A You Intervention



Scene Title A You Intervention
Synopsis A return to a former life doesn't give the solace expected.
Date April 29, 2011

Las Vegas, Nevada

Bright lights in pink, green, red, blue, and gold flash and slide around a raised podium that stands empty in the centre of a crowded bar. A catwalk leads from somewhere beyond a curtain made of beads, and one made of many layers of sheer, gauzy fabric that only allow for a glimpse of silhouettes moving behind it, to an open circle. Music plays loudly, horns calling over the top of chatter.

A voice on a speaker over the top of all of that. "And now, tonight's main attraction…"

Men whistle and shout their own brand of drunken, lecherous encouragement in anticipation.


Come on, boy, I've been waitin' for somebody to pick up my stroll

Now, don't waste time – give me desire, tell me how you wanna roll

I want somebody to speed it for me, then take it down slow – there's enough room for both

Girl, I can hit ya back, you just gotta show me where it's at

Are you ready to go?

Stilettos should make sounds like cracking on the floor of the walk, but it's lost beneath the thump of bass. Centre stage is home to a pole the woman is about to work. Sexy cop is a bit clichéd, and certainly overdone, and a little ironic, but it works.

If you want it, you've already got it – If you thought it, it better be what you want

If you feel it, it must be real just say the word and Imma give you what you want

She's done routines like this a thousand times. It's all second nature. Long ago, she avoided eye contact with the crowd. Tonight, she's flirting from across the room, sizing up who might be the best tippers. The ones she'll approach later on. After her turn on stage.

Time is waiting

An Asian man – Japanese, she thinks fears – sits in a booth with a glass of water in front of him. Because they don't serve vodka in glasses that tall in this place.

Her heart stops in her chest, but she does not falter. She works from muscle memory that would make her cousin proud. Her blood is pounding so loudly in her ears that she can't even hear the sound of the music anymore. So deafening, it's as though the world has gone quiet instead.

We only got four minutes to save the world

A leg hooked around the pole as she turns a tight circle around it, and a toss of her long, blonde hair. When her vision clears, the man is gone. Only an empty glass to betray that he had ever been there.

If he'd ever been there.

gina2_icon.gif jessica2_icon.gif niki2_icon.gif

One Month Earlier…

New York City, New York

Speakeasy Hotel and Casino: Lorine Hawk's Room

There is character to the room, if in the way that 'character' carries negative connotations. The paint is peeling off the skilful wooden moulding, the carpet is faded and the bedding looks old and tired. The painting hung behind the bed is so old as to be retro and the bathroom sports a clawfoot tub and a pedestal sink. Both leak and have hard water stains. The whole place carries a faintly musty smell, though it's clear the staff have attempted to keep it at least somewhat clean. The sheets are stain-free and the bathroom is always stocked with little bottles of toiletries. The windows are thin and let in a fair amount of traffic noise. The one good thing is that the old radiator keeps the room toasty warm in winter.

The apartment has been empty for over a month now. Subsequent returns to climb in through the window that's never latched properly have proved repeatedly that no one's been eating her porridge, sitting in her chair, or sleeping in her bed.

It's disappointing, is what it is.

Niki lays unconscious on her bed at the Speakeasy. A bottle of cheap whiskey still loosely clasped in her fingers, some of its contents soaking into the bedspread near her head. This isn't' the first night she's imbibed enough to pass out.

But it will be the last if her alter egos have anything to say about it.

Perhaps in the ultimate facilitation of her disease, two new mirrors have been added to the cramp quarters. The kind that are meant to be mounted on walls, but they've instead simply been left propped up against them. Full-length affairs that perfectly display two identical brunettes. One seated by the door, the other by the window.

"She's killing herself," says one to the other.

"I know."

The first hoods her grey-blue eyes as she watches the one on the bed. "He's not coming back."

"I know," the other murmurs again.

"Should never have trusted him to."

"I know."

There's a long silence as the two consider their situation.

It's Gina that first breaks that silence, with something other than her agreeable mantra, "We should go back to Vegas."

Jessica lifts her head, surprised by the suggestion. That they share a mind, so of course the other would know what she's been thinking, doesn't occur to either of them. Each woman is a separate entity, if you ask them. It's best not to.

"It can't be hard for you to find work for us there. I can find some place like the Red Room to work for our cover."

Suspicion is natural, but Jessica finally nods. "And what do you think we should do with her?" Her chin tips toward where Niki slumbers.

"Keep her under."

"For once, we agree on something."


Present Day

Las Vegas, Nevada

Four minutes feels like an eternity. When she makes her way through the beaded curtains again, grabbing a silk robe waiting for her on a hook as she passes, her hands are trembling. It makes cinching the robe difficult.

The girl who performed before her is standing in front of the mirror, pinning her hair and placing a bright pink wig on her dark head. She watches the reflection of the blonde, concern seeping into her own otherwise demure features. The blonde peers back through the mirror at another woman entirely. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Everything all right?"

"Can you work the crowd for me? I… I'm pretty sure an ex of mine is out there."

Worry makes faint lines in the younger woman's face and she nods her head. "Sure, 'Rine. You just stay back here and if anyone asks, I'll tell 'em you went home." She's quick then to slip out of the dressing room, to provide cover. Chicks before dicks.

"What the fuck was that?" Lorine Hawk's reflection demands.

"I have no fucking clue!" she retorts, approaching the vanity and sitting herself down in front of it. Removing chunky earrings and sweeping long hair up into a ponytail is done by touch rather than sight, because her reflection's too busy pacing the floor. She does remove her own earrings, however, throwing them at the mirror.

It shudders.

"It's not my fault," Lorine insists. She doesn't shrink back under the onslaught of accusation, but rather stands her ground. "I've done everything you told me to do to cover our tracks. Maybe- Maybe it wasn't him."

"Of course it was him!" the woman in the mirror shouts back. Then she forces herself to calm down. A deep breath. In the mirror, her knuckles wrap around the back of the chair her counterpart sits in.

Said counterpart doesn't lean back to see if she'll feel those knuckles-gone-white against her spine.

"It's not your fault. He has an unfair advantage. It was only… a matter of time." And she winces immediately at her choice of words. Isn't it always?

Lorine stares at the not-her in the glass. "He didn't approach. Why…"

"Peter. He's here looking for Peter."

A beat of silence passes between the two as they consider what that might mean, precisely. For them, and for the man in question.

Lorine lets out a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding. "It means he must be alive then. Do you think he'll be coming here?"

"It doesn't matter." Because it doesn't. "He's not out to save the world anymore, and neither are we."




"If he comes back, how are you going to keep-"

"I don't know."

Lorine swallows nervously. It isn't like Jessica to not know what to do. It doesn't assuage her own fears at all. She brings her gaze up to stare at the door through the reflecting glass. She sees the handle turning.

Jessica isn't behind her when she turns her head. And the handle doesn't budge. Hasn't budged. No one's there.

"If he tries to manipulate us again," Jessica murmurs, drawing back the other's attention.

"I won't let him," she's quick to cut off the thought before Jessica can finish it. "We can't let him keep dangling Micah in front of us like a carrot on a stick."

Jessica grins, wicked and sharp. "Just don't lose your nerve, Gina.


"Or she'll take your place again."

Gina smiles quickly in return. "I won't," she promises.

There's a loud WHAM! against the door to the dressing room that has Gina jumping in her seat and Jessica turning sharply on her heels.

The assassin in the mirror scowls. "I'll take care of it." She pulls open the door, and steps out into the hall.

Leaving Gina alone in the dressing room. With her own reflection staring back at her.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License