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| Scene Title | A Small World |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Abby and Trent catch up to discuss the Colette issue and some connections are revealed. |
| Date | November 6, 2008 |
The Nite Owl is a survivor from ages past - one of those ancient diners with huge plate glass windows, checkerboard linoleum floor, and a neon owl over the entrance that blinks at those entering. Inside, there's an L-shaped main counter, complete with vintage soda fountain and worn steel stools. All of the cooking is done on the ranges ranked against the rear wall. The outer wall is lined with booths upholstered in cracked scarlet vinyl, tables trimmed with polished chrome. Despite its age, it's been lovingly maintained. The air is redolent with the scent of fresh coffee, vanilla, and frying food.
Late night again. Abby's one of two people up front, presumably others in the bank. Theblondes looking like she's running about three can's of red bull. Closer to the truth than many might surmise. She's seated at the back back booth, isolated from the rest of the diner somewhat. Sugar shakers, salt shakers, pepper shakers abound on the table, as well as containers posessing the appropriate condiments to refill all those things with. Tack on a big package of napkins and the pile of holders piled on the table, looks like she's on slow duty tonight. Pink uniform and all.
The bell above the door chimes softly as it opens, and from the dark streets walks in a familiar, if not entirely unwanted, face. With his arms wrapped around his waist to shake off the cold from the drizzling rain outside, the young college student Abby only obliquely knows as Trent seems like he's seen better days. Normally Trent is outgoing, not one to wear a frown on his face, until issue of politics gets brought to the table — but even then he's more energized and vitrolic than the picture of sullen discontent that hangs over him tonight.
Meandering his way across the tile floor, his wet sneakers squeak and scuff until he settles down on one of the stools at the wrap-around bar, shrugging off a black pea-coat and unwinding a charcoal gray scarf from hsi neck, both articles just laid out on the stood beside him. With a sigh, he leans forward to rest his arms on the countertop, hand falling down to rest against his hands, fingers working thorugh his hair as he exhales a heavy sigh. It seems he hasn't noticed his one-time savior yet.
Oh, Abby notices him, and a salt shaker just hits the table with a touch more force than necessary. Maybe by accident, maybe, it's purposeful as a means to get his attention instead of screaming across the way 'hey you, guy I saved in the street'. Quite possibly, it's a byproduct of just seeing him there and loosing track of how far away the table was from the salt shakers bottom. She can't keep her eyes off him at the moment.
The sound seems to go unnoticed at first, until Trent very slowly raises his his head up from his hands, dragging his fingers down his face. In the florescent lighting of the diner, his face looks longer than usual, and the dark circles under his eyes just barely noticable. When he does finally spot that blonde-haired, blue-eyed, pink-uniformed waitress, there's a mixed expression on his face. He leans back, looking up one side of the diner to a row of empty booths, then down the other, spotting an old man seated in one boot reading a newspaper with a plate of fried eggs. He hesitates, then casually slides off of his stool, leaving his coat and scarf behind.
With a slow, hesitant stride, Trent makes his way over to the table Abby's seated at, hands tucked into the pockets of his faded denim pants. "Hey," his voice is a bit hushed, "Seen you workin' here before I think." His eyes divert back to the kitchen, peering through the window where orders would be sitting at busier hours, then back to Abby, "You look like you could use the company." He's acting strange.
"Sit your rear down and have the decency to tell me how your feeling" Abby quasi orders when Trent comes over. There's jerk with her chin to opposite her and she keeps her voice low so as not to disturb the other people in the diner. "Told you, /and/ her, not to come here. You know what she did /trent/" Abby seems to know very well who the guy is. "She comes in here, and makes a scene. Asking for me by name, and hands my friend a business card. Not any use of discretion, or tact, or with respect to what exactly might happen. Do you want something to drink?" No hint of anger at the moment. Just a very low but level tone.
"That's my fault." Trent slouches down into his seat, running one hand through his hair, fingers pressing firmly against his scale. "Coffee, please." He looks like he's been up for a while, "But it can wait." Leaning back against the bench seat, Trent stares up at the ceiling with a regretful expression, eyes wandering as he follows a water-stained crack in the ceiling tile overhead.
"I told her not to push things, gave her bus fare, and sent her on her way that night, after you…" He blinks twice, then lowers his head and looks back down to the young waitress. "Thank you." His brow tenses, on realizing he'd never properly thanked her. There's something of a rueful smile though, and he leaves it at that.
"She comes by Columbia on my lunch break afterwards, demanding that I tell her who you were. I slipped up when I sent her home the night before, told her I recognized you." Reaching up, Trent's hands rub over his face for a moment. "She's young, she got upset. This guy she's living with — " He gives a pause, looking at Abby for a moment, "Not like that. — He's a surrogate father, or, adoptive father or something. He's a cop, Anti-Evolved task force. Serious sh — " He grimaces, "Serious stuff."
"I guess a while back he got hurt chasing down that serial killer, the one…" He looks to the side, then back to Abby, his voice lower, "The one who killed Cameron outside of the safehouse." The question begins to raise on how Trent knows that, "He got hurt. She didn't tell me how bad, but she was…" He strains a sigh and leans back, "She was emotional. Some things were said, bad things. I slapped her. I…" He shakes his head, closing his eyes. "Been trying to call her all day, but she isn't answering my calls…" He closes hie eyes, "I had no idea she'd come down here, I'm sorry. I screwed up."
"I can't save the world Trent" Abby answers back. "No one knows what I do. You wouldn't have.. if I hadn't met you before. If I hadn't made that choice, that night. Stay here a sec…" Abby slides away from the table, a tray of Salt and peppers to be dispersed to tables. Not another word is said while she bumbles around the diner getting coffee for him. The blue eyed woman is thoughtful, as she brings back the coffee, one for him, one for her and slides it in front, positioned /just/ so.
"I'm still tired, from what I did. and helping a little bit, some other people. Yours.. yours was me pushing very hard. Very hard and very quick and .. with the hope that I would stay anonymous with the help of my friend. But it didn't, and you told her my name, and you told her where I worked, and she showed up here and I don't know whether I need to quit and find another job, or whether I should keep doing like i'm doing. Do you understand this? I'm not Registered" Abby's voice is still low. "I won't register. God gave me this, to help, where I could, and i'll not be shoved into a system that will take my life away from me and dictate how i'll spend my waking hours. This is a gift, that /He/ gave me. That he's a cop… " She shakes her head, looking into her cup. "How am I to know he won't turn around and tell someone, even innocently. How will you explain his recovery?"
Trent smiles faintly as the coffee it set down, and he reaches for it without a touch of anything added, as he's often had it here before. "Abby, you're preachin' to the choir." He notes with a hint of teasing tone there about the analogy. "I know what risks you took, doing what you did. Scott said it was a stupid move on your part, when I told him what happened." He raises his coffee up to his lips, taking a sip, then lowers it down slowly. "I didn't know you knew Helena, though." That there is something strange, a name he certainly shouldn't know.
"Look, I know what it means to need to be safe." His voice lowers a touch more, despite there only being one other person in the diner, "I've worked for the Ferrymen for a year now. Me and a couple other guys who volunteer down at the Cathedral's soup kitchen, we do food deliveries through a woman who comes every month, Grace, you might know her."
Trent sips at his cup again, "I was there talking to Scott, one of their organizers, the day Helena and her friends showed up. Look, I know what risks you're taking, and God knows I'm just as fervent about people like you not being found out. I — " He frowns slightly, "I may not be as faithful as I was growing up, but I still do my part. Colette, she volunteers down at the Cathedral too, three days a week feeding people without a home. She used to be one of the people I fed, she used to be a homeless kid I helped take care of. I don't know if she's trustworthy though. I don't know much about her, but I've seen her with a Federal Agent too. When that Detective got hurt, she was being watched out for by an FBI agent. I don't have any idea why a Federal Agent and an NYPD Detective would be protecting her…"
Staring down into his coffee for a moment, Trent tilts his head to the side, then looks back up to Abby. "She's a good kid. Loud, obnoxious, teenager, but she's got a good heart. I don't know, Abby, what you should do. God knows I hardly know what to do with myself half the time. That's your call, but this detective means a lot to her, and…" He frowns, slightly, "To be selfish, I bet your people might want some of the information he has on that serial killer as a trade."
Abby studies her cup. Ferryman or no, she'd have to confirm with grace first. "How badly's this guy hurt?" Up she looks at him, all seriousness in her face. "I did it. All the time when I was living at home. Did it during katrina and during the explosion. If I go slow, it's harder to know where it's coming from or to pinpoint"
"No idea. Colette was pitching a fit that he might not ever be able to go back to work because of his injuries." Trent's shoulders rise in a shrug, and he takes another very small sip from the steaming cup of coffee, seeming to be a source of some reinvigoration on his part. "Hell, I don't even know how he got hurt. Maybe she's making a big deal out've nothing, you'd have to ask her."
A moment of silence slips in between his words, considering what Abby said, a faint smile creeping up on his otherwise serious face. "You're doing the right thing, that. No sense in having a gift like that if you don't use it. I'm sure — " He falters, laughing awkwardly to himself, " — I know the people you've saved, they're thankful for it." Then, after a moment, he looks to the side, his expression growing grim again. "That girl, the one from the other night. Whatever she did, it was like a poison came out of her skin. My hand burned the minute she grabbed me," his eyes flit back to Abby again, "Did you figure out what was up with her? I couldn't tell what was going on with all that fog."
Abby shakes her head. "I was out of it. Asleep not long after we left you. What I do, comes with a price. You can't see the shadows under my eyes because of makeup and i've had… three red bulls today on top of probably a pot of coffee, but i have a day off tomorrow and i'll be getting rest" not a single mention about the fog. Her forefinger taps her cup. 'She can't come here. And i won't meet with her until she calms down. I won't help her friend until she explains what it is that's wrong with him and in a very public place that may or may not have my friends watching her and me. From the sounds of it, he's alive, and he's going to remain alive. I have limits, things I can't do and I'm not going to go into depth. but she can't come here. This is my job and this is what pays for my place and for things and I'll not jeopardize my job just for a girl who couldn't keep her mouth shut in front of strangers"
"I think I closed the door on Colette, whether I wanted to or not." Trent shakes his head slowly, "She won't answer my calls, and I don't have a clue where she lives. Unless she shows up to volunteer on Saturday, I don't think I'll be able to get what you want to her." He drains the last of the coffee, settling it down on the table. "Call her, hell, space the fifty cents at a pay phone if you have to. Tell her what you want, maybe she'll listen, maybe she won't. I can try, but that means waiting another day before I do." Trent breathes out a sigh, "That's if she shows up, and doesn't come down here first."
After a moment, Trent looks up from his empty cup, sliding it across the table as he changes his tone some, managing a faint smile to Abby, "Even God rested a day, you should maybe take two." There's a faint hint of a smile, as much as he can manage given what's gone on.
Abby laughs. "Six days, He worked, and on the seventh He rested. He didn't get paid by the hour, though, or had an expensive rathole to pay for. I'll think about it. I'll promise you that. I'm… miffed, to say the least that she didn't have enough brains in her mind to not come down here. If I do this, I'll make sure she knows that."
Abby taps the side of her cup again, draining the contents to the last drop and pushes her own cup back. "You're Ferryman. Would trust her? This was something you blurted out, unintentionally and Grace would have your hide if she knew, I'm sure, that you compromised me in such a fashion. But then, I did it first, by saving you; and no, you don't owe me. I was there, for a reason, He only knows why. I trust you, by tellng you even as much as I have right now. Not much, but I do. This guys a cop, for the Anti-evolved. Am I signing my name to a death warrant or near close enough, if I help?"
That seems to be a difficult question, and his answers agrees with the sentiment. "I've only known her a couple months, hell, Grace was apparently the one that put the idea in her head to come down to the church in the first place. But, I don't know… I mean, she's a kid. I don't even think she's eighteen yet." One hand reaches up to scratch at the side of his cheek, "In all that I've known her, she seems like a good enough kid. But she doesn't know anything about what we do. I tried to show her that viral video that your buddy Helena cooked up? She called it crazy terrorist crap." His lips crook up into an awkward smile. "But a lot of people think that, and if what I hear lately is right, it's half true." That seems to disenchant him a little.
"I'm less worried about Grace than I'd be worried about what Scott would do to me." Rolling his shoulders some, Trent exhales out a sigh, fiddling with the handle of his coffee cup, spinning the glass from side to side between his hands. "I think she's a brat who doesn't know how the world works. But on the same token I don't think anyone's ever really showed her either." He finally ceases his nervous diddling with teh coffee cup, pressing his palms flat to the table. "Never met the cop, and I hardly know her. But what I do know is that she was damned upset, and I made a big mistake. If I were you, I wouldn't take the risk. But I'm not you, because if I was…" He grimaces, "I'd probably be dead right now."
"In the end, who am I to keep away from others, what he wants me to give? Maybe.." She shrugs her shoulder. "She's put me in a position. If I do it, I risk a lot more than just me. If I don't… She knows enough, enough that I'll have no choice but to leave, and leave quietly and quickly, becuase she doesn't sound like someone all there, and very impulsive. All it would take is her getting upset and deciding that since I won't do it, no one else should get it, and turn my ass in." Abby sits back. "She'll get an answer. Either way, may not be what she likes, it may be. But, I need to talk with others first," Abby takes a deep breath. "This all you came down here for? say thank you, and put in your two cents?"
Trent nods, slowly, then with a laugh and a shake of his head he motions to the coffee cup, tilting his head back to look at Abby with a scrutinizing expression, "Actually, I came here to get something to eat." He cracks a faint smile, "But I did want to thank you. Wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for you, so the least I can do is offer you a bigger tip," He tilts his head to the side, smirking now, "But only if you get my poahced eggs right."
"Tom's the one who will get your eggs right," She reaches into a pocket, withdrawing her order pad. "I'll turn down the tip though, just tack a prayer before you go to bed tonight, to you know who. Was his arrangement I'm sure, that I was where I was, to help you. Now, what else do you want to eat and i'll get you set up at the counter. I got stuff to fill."
 November 6th: Fire and Fury |
 November 6th: The Janitor's Angel |