Participants:
| Scene Title | Auntie Rosie's Package |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Isaac delivers a package. Isis is having a rough morning. |
| Date | April 19, 2019 |
Bay Ridge: Dirk and Isis's Apartment
The door to a pristinely cleaned bathroom is left ajar, affording a glance at the mirror’s reflection of garish lights and a head of bobbing, crimson locks weaving this way and that. There’s a considerable amount of mumbling and muttering going on, but the sound fades just outside the door - long silent in the stretches it takes to reach the comfortable apartment’s door and the clean, carpeted hall outside.
All is peaceful on the exterior side of that door, the lives of neighbors going about their morning routines beside other residences that are emptied in favor of offices and work.
Until…
“SHIT! Oh no-no-no-no-no!” There’s the scuffle of frantic, bare feet inside. “Not again!”
Isaac Faulkner is in a good mood today.
He's been mostly sticking to the bicycle so far, instead of doing his freerunning tricks — cycling is also good exercise, and while he's more a fan of the inventive approach of getting from Point A to Point B, sometimes concessions have to be made; Fridays are always a busy day, with a lot of packages to get delivered… and a pretty good payout if he can get a lot of them delivered.
He hums tunelessly to himself as he strides down the carpeted corridor, package in hand to deliver to a 'Dirk Dickson'. He manages not to break into snickers at that name this time, at least, shaking his head as he comes to a stop in front of the door, raising a hand to knock.
Just as the man’s knuckles fall to the door, it swings wide. On the other side is a wide-eyed, wild-curled redhead in an oversized black tee and boxers. She catches the door with one elbow, precariously, as her hands are otherwise occupied. Her pale fingers deal a death grip on the edge of a large glass bowl. Inside the clear vessel is full of water, a singed hand towel, and a curling iron with only half a cord - the other half likely as melted as what remains attached.
Isis looks up from her water balancing act and lets out a sharp screech. “Holy-!” Her pale brows instantly drop. “You scared me.” Yes, clearly his fault. She clears her throat, managing to banish much of the squeaky girly effect, and gives an apologetic grimace. “Sorry-sorry. So sorry. Um… Hi. Can I help you?”
Isaac just stares for a moment, blinking; either he's got the wrong apartment, or he's going to have to seriously re-evaluate his assessment of this 'Dirk Dickson' character, because… wow. She's having a bad day, clearly, but still. Wow.
…wrong apartment. Gotta be.
"Uh. Sorry," he says, recovering from his momentary shock and giving his best smile. "I… must have the wrong apartment. I've got a delivery for a…" he sighs "… 'Dirk Dickson'?"
He hesitates a moment longer, eying the half-corded curling iron and the bowl of water. "You alright?"
The momentary silence on the other side of the doorway grants the shell-shocked woman a fresh chance to consider the man with the package. Her pale cheeks, already flushed by the flustered, near-apartment-burning fiasco so kindly interrupted, darken a fresher shade of red. Maybe it’s just the light reflecting off her hair.
“Dickson?” She snorts. Somehow she regularly forgets that this is his last name - it’s fun in that it always makes for a good, fresh laugh. She clears her throat and cants her head aside. “Roomate. He’s not here currently. Is this something I can sign for?” She looks down to her otherwise occupied hands.
The man’s inquiry regarding her condition has her stealing a deep breath. “I think so. The bathroom is still standing and hey-…” She turns in a circle. “I’m not missing any hair, am I?”
"You look fine to me," Isaac observes innocently enough, watching as she completes her turn, a hint of a smile on his lips; he's opting to answer what is clearly the more important question first. "And, uh, yeah. You can sign for it," he says, raising the package and clipboard he's holding. "You need a minute to take care of that? I can wait," he offers.
The redhead finishes her circle - not a twirl, it wasn’t that girly. Her hair falls over one shoulder before she gives a nod and steps back. “Thanks. Actually, come on in- I was just going to set this down here…” She uses a bare foot to kick the door open wider and then slinks out pass the delivery man. “Right on the table there,” she calls back as she glances down the hallway in one direction and then the other, clearly looking for any snoopy witnesses. She sets the bowl of singed evidence outside the door across the hall.
Scooting back into her proper apartment, she flashes a bright smile that is all feigned innocence and clear guilt. “Going to have to drag that to dumpster after I clear up the rest of the evidence. We’ll just leave that over there in case Dirk comes home in the meantime.” Not that it would matter. There’s clearly a lingering smell of burn coming down the hall. She rubs her hands the excess t-shirt fabric around her hips, mentally checking her ability, before offering a handshake. “I’m Tiffany, but everyone calls me Jo.” She smiles in a way that just barely keeps her chuckle from cutting free.
Isaac nods, stepping in and setting the package and clipboard down at the table. He doesn't seat himself — that'd be gauche — but he does glance around the apartment a bit, surveying the place.
The redhead isn't gone long, though; Isaac grins a bit at her talk of hiding the evidence, looking amused. As she introduces herself, Isaac's grin widens; he takes the offered hand, giving it a firm shake. "Pleased to meet you, Jo," he says. "I'm Isaac."
The apartment is particularly nice and tidy - such is the result of two compulsive personalities residing under one roof. “It’s not my first fire. Normally they’re in the kitchen, but apparently all things feminine and domesticated end in the same blaze of failed glory for me,” she admits with a sheepish smirk.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” she says in her honey-alto way, giving a firm but brief handshake. She seems to squint at her own words ever so slightly and banish them quickly with a subtle shake of her head. She then turns her body towards the package and clipboard, canting her head before plucking up the pen. “So, what did you bring us?” The pen makes several false starts before ultimately pinning a stylized T on the dotted line. She gives a huff at the letter and holds the pen out to Isaac.
Isaac smiles, taking the pen back and pocketing it. "Now that, I couldn't tell you," he chuckles, shrugging. "Only one way to find that out," he adds, his smile shifting into a sly grin.
Isis turns told hold Isaac’s gaze a moment longer than necessary. “I like the way you think,” she quips. With that, she pulls the box closer on the table. “Let’s see. To: Dirk Dickson. From: Great Aunt Rosaline…?” Hazel eyes turn back across her shoulder to Isaac. “Bet you twenty Great Auntie Rosie is a pseudonym of a guy at the office and that this box is going to explode chocolate sprinkles or contain oreo cookies filled with toothpaste.” She squints and turns her determined glower down on the box.
Bracing for the worst she flips open the lid and even raises an arm to shield herself.
Nothing happens.
Inside the box are a couple of chocolate bunnies and fancifully decorated easter candies.
Isaac raises his eyebrows, sliding a half step back as Jo opens the box… and nothing happens. He tilts his head, peering at the contents of the box. "Chocolate bunnies," he observes, deadpan. "Huh."
After a moment, he looks back at Jo, shaking his head. "Now I'm sad I didn't take that bet. Twenty would've been enough to buy lunch," he says with a grin.
Isis squints at the contents of the box and then looks back to Isaac belatedly, brow popping into a gentle arc. “Hmm. Well, I’ll give you the twenty if you bite into one of those bunnies?” she asks, her left eyes scrunched up uncertainty. Clearly, she doesn’t trust Great Auntie Rosie despite the kindest appearance of the giftbox, but she just as clearly can’t let it go.
It’s not like it would be poisoned, just gross!
Isaac arches an eyebrow. "I probably shouldn't," he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. After a moment, though, he breaks into a grin. "I'll take a piece, but if your roommate asks, you're the one that ate it," he says slyly. "My employer would not be pleased if he thought I were sampling packages," he adds, and for a moment his expression is serious at that.
Then his grin returns. "Work for you?"
Peach-pale lips turn up in a gentle way, an easy smile accented with a hint of mischief. “Cross my heart,” she promises, making a swift X of a gesture over her heart. It’s this gesture that drops her gaze to her own attire and has a soft blush returning to her pale, freckled cheeks when she raises her gaze. She tries to remain otherwise cool, though, as she sliiiiiides the box over to Isaac.
Isaac's grin is full mischief mode at that. "Well then," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Here goes."
He reaches out, breaks an ear off the bunny, and pops it in his mouth. He doesn't chew it up right away, but lets it dissolve. "No toothpaste, no explosives. Milk chocolate," he nods at last. "Seems legit," he offers.
“Whaa-?” Isis reaches forward, pausing half a beat to check the safety harness on her ability, and pokes at Isaac’s chin. “No way. Open.” She wrinkles her nose and looks over the delivery man’s face of signs of illness or false advertising, then wheels her disbelief over on the package. She holds up the maimed, chocolate rabbit for inspection.
“Wait… Auntie Rosie is real?” Wide, sparkling hazel eyes turn back on Isaac. “I’m never going to survive this place.” She shakes her head, crimpy and wild curls bouncing around in agreeable testament to her statement. The food and the primping have her cornered, but yet she reaches to coat on the back of a chair and pulls the promise bill from her wallet. Handing it over with a sheepish smile. “Here. You earned it, Brave Hero. Now I need a drink and to decide whether or not I feel too guilty to eat that whole bunny or not.”
Isaac's grin gets wider; he opens up for a moment, then closes his mouth as she turns her attention to the bunny. He smiles as she hands over the twenty. "Thanks for the lunch," he says. He hesitates for a moment, considering. "Maybe I can return the favor and buy you lunch sometime?" he asks, a gleam in his eye.
“Hm?” Her face comes up as pokes her forefinger, with perhaps a bit more force than is wise, at her own sternum. Her little chin moves towards her shoulder, but she checks the instinct to look behind her - just barely. Even still, her raised-brow expression has said enough. Me?
“I mean-…” She shrugs with all the casualness she can muster… which isn’t much if you consider the type of morning she’s had. “That sounds like fun.” She brushes her fingers through her hair habitually, but quickly draws the hand back forward to point in playful, jesting warning at Isaac. “Promise me no food pranks and I’ll be there with bells on.” Hair flopped lazily on one side, she gives a renewed smile.
Isaac's eyebrows climb a bit at her reaction, his grin widening further; if her expression is a query, his is an amused response: Yes, you.
"No food pranks. Promise," he grins… but while this has been a far more pleasant delivery than he'd have expected from a package marked for a 'Dirk Dickson', time waits for no man. "You can skip the bells, though. Unless you really want to," he says with a grin, scooping up the clipboard.
"I'll see ya," he says, grinning as he takes his leave.
“See ya,” she echoes, leaving the door cracking after his departure to peek out curiously after him. After he rounds the corner out of view, her hazel gaze cuts across to the bowl full of scorched, failed primping evidence.
A half broken bunny comes up, cracking under a guiltless bite as Isis scowls at the fire-extinguishing bowl. “Well, shit.”