Addictive Personalities


delia_icon.gif kincaid_icon.gif russo_icon.gif

Scene Title Addictive Personalities
Synopsis Kincaid pops by to drop off some contact info and receives a little coffee and Carrots.
Date January 13, 2011

Dorchester Towers — Russo's Apartment

This isn't the first time Kincaid's made is way over to the 'face of the advocate's apartment, though the first time in this new year. Car parked in a nearby garage, his feet carry him to the elevator, then up to the correct floor, as he listens to voicemail messages on his phone, before he switches over to look at something else. After a moment, with the ding of the elevator, he puts his phone away and strides to the proper door.

The man isn't supposed to be in the office yet, but Kincaid didn't call ahead, either. It's usually not like him.

But he's been distant since Christmas.

The knock on the door is not at all distant, though. Firm and solid, it wants to be heard, but stops after the customary three knocks. Three knocks, then a wait. Three more will start again, if the door isn't answered by the end of it.

"Brad!!!" The yell from the floor of the living room belongs to a woman that sounds completely unfamiliar. First of all, she really shouldn't be yelling because she's in hiding but she's also not really herself right now.

A blanket has been spread out on the expansive floor and Delia is laying on it, like a baby doing exercises. It's demeaning and horribly embarrassing, but it's something that has to be done to get her exercise every day. Usually no one except Rosa is around though but her regimen isn't allowed to be altered for the simple reason of personal pride. Now that there's a visitor though, maybe they'll let her up.

Rolling slowly onto her stomach, Delia uses her arms to try to crawl toward the sofa. "Brad!!" Whoever is on the other side of the door might get the wrong idea, since it's obviously not Nicole's voice calling the television host.

The sound of the host's name is followed by something akin to, "Agugh!" And then some clambering like he's scrambling to meet some goal. Finally, Brad emerges from down the hall, remnants of shaving cream cling to his face while one particular spot dawns a large patch of toilet paper reddened by his blood.

His blue grey eyes tick downwards to his sister before he's turning back to the door. "Hey, Carrots? Maybe… don't yell next time? We can pretend we're not home— " He glances at the door which he'd heard moments before the call and he tugs on his grey sweater. To the best of his knowledge, he isn't expecting anyone.

Each of the bolts on the door is undone in turn before he opens it with a creak. His eyebrows furrow and he issues the producer an easy enough smile as he opens it. "Hey Kincaid… did the boss lady send you down here?"

There's a raised eyebrow by the time the man opens the door. At least the yelling kept him from knocking anymore, but it also probably gave him questions. "I— no, K didn't send me this time," Kincaid answers, taking one look at the shaving cream and nick and likely understanding it quite well. After all, he sports carefully trimmed stubble instead of clean shaven face. Makes him look older, but also means no need to give a close shave, which avoids those annoying tissue paper moments.

"I just wanted to come by and give you some info in case…" he trails off, looking past the shaven face and into the apartment. "I heard someone calling for you." And it wasn't your fiancee? No, he keeps that look off his face, but his statement is inferring questions, certainly.

At the same time, Delia is craning to see who is at the door. "Nick?" She calls out softly toward the door, it could be him. A surprise visit isn't exactly unheard of. The voice that answers her brother is different though and a frown sets itself on her face. From her vantage point in the living room, she's only able to see her brother's back.

Chewing on her lip lightly, she pulls herself another few inches, just curious to see who… Then she spots the eyes of the producer and hers widen considerably. It's one of those 'oh shit' moments where she knew she just did something very wrong but doesn't know how to fix it. A few eye glances toward her blanket and she slowly begins easing herself back to it, hoping that maybe when he caught her eye, she was invisible or something.

At the tick of Kincaid's eyebrows, "Info in case what, exactly?" And then, realizing he's left the producer in the hall, he glances inside to spy Delia only to turn back to Kincaid and gently hit his head against the door quite purposely (Nick), and blocking that small crack in the door that might reveal his sister's presence. His cheeks flush a little at the notion of someone calling him, but then he remembers a former conversation with Kincaid.

With a heavy sigh, he glances down the hallway left then right, before stepping back into the apartment, permitting the man entrance. "I was just called to the door." His head turns as he points a finger towards the redhead in question. "Joe…" and then with a small smirk, "This is Carrots."

"Just— my personal project. Contact numbers, places I'll leave messages— In case anything goes wrong," Kincaid says quietly, but he seems to be distracted as he's trying to find the source of the voice, until he's permitted inside and introduced to the lady named Carrots.

"Your sister," he adds, recalling the nickname that he'd heard the same time that he got his own nickname. "Hi— my name's not really Joe," he says, glancing at Russo. "Anymore than yours is Carrot's, but— I'm Kincaid. It's nice to meet you."

And he sounds rather genuine.

Reaching one hand up, Delia holds Kincaid's with a limp grip delicate enough to handle a hummingbird's egg. The redhead is much too thin for her stature, also laying on the floor. If this had been the visitor she was wanting, her brother might be growling right about now. "Mm— Ca— D— " A panicked expression is directed toward her brother before a tentative smile is given to the man introducing himself.

"C— Carrots…" She finally repeats, apparently adverse to giving her own real name. Especially while laying on her back on the floor. Once she lets go of the young stubbly faced man's hand, she tries to pull herself to a seated position on the floor. Her red face is hidden behind a mess of red hair, hence the nickname.

"Personal project?" Russo's eyes tick upwards. "What the he— " oh Delia's in the room, "— ck would go wrong, Joe? And what is this personal project, anyways?" His face contorts slightly before his lips curl into a charming smile complete with a bright flash of white teeth. "Yeah, my sister," his eyes cast downwards towards Delia a moment before returning to Kincaid. "You'll have to forgive her, she's just recovering. It'll take time."

His smile becomes a little easier as his hand runs over his face and catches that little bit of toilet paper, which he tugs at, removing from his now clotted cut. "Can I get you some coffee? Water? Tea? I pride myself on making a fine cup of coffee— "

"I told you— getting footage of Humanis First in action. There's lots of ways it could go wrong, considering I'm Evolved and Registered and all they'd have to do is test my blood or find my card and I could end up the one they're beating up instead," Kincaid looks quietly concerned to be talking about this in front of nice red head little sister of face of the Advocate… But since he asked.

The use of the nickname by the girl cuts of him saying he already knows her name, so he just nods. "Nice to meet you, Carrots. And yes, please, coffee if you've got it. Can never have enough coffee."

Despite his grip, Delia may notice that there's something odd with his own. It's strong, but— different. And she may feel scars all over his hand. Someone who's attended some medical may get the idea of how it would feel to shake the hand of someone who can't really feel it, despite still being able to move the hand itself.

There's a puzzled expression from the young woman as she looks up at Kincaid from a finally seated position. "Nice meet," she says in a rather low tone. Footage of Humanis First? She glances toward her brother and furrows her eyebrows, opening her mouth to try to say something.

"No. No F-F-first. Bad." She iterates in a low tone, glowering and pressing her lips into a frown. "Been in.. Mister Danko." Even she was on the fringe at one point in time but she doesn't exactly own up to it right away.

She could point out a few people for them, or at least point them in their direction.

"Right! Sorry, I've been— " Russo calls from the kitchen but holds the thought as he comes back to the sitting area bearing a coffee cup for Kincaid, "— busy." He shoots the other man a small grin and passes the coffee. His gaze turns downward to Delia as he shakes his head, "Joe works for Studio K. He's running a story on them kind of. " there's a pause. He purses his lips and shakes his head as he chooses an armchair to sit in, glancing at one opposite, silently offering it to their guest.

He frowns slightly at the notion of Kincaid disappearing with Humanis First, "Isn't there someone else we can send who isn't SLC-Expressive? Someone we can send in? I think the story is good, and I know K would be at least concerned about worker's comp," he smirks, but the humour doesn't touch his eyes, staying at bay with the little fleck of lines along their edge.

"This is media, if it wasn't a risk, we wouldn't do it. I already signed a waver and filed it in the office in case something happens to me. The studio won't be responsible for what happens, if anything does." But Kincaid is frowning a bit about this inside people business. "Your family is complicated, isn't it?" he says after a moment, not recognizing many names, but— he doesn't ask about this inside business. At all.

"I'll be careful, but I have places I'll be leaving messages, and there's a few numbers to call in case I miss a message. I'm not telling many people cause they may try to stop me. I haven't told K yet, for example— And I want to do this. I won't put anyone else in danger." And… Maybe Humanis First has something very personal for him.

"So are you feeling better? I know something was going on with you— and you seem to be… you're not sick are you?" That last is to Delia, and he's genuine in his concern.

The young woman shakes her head slowly, "Not sick. Uhm— " Turning to look at Russo, she gives him a rather imploring look to fill in the rest. When she focuses back on Kincaid, she shakes her head again and repeats, "Not sick."

Her expression turns worried as she looks back down at the man's hand that he used to shake hers with. "You— " she points toward his hand and holds out her own thin one, palm up. With her other hand she pinches the flesh on the outside of her raised palm. "Not hurt?" She chews her lip a little, flitting her blue eyes from Kincaid to Russo and then back to Kincaid. "You need not hurt… First very very scary."

Waving the man just a little closer, she squints her eyes slightly and presses her lips into a thin and thoughtful line. "I got lost…" and she reaches up to tap the pads of her fingers lightly on the producer's forehead. "In dreams. Saw too much… many people. I can help?"

"Aren't all families complicated?" Russo counters with a forced lightness in his tone. He shoots both a tight smile. "Or is your family one of those uncomplicated ones? Two parents, two kids, and a dog?" There's a lightness in his words as they're accompanied with a shrug. "It's what happens when you come from a broken home. You end up with more complications than you can count."

Complications. Always about complications. "That reminds me— " he murmurs. "I got a note recently. From. Someone." The vagueness in his words is purposeful, even as he leans forward in his chair. "How long will you be in their ranks, Joe? I need to head to Arizona in the not distant future. I'd like it if you could come. Along with K, Dirk, my new intern.. it's going to be.. interesting." Maybe. Or nothing. It's always hard to tell with tips.

Russo's gaze sweeps to Delia as he nods slightly. "That's something I hadn't thought of." Involuntarily his jaw tenses slightly, "You see things in people's heads? Like. Things? Like… everything?" Now that's unsettling for a recovering addict.

"I used to think my family was uncomplicated, until I was older and found out they were far more complicated than I could imagine— kids never really think about a lot of those things, I guess," Kincaid says, voice soft, but sincere. He's got a lot to think about, especially with a girl just now out of danger offering to help him. And telling him what she can do, more or less.

There's an odd recognition in his eyes, as if, perhaps, he knows a bit about dreams.

"I think you should be taking it easy and working on recovering, Miss Carrots— But— maybe you can help if something goes wrong, at least try to…" He hesitates. "Maybe you could find my dream and use it to tell someone where I am, if something goes wrong." And that would be the contact numbers he was talking about. "But only if your brother thinks something went wrong. My head's a little muddled."

And there's other things too. There's always other things… But a trip…

"I don't know. I'm hoping just a few days, long enough to get footage to show and quick enough to get out, maybe help someone along the way. "When are you going?"

Her eyebrows form a small vee and she shakes her head, "No.. can't leave… can't go out again. Ever." She seems to shrink at the suggestion, clearly afraid of 'being lost' again. Especially with how long she's been gone already. "I— f-f-find someone else— to find you." It's not the type of help she was offering.

Staring over at her brother, she nods sheepishly and then lowers her head. "I know… too much." Something they might have to talk about later, perhaps, along with his aversion to her choice of company. Lifting her eyes to Kincaid, her expression sobers to one of concern and she takes a small breath. "You know where to go? Who to see?"

Brad runs a hand over his chin, "It's true, you know. I didn't think there was anything weird about having a single mom until I went to school and most of the other kids had two parents. And brothers. Or sisters. It was a strange realization. Life just seems normal when you're a kid, I guess."

"I haven't decided. We could wait for you to get back and then head to Arizona." Brad's gaze moves to the wall as his lips curl into a nearly wicked grin, "It's supposed to be beautiful there this time of year." His blue eyes flicks over to Kincaid again while they twinkle with some unspoken mischief, "Assuming you're not averse to hard labour. I realize media doesn't exactly lend itself to digging. Unless you garden. I can't imagine you garden in the city? I think those that do are few and far between."

Concern of course, wins when Delia addresses him. A small discomfort at the notion of her knowing anything. But his journalistic curiosity drives him forward. "What is it that you know, Carrots?" His lips press together tightly as he leans forward, "Who would you have him see? And why can't you leave?"

"I can do heavy labor better than most people," Kincaid admits, leaving it at that, as he worries by biting down on his lower lip. Arizona. There can't be much good out in Arizona. "I'm guessing this is for a story, considering who you want to go with you…" And that means it's something that— could be dangerous. "I'll do my best to go, if I can avoid getting locked up in a room by Humanis First." Or shot in the head.

But he doesn't say that part.

For someone who says he'll be careful, he keeps mentioning the worse case scenerio. Or close to worse case.

"Oh, if you can't, then I don't want you to strain yourself. Like I said, the numbers he calls should be enough if something goes wrong. And I'm gonna do my best to make sure it doesn't."

Delia's entire body tenses and she darts a panicked expression toward Russo and then back to Kincaid. "No. Don't. Don't go." Shaking her head adamantly, the young woman reaches out to grip whatever piece of clothing Kincaid is wearing that's within easy reach. "You don't know…"

A tug at the cloth to garner more of the stranger's attention, insistently. "You can't.. You need someone there. You need someone with you." Again she looks at her brother, almost pleading. "Tell him no."

Russo's fingers rake through his hair, as he manages a faint curl of lips, "Isn't it always about a story? Isn't that why we do what we do?" At his heart, the host is, and always has been a bit of a shark when it comes to getting the story. In a way, he was made for journalism. Or politics. Or television.

Reflexively, he leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers, "You know Joe," he pauses midsentence to take a slow deep breath, "For someone painfully aware, and might I add somewhat negative, about the consequences, you seem determined to see this Humanis First thing through." The smile melts from his features as his eyebrows knit together, "I think— " the words are cut off as he reconsiders. "Why are you so determined to do this? You know K wouldn't like it. Or not on this side, anyways— " if Kincaid get usable footage, Kincaid can likely see a large bonus going his way after a severe tongue lashing.

Delia's pleading brings a pained look to Russo's face. He can't bring himself to say no, but he can't encourage the action either. "Someone there… Is there someone you think should go with Joe?" There's a small pause as wordlessly he watches her. "Do you know if they do SLC tests Carrots?"

If Russo gets a pained look, Kincaid looks quite stricken. For a moment, his eyes even seem to fluctate in color, going froma near black to a blueish navy. A very dark blue, but it goes back to the near black a little bit after. And the stricken look passes.

"I need to do this cause it's something that people need to see. What they're willing to do to people. It's a story that needs to be told— and…" Proving himself after his initial plans fell through might have a lot to do with it. "If I can get the footage without being seen at all, I will. I don't plan to walk up to them and shake their hands, or anything, and certainly don't want to go in swinging."

Public area, cameras, it should be safe— "I just wanted to take precautions, that's why I wanted to give you contact numbers. I don't— want to endanger anyone." Anyone else, at least.

It's something that her brother possibly doesn't want to hear but after a fleeting glimpse at him she looks back up to Kincaid and tugs on his clothing again. "Talk to Nick… Nick is not.. freak like me." Finally, she lets go other man's clothing and her hand drops heavily to her side. "If you go, I- " Her voice trembles and she cuts herself off to give an audible gulp.

"I will go too— In Nick's head. I will be asleep, but you will not be alone. If something happens— " She raises her eyebrows to glance at Russo again before continuin. "If something happens, I can get out… if you are not dead." Assuming they'd get knocked out before being killed.

"Nick," Russo groans as he leans back in the chair, defeatist again. His eyes roll overexaggeratedly as his fingers cling tot he arms of his chair. It's always Nick these days. Every day Nick. All hours Nick. Nick, Nick, Nick. He releases the arm chair and raises his hands to irritably rub his temples. "Public isn't— like it's not— " Nick. He can't argue that Delia's latest obsession isn't resourceful but at the same time, it doesn't recommend the other man to the host.

"Are.. are you going to control Nick?" his eyes narrow into slits now at this new plan, his more hesitant parts giving in. "Carrots has her ways." And Russo just can't bring himself to say no to any of this. "Are you, are you okay to go though? You just got back here." To her body. Inside her mind.

Kincaid starts to back away a little bit, as if he's getting some kind of assault to his plans. More people means more chance of mistakes, in his mind— more people who could get hurt. But with those eyes on him, those red curls, how can he really say no.

"All right. Your brother knows where to contact me, but you shouldn't get involved, Delia." He slipped and said her name, but he doesn't seem to notice, really. "I don't know how your ability works, but… I'd rather you not strain yourself. Not when you look like you belong in a sick bed. I don't want you to get lost again." He's genuine in his concern, despite not really knowing her.

"And I'll still leave contact numbers, so your brother can check on me. It'll be fine."

"No.. no controlling Nick…" Delia admits in a low tone, refusing to meet her brother's stern gaze. "Can't." Kincaid using her actual name just slips right by the young woman, as if it's as natural as breathing. It is her name, after all.

Sullen in her inability to actually be of use, she shakes her head. "Not lost. With Nick… Not lost." Frustrated, she shoots a glance down the hall, knowing fully well that she can't actually leave anywhere. Storming out of conversations is something taken completely for granted until you can't actually do it anymore. "Not sick… just… I want to go back."

Brad's lips twitch upwards at the sound of his sister's name. Not that Kincaid hasn't heard it from both Ryans and Russo himself. "Delia," he repeats as his eyes follow the producer, "You must have a sharp memory, Joe." His lips curl up a little more nearly grim until he lets out a soft chuckle, allowing the grimness to ease into something easy.

"Go back where, Carrots?" His grey-blue eyes narrow considerably as the watch her. "Nick's head? You want to go back to Nick's head?" he's aware she spent time in there. Mulling around. Like some fine wine fermenting.

Only when he's called on it does he actually grimace a bit. "I have to have a pretty good memory or I wouldn't be of much use to K, always shuffling through paperwork to figure out how to breathe." Like Dirk? Just a little. The mention of what Delia wants and how she feels makes him tilt his head to the side a bit.

"You probably felt safe there," he muses outloud, perhaps answering the older man's question, while still addressing Delia. No talking about her like she's not sitting right there. "I— don't fault me for intruding on this, it's not my business, you barely know me. But… even if it feels safe and good and right… you belong here."

A wide eyed stare up at Kincaid has her glare of frustration softening and a small jerky nod given to the young man. "Safe… yes." Her voice is nothing but a small squeak of awe, like someone else finally understands. Her chest swells with the deep breath she takes in and she widens her smile up at the producer. "And good." Not all things but nothing is ever all good, Delia knows this just as much as anyone else.

Finally letting up her long stare on someone that's a relative stranger, she turns to look at her brother and juts out her chin. "See? He knows." It's argumentative and obnoxious in the face of company, sort of rude too. "Nick is honest."

"Well K doesn't hire mere pretty faces. Ever." Russo's throat clears at this notion, well aware of her hiring practices, staff, and the people she tends to associate with. "I mean, she hired Dirk, right?" And there's his lopsided smirk, a little merriment despite the general heaviness of this conversation.

"Nick isn't what he seems, Carrots," Brad counters with an arch of his eyebrow and a small tilt of his head. "And there's no reason to feel safe there. He's just a host, nothing more." Which implies something Brad doesn't intend.

"Just remember that you do belong here. I don't know a lot about your ability, but I know what it's like to live in it, to never turn it off. It will slowly destroy you, whether you want it to or not, and you might smile all the while it destroys you," Kincaid says, sounding earnest and trying to be understandings.

"I live with my ability constantly on myself— but I wouldn't be able to function well without it, but even then it has costs." There's a quick glance toward the older man, the pretty face of K Studios (100x prettier than Dirk). "

"But there once was another side to my ability… one that was nicer and… I can't do it anymore, not the same way, at least, not without slowly destroying myself to do it. Someone people close to me helped me through it, helped me get over my addiction to my own ability. You can get through yours too." After a moment, he pulls two things out of his pocket, a card, and a folded piece of paper.

The card he hands to Delia. "That's my number— if you need someone to talk to— I'm sure you have plenty, but…" It's an offer. As he backs away, he hands the second one to Russo. The contact numbers and information he promised. "I should go, though, but I'm glad I came." And for a lot more than coffee, oddly enough.

Slowly taking the card and looking down at it, Delia tries to read the numbers silently to herself rather then out loud as she has been doing since waking up. While she doesn't feel as though her problem is an addiction to her ability as much as… say… a need to escape. Something that actually might define addiction at its very basic level.

Passing a smile up to Kincaid, the redhead holds it for as long as she can before it falls into something much sadder and desperate. Her head lowers to stare at the little numbers on the card. Her brother's friend/coworker has given her entirely too much to think about. "I— you think? But.. I— " she cuts herself off and lets off a little huff of a breath. It's possible? "I just— I feel so heavy."

And scared.

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