th' world looks like, gal. What else?"

There's a grumble from Quinn, something about it being all around us - a stark contrast from her usual public attitude. BUt with Sable directing her towards the fire escape and dumpster, Quinn quirks an eyebrow. "Nothin' we're going t' get arressted for is it? I'm sure that would look wonderfully good the day after my first big concert." She grins a bit as she follows after Sable. "Glad I wore pants, now," she muses. And then she finds silent for a few moments, just watching Sable. She'll mulling over something she wants to say but isn't sure she should, and probably has it written all over her face, despite attempts otherwise.

"All press 's good press," said half sing-song, grinning. Sable moves with a loose grace that comes from practice, hauling herself up onto the first level of the stairs and then reaching down to offer Quinn a hand up. The look down causes her to catch that expression, and her brow arches though her hand is still extended. "Somethin' on yer mind, gonna weigh y' down f'r th' climb?"

There's a grimace on her face as she climbs herself up on to the dumpster, looking up at Sable for a moment, before she takes the offered hand and attempts to pull herself up - and not doing so without some squirming and gumbling. A climber, Quinn is not. Not to mention she has bad memories about the last time the two of them were on a fire escape. She's silent until she's up, and the she lets out a bit of a sigh. "Nothin' that's mine t' share, as much as I'd like t'," she responds carefully, shaking her head. "So… what. You want t' look over int' Midtown? Haven't you actually been there? I mean… even I've been t' MIdtown."

Sable lets Quinn take a breather before tackling the stairs. For her, fire escapes are full of fond memory. Of Gun Hill days when things weren't complicated the way they are now. She leans on the railing and considers Quinn in her reticence. "Shit… way t' get me curious," she smiles, "least 'f torments I'm due, figure." She wrinkles her nose. "Been, yeah. But… I wanna see it. With, like, new eyes."

"I don't get it. New eyes?" Quinn sounds a little confused as she folds her arms around herself - even just a little bit higher up, the wind seems to whip a bit stronger, forcing her to bundle up a little more. She heaves out a bit of a sigh as she looks up at Sable. "I think it would do a lot of good if you showed a bit more… remorse?" Not sure if that's the right word, but…" She rolls her shoulders a bit, before following after her friend. "Like you said, she's hard up. I just… I dunno. I think it could help." Well, she knows. Quinn doesn't like lying, but she's not unwilling to bend the truth a little if she thinks it'll help in the long run. "But that aside, I didn't mean t' get you curious." A pause. "We need t' jam again sometime. Just you an' me. Last real jam I got was with a guy playin' on a street corner a few weeks back."

"Hon, y'all tell me what remorse looks like," Sable says, starting up the stairs, "I'll do m' best. But I done bowed my head low, jus' not without everyone 'round t' galk. 'N' if that's what's wanted 'f me, some fuckin'… public display?" she shakes her head, "then that ain't th' gal I loved," she pauses, looking down at Quinn, "not that I'm sayin' that's th' case. But I don' tend t' make open fuckin' drama like that. That ain't right f'r nobody."

She starts up again. "What I feel is an endless fuckin' pain, this bottomless, suckin' well 'f wind," Sable explains, gravely, deliberately, "and I feel as though I oughta cast m'self in, only then I realize it's me that's th' well, 'n' what's been cast int' it is someone I love dearly," she gives a single, glum shrug, the stoic misery of a country singer, "that sound like remorse? Dunno how t' show that, save t' weep. 'N' weep I already have."

She pauses at the next landing, lifting her hand to rub at her nose. "I feel guilty 's fuck, is certain. But that's a poison I'd rather bottle up th'n spill onto my dearly beloved, harmin' them once again."

Quinn frowns as she catches up to Sable, a hand placed on the shorter woman's shoulder. "I know you do. But… Elaine's not like you or me. She can't just bottle it up like your, or let people in despite the resevations she has like I do." Which is to say, even though it's not expressed, Quinn is still mad at Sable, but she's trying to make do with that anyway. "Not that I blame her," she notes, not meaning to be inflammatory, "she's young an' she's had it hard. Someimes I forget she's 8 years younger than me, you know? I was like that when I was 18 too." She rolls her shoulders a bit. "We can… move on if you'd rather." Actually, the offer is more for herself.

"Eighteen… I'd already had m' heart ground int' th' fuckin' dirt," Sable says, hauling herself up the next round of stairs, "saved my life, though. It's why I'm here. Y' jus'," she swings around the railing to face the next set of stairs, "gotta feel through it. Find some place 'f peace. 'N' findin' that place… that's something worth somethin'." The roof is almost in view. She pauses again, waiting for Quinn - she was moving pretty fast for a bit there. "I found it, too," she adds, seriously, "a place. Port in th' storm. I know it ain't fair, but I can't give that up. Don' hate m'self that much."

"Eighteen, I was breaking up with my first serious girlfriend," Quinn laments, shaking her head. "Anyway, I just thought… I'd say something about that, is all." She rolls her shoulders a bit, gaze still alrgely focused downwards outside of occasional looks up towards Sable, and when she reaches the rocker, she stops. "No one's askin' you t' give up anythin'." A pause. "Well, I'm not. An' ultimately… I don't think Elaine would either." She looks upwards, then at the approaching roof. "WHy are you so keen t' get up here, anyway? I mean… it has t' be more than teh view."

"Thanks, hon," Sable says, sounding genuine which likely means it is genuine, "f'r helpin' me find my way. I'll- I'll work on it, arright? Do my best," she cracks a wry smile, "act more miserable-like." She climbs the final ladder and hops over the edge of the building, onto the roof. The wreck of Midtown sits, bathed in light that seeps slowly from the sky, disappearing over the horizon or out into the deepening night. She spreads her arms, as if she could encompass it. Too little, though. Way too little. So she folds her arms, and turns back to face Quinn. "I'm workin' on somethin'."

She'll work on it is enough to get Quinn to drop it, at least for the moment. Instead she lets heavy footfalls bring her up after Sable, hands buried back into her pockets as she comes to the roof, and into the view of the horizon out into the centre of the burough. "Workin' on somethin'?" she repeats as she walks up behind Sable, curiosity in her voice. "What kinda somethin' would that be?"

"How long does it take," Sable says, pointing out to Midtown, then spinning and gesturing towards the hazy bulge of the newly appeared Dome, a new addition to the skyline, "f'r th' world t' fuckin' end?" She steps back, takes a seat on the edge of the building, Midtown her backdrop. "What if it's a stalemate, y' know? Heaven 'n' hell… they'd have t' settle. Split th' world. Which is what the do anyways, eh? Saved saved, th' rest t' th' devil." She grins, "it's somethin' in song. Somethin' mebbe keep me from dirtyin' yer fine new coattails."

"Sounds like a movie pitch," QUinn remarks at first, looking over at Sable when she mentions that she has a song in mind, and she can't help but grin at that as she places a had on her shoulder. "A song about midtown? Or are you thinkin' bigger here?" she sounds genuinely curious, looking out over the vista before her with a sigh. "I already wrote my song about that kinda thing. Two, I guess."

"Never meant t' write jus' one song, hon," Sable says, shaking her head, "I'm a prog rocker. Gotta have my concept. Th' world ends slow, or don't end at all. I got my notion, 'n' I know what I wanna say. I jus'… need t' figure th' story," she steps forward, taps her nose, "I need y' f'r it. Dead serious. I need yer harp. Yer fiddle too, figure," she grins, "pardon. 'Vie-oh-lynn'."

At the mention of a fiddle, it's Quinn instinct to pretend like she's going to push Sable over tehe dge of the building. But they're actually close enough that she reins that in a bit - particularly at the correction to violin. "I guess I'm glad Elaine gave me that harp for Christmas," she remarks quietly, smiling. "A concept album, huh? Sounds interestin'. Ygraine an' I talked about concept hours for, like, an hour on our first real date. Hopefully, you can live up t' some a' the greats. Not taht I doubt you could."

"See. Meant t' be," Sable says, dipping her head, apparently in all seriousness, "I need time f'r it t', like, percolate, but I think I'm startin' t' see the shape 'f it. I need it grand… but 'ventually I need it angry. Raw emotion's what makes Quad outshine Tommy, 'n' Tommy was fine fuckin' work…" she shakes her head, "I gotta have time with it. But I need you. Help lift me up." She squints, realizing what she just said. "Shit, I left that one hangin' out there…"

"What, so you can see over the edge a' the roof?" Quinn teases, smirking. She doesn't really know what Sable left hanging out there, but she grabs at something that presents itself, laughing all the while. "Well… I was thinkin' we need t' have a band meetin' this comin' week anyway," she remarks, sounding more serious this time. "Not… this weekend, I won't be around. But there's some stuff t' talk about, an' this… this sounds like a bigf thing t' work on."

"Surely," Sable agrees, nodding, "lots've studio time. Production work. Gotta sound right," she quirks her lips, "need a job, though. I'm, like, gonna go back on grid. Get m' name back 'n' all…" She clears her brow, smiling at Quinn. "Band meetin' sounds fine. See if I can't present m' thoughts a little clearer to y'. Get yer thoughts 'n', like, musin's."

The look Quinn gives Sable is one of genuine surprise bordering on shock. "Really? Huh. Smart thing t' do, I guess. Just not really what I expected." But she smiles, patting Sable on the back. "I'm sure Dee'll be happy. Losin' one a' you, uh, extracurricular advantages, though," meaning the Ferry. "I look forward t' hearin' about this idea a' yours, though." And again she falls silent, thinking something over - this time she tries not to show it too much this time. "…Have you talked t' Magnes lately?"

"Hey, gotta have proper paper, so's I c'n pay taxes on my vast fortune," Sable says, with smirking nonchalance, "plus, like, gonna be famous 'long with it all anyhow so," she shrugs, "it ain't like my info's not floatin' 'round out there anyhow. Seems like folks 'nough know m' mother's last name, t' call me by it when I ain't 'xpectin' it." A pause. "Y'all know th' name I w's born with? 'r, rather, name I w's given when I w's born? Only fuckin' thing I got from me mumzy, not that I care much t' use it."

The question of Magnes draws a small nod from Sable. "Yup. Shared a smoke."

"You mean your name isn't Sable?" Quinn teases, her hands slipping into her pockets as she looks down at her friend with a grin. "I've always kinda wondered. Sounds like I'm the only one who doens't know well enough." There's a moment of pause, and she shrugs. "Doesn't really matter t' me. Unless you're real name's really cute, you're always going t' be Sable t' me, you know." And speaking of a smoke… that doesn't sound like a terrible idea, and in quick moment, Quinn has a cigarette out, digging around for her zippo.

She needs it, really, before she moves on to her next topic, letting out a soft sigh as she pulls out the silver lighter. "I'm not too hard on 'im, am I? Magnes, that is." She closes her eyes for moment, pursing her lips. "I hate t' always sound like I'm comin' down on 'im. But when I talked t' him the other day… he told me he was going t' leave the band. That he was pretty sure we're all going t' abandon him because…. Sable, he's going t' work for the Institute. I can't even begin t' tell you how uneasy that makes me. Particularly after the other night."
Public> The Hoboken Chicken Emergency Amadeus says, "I don't think I'll ever be able to really RP and drink, I feel way too tired and mellowed out already."

Sable wrinkles her nose at Quinn's tease, smiling after a moment despite herself. "'s Raven. Raven Diego. Mostly went by Diego, on th' road. Picked a stage name right b'fore leavin' Boston. Needed a change, y' know?" She sniffs. "Stupid fuckin' name, ask me. Goth spic, 'r somethin'. Not me. Jus' some sounds, tossed 'pon me."

The yellow eyed girl shrugs. "I dunno that you're too hard, 'r I'm too soft. I don' think too hard 'bout that. What I know is what I see in th' boy, 'n' what he's done f'r me, and what I owe 'im. Everythin' else is jus'… opinion." She gets squinty at the mention of the Institute, something she knows only so much about, and what little she knows consists primarily of dark intimations. "Shit, gettin' further mixed up? Christ Almighty… I talked t' him 'bout this, b'fore. He didn't mention it last we spoke…" a pause, "only mebbe he did 'n' I jus' wasn't payin' attention. Either fuckin' way… I dunno. That don't sound too good," a beat, "c'n he make regular practice?"

"…Raven? Sable, that's an adorable name. We're bird sisters!" Even if Quinn's name isn't spelt like the bird in question. She laughs, draping an arm around Sable- Raven's shoulder. "I think you should use it more often m'self," she says with a grin as she pokes a finger into Sable's side. "But that's me." The smile lasts for a few more moments, befoer it fades, and she looks back out ahead. "I dunno. Made it sound like he's workin' on some research project, with some… people. Sable… The Institute are the people who have Tamara. Who took Lynette an' Joseph an' Gillian. An' shit, this is after he said somethin' about knowin' people in the Ferry on national TV, an' now FRONTLINE showed up at my concert lookin' for specific people. I don't like this, an' that just makes me uneasier. Magnes was ready t' quit the moment he told me, but I told him t' wait until we had a band meetin'. Not t' do anythin' rash."

"Raven's a memory best f'rgot, hon," Sable says, eyes flicking to the arm as it slings around her. Casual physical contact? O- okay! "Diego's a tale I gotta get distance from too. Smarted pretty hard, right there at th' end. A reason I dodged outta Boston, y' know," she huffs, "always some fuckin' reason."

Carefully, Sable scoots an arm around Quinn's waist, the clasp light, worried about gleaning a negative reaction. Still, nothing ventured… "That all sounds… pretty fuckin' heavy," she admits, "we'll talk this out, eh? But shit… I can't be havin' him with so much on his plate, 'specially if it's bound t' poison those who share his table. We gotta get a setlist up, some gigs t' our name, 'n' if work 'r fuckin' jail looks t' be in th' way…" she shakes her head, "damn but it can't be easy, can it? Shit."

The arm around ehr waist causes Quinn to squirm just enough to be noticable. The slung arm had been a bit spur of the moment thing, not really- an indicator of any sort of renewed contact. But Quinn takes the looped arm in stride. There's nothing bad about it, but it stll feels a little… weird. "If you say so. Maybe look int' gettin' your name legally changed. Can't run ferom everythin', though, an' I quite like Raven, I have t' admit."

And that's where Quinn leaves that, instead returning to the topic at hand. "He came to me once, a month or so ago, saying he was going t' quit because he felt he didn't fit in. Hell, half the time, he seems determined t' quit. I told him then, he didn't fit in because he has all that other shit goin' on. If he would just… focus on the band, the music, he'd really be one a' us an' we wouldn't have a problem. But his dad's gotten int' his head an' now he's set on this Institute thing, an'… I don't like it. I'm willing t' cope, but… it means we have t' tred carefully with him. Be real fuckin' careful what we talk about."

"Naw… naw, that ain't gonna fly," Sable says, shaking her head, arm retreating at the squirm, hand disappearing back into her pocket, "not with fuckin' soldiers at our gigs. Don' mind servin' uniforms when they're off duty, but… naw," she shakes her head again, more vehemently, "this jus' ain't gonna fly. Fuckin' hell. Mebbe I gotta talk t' him b'fore th' meetin'. Elsewise I know what's gonna happen. All us folks stand around, no one sayin' 'you should go', but no one sayin' 'you should stay'. I didn't know it was a matter 'f fuckin' security," she wrinkles her nose, "don't think it right t' put our dear 'n' dear in such danger. Naw… gotta talk t' him. Dunno that this c'n work."

"His heart's in the rice place," Quinn notes, looking down at Sable again. "He's used not watin' t' let you down as motivation for stayin' an' leavin' at different times I've talked t' him about it." She lets out a sigh, shaking her head. "I'm not sayin' soliders showin' up are his fault or anythin'. It's just a whole lot of things mixin' t'gether that could have really bad results. I hate… I hate always bein' the person who has t' day these things about Magnes, because I don't want t' just kick him out. I just… I don't think this situation is good for us, or for the band."

"Naw, we're on the same page, hon," Sable says, nodding glumly, that page not containing a great deal in the way of comforting words, for all that it is shared, "I- I dunno, should I talk t' him b'forehand 'bout this? If it's me that's th' stickin' point, don' mind settlin' it mano y mano, y'know? But… yeah, dunno. Meetin' seems like the proper place."

There's a moment of silence, before Quinn reaches over and ruffles Sable's hair affectionatly, her hand resting on her shoulder afterwards. "I think that'd be a good idea. Get his story from him. Just in case I missed somethin'. I talked him outta leavin' the band twice now. I think you should see him, one on one. I don't think you're a stickin' point. Magnes is an asshole, sometimes, but he still wants t' be our friend, an' he doesn't want t' let you down most a' all from what I've gathered." Her eyes close for a moment. "Adel- hell, one a' Adel's friend's was sayin' a bit ago t' give him some leeway. But I dunno what she'll think a' this, an' I'd rather not gang up on Magnes, because you know he'll just leave if we do." A pause. "You should meet Adel's friends, sometime. They're nice. An' kinda cute," she adds with a playful wink. "One a' them, Jolene… Adel must a' taken her the few demos an' studio writin' sessions we've done, because she seemed t' really like what she's heard."

"Hon, I'm up t' 'bout here," Sable says, lifting a hand to indicate a plate about a foot over her head, "with beautiful women. 'Shamed though I may be t' say it, but I dunno how many more I c'n handle right 'bout now," her smile is very wry indeed, "in 'nough trouble with th' ones I already know, eh?" She gives a big, heaving sigh, more of fatigue than of anything else. "I'll talk t' th' boy. Figure it out. Honest, I think mebbe it's time he stepped off th' roster. I'm sick 'f shit gettin' in th' way, honest. I got… what? Mebbe seven years left? Six? Gotta make 'em count."

"Seven eyars left? What are you on about?" Quinn's tone is suddenly a mix of curiosity and seriousness. "An' please. You know neither a' us can get enough a' beautiful women." Which is meant to be her way of turning it back on herself a little bit. "Just remember, Sable. Without him, we're a man down. I can move t' bass for the time bein', but we're going t' need somethin' t' fill the gap if he's out. I just- talk t' him. If nothin' else, so I feel less like I'm always tryin' t' get him kicked out."

"Twenny seven's all I'm askin' f'r," Sable explains with a small shrug, "ain't fair t' expect more," she cracks a smile, "blessed with talent like I got." She gets slowly to her feet, pushing off of the lip of the roof. "Good as done, honey, don' you worry. Sable'll take care 'f it, arright? Now, I ain't gonna keep you any longer. We both got gals back home, don' we now?" she tugs her hood up, "jus' one last thing… we got a date set f'r our meetin' yet?"

Now, this is just silly, and Quinn? Quinn reaches that hand off Sable's shoulder and gnetly smacks her in the back of the head. "You realise I'm 26, right?" She grins, shaking her head at Raven Diego. "Don't talk for that. If you put a limit on your years, you're just going t' rush your way through life, an' there's no fun in that. Live in the moment, Sable, but live there for as long an' well as you can. You an' I are both headed places, an' there's no reason t' put an expiration date on how long we're goin' t' be there." She smiles a warm smile, before draping her arm back over Sable's shoulders. "I'm in no rush t' go anywhere," she notes, looking back at the view. "Elaine's… doin' somethin' at the moment, class or somethin'. I most just have t' go home an' pack."

"Not sayin' you gotta follow in m' footsteps," Sable says, wincing obligingly at the blow, "but I'd be proud t' go th' way 'f Johnson 'n' Hendrix. T' approach that sorta gift? Shit, I'd kick it in three if I could have th' guarantee. Show me th' crossroads, babe. Prick my finger, sign that fuckin' contract." She smiles, good humored with her Faustian ambition. As Quinn puts her arm around Sable, the younger girl shifts into the touch, head tipping against Quinn's own shoulder. "Pack? Where you headed, hon?"

For once, Quinn doesn't seem terribly amused. "I'm serious, Sable. Don't talk like that. It's silly. No devil's deals or what ever. You're just you, an' you an' I are going t' be makin' music for at least the next decade. Can't get int' the rock an' roll hall a' fame otherwise, you know?" She snickers at that, reaching up and scritching Sable's hair, before she lets out a bit of a sigh."Elaine an' I are going away for the weekend. I need t' unwind some now that the concert's over, an' we both want t' get out of town for a little bit. Away form teh Dome an' martial law, an' curfews…"

The seriousness of Sable's own insistence on soul barter as feasibly option doesn't get pushed any further. The topic has shifted, entered more interesting territory. "Y'all gonna have a getaway then, huh?" Sable says, giving Quinn a rather knowing look, "I dig, hon. Y'all have a good time. How long y' gonna be gone? Jus' th' weekend?"

A quirked eyebrow is the response to the look that Sable gives her, Quinn's way of nonverbally going what? "Somethin' like that, I guess. I feel bad goin', since… Ygraine's stuck in teh dome at the moment. BUt there's not really much I can do about taht at the moment…" Rolling her shoulders a bit, she sighs. "We'll be back Tuesday, though. I was thinkin' Wednesday or Friday for the band meetin', then I might head up t' Boston next weekend, see if I can do a house show up there." She's hoping Sable doesn't latch on to the fact that Monday is Valentines.

Maybe Sable knows it's Valentine's. Maybe not. She lives in another version of reality, and sometimes things don't quite make it past the dimensional barrier of her perception. The yellow eyed girl bobs her head in a steady nod. Yes to everything. A wonderful word, yes. Okay, not to the Dome. Not to Ygraine under the dome. But that, at least, she understands. She thinks. She knows she doesn't know shit about love, as love constantly proves to her.

"You jus' lemme know. 'nless forces intervene, beyond my power, I shall be there th' day you say."

"I think you should pick the day," Quinn remarks after a moment of thought, still scratching Sable's head. "I know it's a band… but one thing Magnes is right about? Mad Muse is your dream, Sable. I'm glad t' be a part of it, but it's- I have my dream. I feel like, kinda… that I take control a' things from you a bit sometimes. So you pick the date, an' I'll move heaven an' Earth t' be there, okay?" She smiles, before withdrawing her arm and turning to face the other way.

Sable gives Quinn a slanted look, grin crooked. "'course," she says, "there ain't no band without me? Y'all can't sell without my nimble fingers 'n' dynamic fuckin' frontman sex appeal," she tugs her head free of the scratch, ducking out of the way, sidestepping, "make it Friday, hon. Wanna make sure I'm ready t' present what I got, eh?"

"Friday sounds good. I'll be there, an' I'll fire something off t' Adel so she knows. You get Magnes, okay?" Looking back over her shoulder, Quinn smiles. "I'm lookin' forward t' seein' what you ahve in mind music wise. Really lookin' forward t' it."

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