Participants:
Scene Title | Amending Introduction |
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Synopsis | After the concert gone awry, Marlowe and Zelda coincidentally encounter each other and make more proper apologies and introductions. |
Date | July 4, 2018 |
That was not how she saw tonight going — and it’s very strange to go to a fourth of July celebration, only to find oneself in a senseless fistfight over…nothing. Literally, over her (admittedly over-the-top) reaction of throwing a beer at a guy who threw a beer at the woman that she somehow ended up exchanging blows with. Zelda has a bruise on her jaw for sure, and possibly one on her throat, along with a number of other bruises obtained along the way.
At least she knows that she can take a few punches, but she would have rather not discovered that like this.
After being removed from the concert, Zelda wearily trudged her way back to the Yamagato campus, feeling miserable, and kind of wishing she could find the random woman she ended up in a fight with so she can apologize for the hair pulling and whatever other blows she landed.
She doesn’t want to apologize to the bastard she threw the beer at. That kind of felt good, letting go of her anger like that — especially for someone like Zelda, who bottles up her anger like a champion. She wasn’t so much for the music, but the emotional release was amazing — or at least, it was prior to the cat fight.
It’ll probably never happen again — not without more help, at least.
After being separated by concert security, Marlowe also has taken herself on a path towards home. She's coincidentally managed to get into the park before Zelda, and by coincidence too she is sitting on a bench along a main path that leads through Yamagato Park towards the Cresting Wave apartments. Her form is hunched forward, elbows pressed into knees, metal-adorned hands dangling down. Marlowe's hair is a mess as it was when she was tossed out from the concert, and she hasn't really bothered to do more than retie it with a hair tie away from her face. The pulled back style reveals her face, bruised and scratched, a lip corner slightly swollen for the trouble. A pair of wireless earbuds are also hooked into her ears, but the woman is still and not visibly headbobbing to anything.
Speak of the devil — Zelda, upon spotting the woman that she was locked in battle with perhaps an hour ago, comes to a stop, staring incredulously at Marlowe. Part of her wants to take a different path, sprint off to a side route to the apartments. But that wouldn’t be right, would it? The woman obviously works for the same company — and bad blood between employees is never a good thing.
After taking a few deep breaths to steel herself, Zelda puts on her best — albeit bruised — face, and approaches the other woman. Those rings of hers are etched into Zelda’s jaw from that initial swing.
“I — hello there,” she calls in that crisp East-of-London accent, leaning toward Marlowe’s field of view with the wave of a hand. There’s absolutely nothing threatening about her appearance now — she actually seems quite timid, especially when compared with her behavior back at the concert. Her bruised features have taken on an apologetic look, and she even holds her hands up to be sure Marlowe won’t take this as an attempt to reignite their battle.
At first, there’s no response because Marlowe’s got her eyes closed as she listens to whatever is in her ears and so she doesn’t see Zelda’s approach. It’s the call out that interrupts the sound, resulting in the woman’s eyes opening and, upon sighting who has come up, a belated jump in her seat like she’d been struck once again. With surprise.
Marlowe pulls off her earbuds, pushes to her feet and retreats half a pace before she stops. “H-hey,” she greets awkwardly, eyes slipping from direct contact to the sight of the welt on the other woman’s face. Her own sports similar contusions and a few dried-up spots of where nails caught and broke skin. The awkwardness continues as Marlowe glances to the other woman’s neck, to the spots where her hands had been just over an hour ago been squeezing hard.
And the flash of that memory causes her own eyes to squeeze shut, breath hitching. “I’m sorry,” her words come tumbling out, “I don’t know what came over me, and I didn’t- I hope I didn’t- I’m so sorry.” Her upper torso folds, her bow as deep as it can go short of collapsing to the next level of kneeling.
Opening her mouth, Zelda is just about to issue her own apology, when Marlowe launches into her own. The Briton lowers her hands to her side, watching the other woman bow, before she reaches back to rub the back of her neck.
“Honestly, I was going to offer you an apology, and say the same — I have no clue what came over me, and I hope you’re okay.” Her hand rubs the back of her neck, and then slips down to rest on the shoulder it is attached to. “I’m sorry, as well. I normally avoid physical altercations like the plague.”
She doesn’t mention that these aren’t the worst she’s suffered at the hands of another — and in fact, Marlowe’s onslaught was outright tame compared to the fury her brother was capable of unleashing on her. “Perhaps we could start again — ignore what happened and just carry on like we only just met, yeah? I don’t think either of us meant for…this.” She gestures to both herself and Marlowe.
“I’m Wilhelmina Falkenrath. Most familiar with me call me Zelda, though.” She dips her head in a casual bow to Marlowe.
As customary, there’s a few long beats before Marlowe straightens up too and gathers herself to something more composed. Inwardly first, then a little more outwardly. She tries out a smile, something warmer, definitely less rage-filled than the visage from moments previous. “That really wasn’t how I normally greet people,” she replies, a slight nod concluding to a guilty glance at those cuts made from her rings. She nods again in agreement to start over. Eagerly.
Her brows twitch with a sudden amusement barely withheld for the woman’s introduction. Marlowe has to glance away, then back. “Zelda. Hi. Marlowe Terrell.” Her gaze dips humbly, then climbs back up after a blink. “Zelda is… a middle name? Nickname? Do you like getting rescued by shield-bearing guys in green tunics and nightcaps?” She really couldn’t stop herself this time.
Zelda can’t help but roll her eyes a little bit, an amused smile forming on her face — this probably isn’t the first time she’s been asked that question. She shakes her head. “Middle name,” she replies with a soft laugh. “Zelda Scott Fitzgerald was a favorite of my mum’s.”
She laughs. “I think I would laugh too hard if someone came up wearing a green tunic with white tights and a nightcap.” She shakes her head, a small grin forming on her face. “If you need help with makeup, by the way,” she gestures to Marlowe’s bruised face, “I can offer some tips.”
She says that as if she has experience with hiding bruises.
“Ah, fair enough,” Marlowe shrugs lightly to the origins of the other woman’s preferred name, “Though it’d be more fun if you maybe had a different story every time someone asks.” She starts to fiddle with the end of a stray, frayed extension to work its weave out, but stops as she’s offered helpful tips. One scratched brow lifts, and Marlowe is back to eyeing the other woman with something of a tense air. Lips purse together tightly and she shakes her head. “No, I’m okay on that,” she replies, tone measured and quiet. A tight smirk of a smile follows. “My makeup game is pretty master level, if I do say so myself.” And she does say so.
She turns a half step as if to head further down the main path, but a thought strikes her as she shoots a glance back to Zelda, head tilting. “Did… you go to the Raytech project barbeque the other week? I think I saw you.”
Whatever the story behind Zelda’s apparent knowledge of covering up bruises, she’s not talking. That’s privileged information, and she’s only just met this woman — there’s no need to divulge information about her family. She lets the topic drop.
“I did, yes,” the woman replies, a small smile pulling the corners of her lips up. “I think I saw you entertaining the kids — and that kid who was giving them flying rides.” She raises her brows slightly. “You’re SLC-E, aren’t you? I didn’t quite catch what you were doing to wow the children so much.”
“That young man? Owain, one of their interns, I think,” Marlowe supplies with a squint as she recalls what names and faces she had seen around the Raytech tent setup. But a bemused expression comes next as she tilts her head more, a downward pull of a lip corner twisting. “Wasn’t it obvious that I’ve got the power? Huh. I guess I’ll have to work bigger next time,” the woman notes with a short nod to herself.
“As for what I was doing, I was making robot dinosaurs.” She smiles again, this time amused rather than bemused. “Those kids are the reason why I do what I can to help. If it’s within my power.” She gestures with a hand to the wider area around them. “It’s why I work with Yamagato. And with Raytech, to rebuild Jackson Heights and the Safe Zone.” Her hand drops back to her side, a brow lifting back at the other woman. “You work here too, I take it?”
“I do,” comes Zelda’s reply, her head bobbing in a nod. “Though my reasons are a bit different — I was a lawyer over in the United Kingdom. An unmanifested SLC-E lawyer.” She pauses. “Things over there aren’t great for us,” she states, obviously referring to other Evolved humans. “Procreation among Evolved requires a permit, and if you have any minorly threatening ability…”
She purses her lips “Well, I knew a girl who manifested with some kind of telepathic power, and she was relocated. I never saw her again.” The Relocation Centers, as they are called, have been called by many as what they are — concentration camps.
“So I saw the SESA liaison position, and applied for it on a whim, and…well, here I am. Safe and sound, with a job I’m learning but enjoying, working for a company that I like the message of.” She raises her hands, gesturing lightly at the park around them.
Marlowe drops her upcurved brow to a less investigative angle. “I’ve heard rumors, read things. They’ve gone hard into the paranoia… but hopefully it doesn’t escalate in a violent way.” Fingers start to fuss over a stray end of hair as she considers, “Do you still have family over there?”
Her head shakes, and she apologizes, “Sorry that’s a little personal. I was just thinking… my mom and dad are back home. In Japan.” Her lips curve to a faint, fond smile for the thought of them. And then Marlowe takes in a breath and remarks further, “That’s a little surprising to hear that you’re the SESA liaison.” She works an extension out, slipping the extra length into a pocket, although it doesn’t particularly help the rest of her appearance.
“What whim was it that made you want to come tangle with governmental agency red tape? Especially law enforcement red tape… Is that your thing?” Marlowe waves her hand in vague movement, a gesture noting that she’s slightly teasing. “It sounds like a tough job. Especially when navigating all the international sovereign entity laws… and here I’m just thinking about building permits.” She blinks, adding in afterthought, “Oh right. I’m CED. Civil Engineering Division. I work with Director Otomo.” A beat passes, eyes averting past the woman in the direction of where the Yamagato building lies.
“My parents and my brother and sister, yes,” comes Zelda’s response. “Thankfully, I’m the only SLC-Expressive one, so they don’t have much to worry about. My mother was relieved that I found a way out of the country.”
She smiles, then, at the question of her choice in job change. “Honestly? I had the qualifications, I wanted to get out, and I liked what Yamagato is doing here.” The woman glances around, her brown-eyed gaze lingering on each building. “It’s certainly not an easy job — requires a lot of paperwork and I find myself bringing my work home more often than not, but it’s worth it.” A shrug rolls over her thin shoulders.
“I don’t mind all of the reading, either. I suppose many would find it all rather boring, but it’s kind of…relaxing, in its own way?” Perhaps she’s just strange, though. “It’s a nice change, too, after nearly a decade of working for the same firm every day.”
"What do you mean 'thankfully' you're the only one?" Marlowe's expression turns a touch wry again as she looks back to Zelda, a brow lifting up. "You make it sound like being Expressive's actually undesirable… Which, if that's really how you feel, you'd maybe want to rethink your occupational choice in that regard." She leans in, studying the other woman with narrowed eyes as if trying to determine where Zelda lies on the spectrum of opinions.
The lean in has her finding another stray extension and, frowning at it, Marlowe blows out a short exhale and pulls back. "Sorry. I'm a little frazzled. That concert, it was…" Disturbing? Wild? Marlowe doesn't find the word she wants in time. "Anyway, I guess it's over and nothing to worry about. And I'd better go pull the rest of these out." She takes a step away, a dark humored thought voiced, "To finish what you already started."
Zelda shakes her head slowly — she’s definitely not anti-evolved. “In Britain? It is an undesirable trait to have.” She reaches up, messing with her curls a bit. Oh, hey, there was a cigarette butt stuck in there that she didn’t even notice! She wrinkles her nose and tosses it into a nearby trash can.
“I say thankfully because they don’t have to deal with needing special permission to have a child, and the forced birth control or abortions that result of that rule…or being terrified that they’ll get some ability that will lead to them being ‘relocated,’” She makes air quotes around ‘relocated,’ “and summarily disappeared. That’s not even counting the Anti-Evolved thugs that roam the streets looking for trouble.” She tilts her head to one side. “They can live their lives without fear, and I am glad for that.”
For just a moment, Zelda seems insurmountably sad — however, the moment passes, and she smiles again. “I’m glad they don’t have to go through what I’ve gone through since I found out I was Expressive, that’s all.”
She smiles, then. “Yeah, that was a trip, to be sure,” she replies, nodding. At the mention of the extensions, the smile turns sheepish. “I could help,” she replies, a good-natured grin settling over her features. “It was good meeting you, Marlowe. I’m sure we’ll cross paths again. Perhaps we can even do so intentionally.”
Once more, Marlowe purses her lips in thought as she listens, watches, and overall studies the other woman with an air that appears as if she were trying to click parts of a mysterious puzzle into place to create an image she could understand. "I guess I find it all ironic, given historical events of the past in that part of the world." The comment about her family and what they have to endure gets a slow dip of her head, but Marlowe reserves her own comment. The matter seems quite personal.
As she turns to go, she glances back over her shoulder and waves that metal jewelry covered hand in farewell. Marlowe quirks her slightly swollen lip one more time in a show of being okay. Then she heads off, her footsteps taking her down a solar lantern lit path that will eventually wind its way towards the Cresting Wave. She calls a quiet farewell.
"Mata ne, Falkenrath-san."