Participants:
| Scene Title | An Unlikely Pair |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Lola and Elisabeth would make a great sitcom! |
| Date | November 25, 2010 |
She texted Lola at ungodly early this morning and told her that she was going back to her apartment. Elisabeth invited the Cajun woman to come on in if she wanted — it's too goddamn cold outside to be hanging about outside the building. And so at 7:30am the blonde hit three grocery stores and went back to Dorchester Towers. By 9:15, when she opened the door to the woman serving as her bodyguard, the scent of fresh coffee is already permeating the place as well as the odor of sage simmering.
"C'mon in," the blonde hoarses mildly. Elisabeth's cold still makes her sound like hell, but she's doing this anyway. She locks the door carefully behind Lola. "And I don't know if you're interested in having Thanksgiving dinner with the other members of Richard's and my little cadre, but you're welcome to join us. Peyton's hosting it." She's not sure how Lola feels about the holidays. She leads the way back to the kitchen, which looks like a tornado has already cut loose in it, with cutting boards all over, the stove on, the oven on, an iPod docked in there with music playing softly. A piano piece of some kind.
Lola seems more interested in looking around the apartment than anything else. She peers in each room, even goes so far as to check under the bed. As Lola returns to the kitchen, content that there's no monsters hiding anywhere - for now. And as she pulls down her hoodie, her big old sunglasses command her face - but blonde commands her hair. A nice blonde bob. "Ah dunno, sugar," Lola says thoughtfully as she looks over the messy kitchen. "Ah don' think Ah'm the most popular girl around, even with ol Dicky's folk. Watcha doin?" She peers over Elisabeths' shoulder like a curious child.
Whenever she has to cough, it's in the crook of her elbow so that she doesn't spray her germs over what she's doing as she chops. Liz's blue eyes keep an eye on Lola's actions, but she doesn't seem suspicious. Perhaps that's a mistake, but she's not. When the Cajun comes back into the kitchen, Liz is chopping celery and onions with the ease of a person who has done it many times, a large chef's knife moving quickly in her hands. "Cooking," she retorts with a grin. "In point of fact… pre-cooking. Stuffing has to be done today so that I can stuff a bird and pop it in the oven at the base tomorrow." And then I've got pies waiting to be made." Richard would laugh. The thought occurs to the blonde as she works — he'd think the world had gone to hell again. Of course, were he here and her heart not hurting, she'd still be doing it.
Lola nods a little. "Uh-huh," she murmers, "Ya'll Yanks don' know a damn thing 'bout spicin', do ya?" She asks, turning away from Elisabeth and walking to the windows, making sure the shades are drawn. Paranoid! And yet she only then pulls off her blonde bob, and her normal red mess comes tumbling out. The glasses are removed too, and both are tossed on a chair haphazardly. "Where's yer turkey-fryer?" Because, being from the south, what does Lola do for thanksgiving? Why, she deep-fries a turkey!
Elisabeth looks horrified. "Fryer??" she demands. "No such thing. That's just too wrong for words." She sends a glance askance at Lola. "But if you want to help, start peeling and slicing apples for me." Ulterior motive in asking for company, you betcha! She shoots a grin at the woman. With a large frying pan full of butter and spices, Elisabeth moves to pour the carrots that she chopped before Lola knocked into the simmering pan to let them soften before adding the onions and celery.
"Yeah, fryer. Aincha ever had a deep-fried turkey, darlin? Quickly becommin' the most popular form a turkey, ya know." Trufax. Lola walks over, looking over Elisabeth's setup. "Where's yer greens? Where's yer spice?" Because what a Cajun calls spice is probably a lot different than what a Yankee calls a spice. Lola seems very apt with a knife - perhaps more than Elisabeth might be comfortable with. Chop chop! "They got them folks what kin deliver groceries, right darlin? Ah gotta make somethin' with spice. AFter all, it ain' Thanksgivin' unless somebody's cryin' 'bout somethin, even if it is only the onions."
"No, I have never deep fried a turkey and I'm never going to," Elisabeth asserts with a grin. "However, that said, if you want to make something of your own, you're welcome to. This is for the squad at the base — none of them get to go home for the holiday. We have to be on-call in case things go to hell. And a couple of the pies are for Peyton's shindig." She pauses and says, "And quite frankly, I don't care if you think you're not wanted there, it is Thanksgiving." Her tone is stern. "And no one has to be alone on Thanksgiving unless they choose to be." That goes for a particular shadow man as well, stubborn bastard. Elisabeth's father will get his own Thanksgiving call tonight — she convinced him to go ahead and spend through the holiday up at the Adirondack cabin with his lady friend since she would be unable to join him anyway.
Lola picks up the phone and starts dialing, running a hand through her hair. "Yeah well, that said darlin, Ah may have ta look at where it's at. Ah may be better outside, if ya got good people inside lookin' atcha." It may be a great surprise to see that Lola is taking this bodyguard thing as professionally as she is. "But that don' mean ya'll gotta have a tasteless meal. Ah'll getcha somethin. Hello? Yes Ah need some deliveries fer right away. Uh-huh. Yeah, sure, credit card." Lola wanders away from Elisabeth as she makes the order, digging into her pocket for a card. She pulls it out and looks steadily at the name. "Yeah, uh, Juanita Suarez. What? Third generation Texas, thank ya very much. Uh-huh. Right then," she rattles off what she needs and hangs up, going back to Elisabeth and hopping up on the counter, sitting there as she watches the other woman work for awhile. Hmm! "Aincha drinkin? Thought that's what ya done do while ya cook." Even at 9 am.
Elisabeth chooses to not hear what Lola just did. Seriously. She continues putting aromatics into her pan, simply glancing at the woman who is keeping her company. "You do what you like, Lola. The invitation is open. And I'm pretty well covered all day, so if you have somewhere you'd rather be, feel free to do that too." No point in Lola having to babysit when Liz is sitting with some of the best soldiers available for at least part of the day. "I have tea with honey — that's all I need. Doctor your coffee if you want to. I have whiskey in that cabinet," she nods toward it. Her movements are deft, graceful even, as Elisabeth walks around cooking. "If it were afternoon, I'd probably have a glass of wine," she admits with a smile at Lola.
"So tell me something, Lola." Because the Cajun has given up a lot of time to follow Liz around for what's starting to feel like no good reason. "Why do you stay here in New York? What's the draw? God knows, it's a shit-ton nicer in other parts of this country right now." She herself just saw Boston… which looked almost normal, for God's sake.
"Ah want mah life back," Lola explains, sliding off the counter to get said whiskey. Yes, she will, thank you very much. Mmmm. Breakfast of champions, that. And she doctors away. "Well, alright. Ya see this place? Yer place? It's a nice place. Ya know there's a room in this place what was meant fer me? 5th Floor. When Kain Zarek came ta get me fer Linderman's New York business Ah got a key an everythin'. An then Ah got put undercover afore Ah even saw it. An then some fucker blew mah cover, an Ah was on the run. Barrin' a few other stories, that's sorta how it's been since then. Linder-dick's been tryin' ta have his way with me ever since. S'why Ah was in the hospital a few months ago - one a his almost did it. See?" And then Lola's lifting her shirt, right there, and pulling back her Kevlar so that Elisabeth gets to see each scar in kind. Bullet scars in her belly, side and shoulder, and down her opposite arm the skin is warped in what is clearly a burn scar. Shirt goes down again, thank god for that. "Dicky found me on Staten when Ah was bleedin' out. He says don' kill Linderman yet, so Ah don'. But bet yer sweet ass, sugar. Ah will."
Elisabeth considers and nods slowly. She sets the knife down and goes back to the counter, tearing up bread crumbs while the pan simmers. She's seen the painting… somehow she thinks Lola won't be the one who does in Linderman — but then again, the future is malleable. Or so she has to believe, at least in part. "Yeah… I get that," she says quietly. Revenge is something she does understand, even if she couldn't exact her own on the man who changed her.
With her hands doing their job, Elisabeth goes quiet for a long moment. "I'm sorry about Zarek," she finally says. She has no idea what actually happened to the man, only what's been put in the papers. She knows he was supposed to be integral to the plan Richard was working on, though.
"Sorry? Bout what?" Lola asks. Why is it not a surprise that she doesn't read the papers. "Anyway, once Linderman's dead? Be nice ta call mah Daddy. An mah brother." She goes back to chopping, sipping her drink easily. "They think Ah'm dead, ya see. S'why Ah got so many different names. Ah don' want them knowin' different. They do, Linderman might have reason ta go askin'. An he has a tendincy ta ask real hard if ya know what Ah mean. Don' know that there'd be much point ta tellin' 'em Ah'm alive now anyway. Been what - least a year since Lola Mayeux was alive an breathin, so far as they know."
Elisabeth grimaces slightly. And Lola's gone on before she can exactly answer, which only makes it worse. "Well, I'm even sorrier that your father thinks you're dead," she says instead of addressing the situation with Zarek. She'll tell Lola later. She glances toward the iPod dock as the song "This is War" begins, and grimaces faintly. "Well, now that's an appropriate piece if I ever heard one," she murmurs. "Mind shutting that think off? I thought I had it set to shuffle through my piano pieces, but apparently it's shuffling through all of them." She doesn't to hear that song.
With her hands covered in stale bread, she moves to stir her aromatics. They're starting to look translucent, so she she goes back to breaking up the stale bread. Almost time to add it.
"Mah daddy's a peice a work in his own way," Lola explains, going to the ipod and flipping through until she hears something that sounds like a piano to her decidedly unclassical ears. "Taught me 'bout theivan, call 'im 'Five Finger Frankie' on account of his name is Frank. And, five finger…well ya get it, darlin." Lola turns back to the apples, which are being worked upon properly. "S'mah brother Ah feel bad for. He done became a priest just ta piss me off, an now he's stuck bein' one without the satisfaction a mah failure." She smirks a bit, downing her coffee.
"Listen, darlin, while you an I's attached at the hip, Ah done got a favor ta ask ya. Ah'm a good shot 'n all, but if somebody gets up in mah face, Ah'm kinda fucked. Bein a cop an all, Ah thought ya could help me - ya know, with cop stuff. IF this killin' things gonna be mah new trade, Ah need some more…diverse skills."
There's a pause, Elisabeth taking the moment to pick up her mug of tea and sip from it to ease her throat while she thinks. "Okay, first…. I would quite frankly prefer like hell not to think that I've turned you into a killer for hire. In all honesty, Lola, I'd love to teach you a lot of things, and let you turn your skills to a more legitimate line of work. Like working for Redbird on the books, assuming we all survive the bullshit coming down the pipe at us. Leaving what I want, aside, however… what skills are you looking to learn?" She resumes shredding.
Lola shrugs. "Ah don' see Dicky takin' me on, but Ah wouldn' say no. Ah dunno. Just how not ta die if folks get up in mah face an Ah can' shoot 'em or the like. An…well the fingerprintin, ya were talkin' bout that. Ah dunno. Just cop-stuff ah geuss. Maybe Ah kin get an ID that'll get me through the police academy or somethin'. Figure stuff like that would be downright helpful." She finishes her chop and simultaneously finishes her coffee. "An if it makes ya feel better, sugar. Ya didn' turn me inta nothin. Just sorta been happinin, a late." Mostly CArdinal.
Considering what Elisabeth's been thinking to ask of Lola, the blonde doesn't think the other woman is right about that. But she's going to hold off on that request until it's time. And when it's time, she'll ask it of Jessica and Lola both. "I don't know about being able to get you an ID that good in this day and age," she says quietly. Although she's already put that idea into motion as well. She'll have to see how it plays out with that one before she attempts it for anyone else. "Never know what the future will bring, Lola," Liz tells her, coughing again into her arm. "Even the precogs can't see everything. And Lord knows, we've changed things before." She looks at the other woman and says candidly, "You were supposed to be the one taking the shot at my head. And that changed."
"Yeap," Lola says, thoughtfully. "Ah was also supposed to be takin' Kain's Manny around an rescuin' some English fucktard, but that didn' happen either. Truth be told, Ah ain' got much in the way a belief in precogs an the like. Seems wrong on a lot a stuff, but what do Ah know, right? They just show ya what could happen. They don' show ya the 8-bazillion other things that could happen." Doorbell! "Ah good," Lola wlaks to the door, signs for 'Juanita Suarez' and takes her groceries in. "Ah might know a fellah 'bout the ID. Supposed ta meet up with him soon."
Pursing her lips, Elisabeth smiles faintly. The sound of the doorbell brings her head up, blue eyes alert in spite of the weariness in her body language. The cold is kicking her ass. "Well, if he's good at fixing up a full-on alternate ID with birth certificates and socials, let me know. I'm looking to buy one." She waits until Lola's done at the door to then add, "Creating an alternate ID, though, is pretty dicey these days. What with Registration and shit. Can't fake that, so you'll have to actually go through the process." Or send a shapeshifter through it.
"Or get yer prints changed. Got a fellah queued up fer that one too." She suggests. Groceries start to be unpacked. Collard greens, strange squash, rice…pecans. Lots and lots and lots and lots of pecans. "It kin work, Ah just gotta get in touch with the right people. An find a dead person Ah don' mind bein'. Or a live person Ah don' mind stealin. But if Ah kin manage all that, ya think ya could…help me get somethin' like that?" Lola, Cop.
Elisabeth is actually somewhat surprised that Lola would want to be a cop. As she cooks the stuffing ingredients, she glances at the Cajun. "Why a cop?" she asks. "You don't strike me as one who wants to follow all the rules and regs that come with the job, so I'm interested in why that job. Instead of, say, private investigations." She's not saying no, one might notice. More that she's honestly and sincerely curious about Lola's choice on this.
"Oh sugar, Ah don wanna be a cop." Yeah, that's funny. "Do ya really see me lastin' in that sorta job?" She pulls out the greens and a lot of hot peppers and starts chopping, quickly and easily. Drop out of college, have to do something to make a living, right? "But the trainin'. It's the trainin' Ah want. Ah wanna…Ah wanna know enough not ta be scared if somethin' starts goin' wrong, ya know?"
Elisabeth rolls her eyes and laughs. She can't help it. It brings on a coughing fit, which she covers up as she turns away from the stove. Once she's got it under control again, though, she turns back still chuckling. "I should have guessed." She shrugs a little. "I'm thinking the police training isn't what you really need, in that case." She pauses and admits honestly, "I'm probably the last person to be able to teach you the things you need, but… there are any number of places you can learn street fighting stuff. I can teach you what you need for shit like fingerprinting, private investigations, whatever." Or perhaps more to the point, Liz can probably train her in what to do to cover her own tracks forensically speaking. "But I'm not sure what exactly you mean by wanting to know enough not to be scared." She glances at Lola. "I hope you don't think that I'm not scared. Because you'd be wrong."
"Naw sugar, yer eyes get real big," she says, as if telling Liz her poker tell. But she moves on quickly enough. "Naw, just that…Ah kin shoot, ya know? But if Ah'm in a close-quarters situation, wehre shootin' ain an option…well then Ah'm in trouble. That's all Ah'm sayin. Ah wanna be well-rounded." She smirks a little, licking a finger that has some oil on it from the greens. Chop chop!
"Uh-huh," Elisabeth murmurs in reply. "So you just want me to teach you how to kick someone's ass in close quarters." She grins a bit. "I'll teach you what I know, but I'm not the one best suited to that shit, honestly. You'd be better served by taking a self-defense class or a kickboxing class. That's what I did."
"Ah tried. Ah was sleepin' with this cop fer awhile, well like twice, an asked him but he, ya know. He's just a man, like the rest of 'em, an if ya ain' givin' em wha they want, they sure as shit ain' gonna help you." She gets an empty pot and starts throwing greens in there, with…chili peppers. Hoboy. "What was his name? Can' hardly remember anymore. Mash or somethin' like that."
That brings Elisabeth up short, pivoting on her heel. "Nash?" she asks, startled. Well, shit… looks kinda like her last partner got around more than Liz would have guess. "Well… isn't that a kick in the ass?" she says, flummoxed. She checks her stuffing and pulls it off the heat, covering the pan and leaving it on the back burner. Then she moves out of Lola's way at the stove to resume peeling and cutting apples while Lola cooks her own speciality. There's a faint smirk as she sips her cooling tea first, though. "Some of them are better than that," she observes. "Not all. But some."
"Yeah, s'it. Why, ya know him?" She listens to Liz go off about how not all men are teh same, and Lola lowers her eyes a bit, to make sure that she's focusing on JUST THE FOOD THANK YOU. "Hey sugar, speakin' a which, ya ain' heard nothin' bout Ash, have ya? He still ain' called - not that Ah spect him to call no more, really - but he sure weren' the type ta just…up an vanish."
"No," Elisabeth says quietly. "I haven't seen anything or had any reports with a similar name. There's… well, I don't know. It's possible the guy's gone to ground, trying to hide out." But her tone says that she has some other concerns — like being dark-holed or dead. She works on the pie. "Yeah, I know Nash," she admits quietly. "He was my partner before I got jacked up and kicked off the force."
"That so?" She asks, making a little humph sound. She's quiet a moment after the news about Ash, but she tries to keep on teh thread of the conversation, so that Liz might not find out that she's upset. "He talks a big game, but in case ya ain' had the opportunity, he ain' that great. Ah've had better. Way too white meat for me, ain' no allure ta that. Cept, ya know. Was bored Ah guess."
Elisabeth snickers softly. "Lola… I really have zero need to know about Chris Nash's prowess or lack thereof. Promise you that." She moves to pull down the sugar, brown sugar, cinnamon, and assorted other spices she wants in the pie.
"Well, Ah'm just tryin' ta help a girl out. Ya know, if yer lookin' an ya got that itch, ya might just…wanna look elsewhere. Tryin' ta save ya time is all." She shrugs a little and goes about her own mixture. Who'd have thought these two would end up cooking Thanksgiving and gossiping together? Who'd have thought they'd laugh together, what's more?
It really must be the end of the world.
