Participants:
| Scene Title | Back in the 21st |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Monica drops by the Redbird building to deliver news and bask in the amenities of modern civilization. |
| Date | November 30, 2010 |
Redbird Security Wes Smedley's Apartment
It's been a long time since Redbird Security has seen Monica Dawson. And longer since Monica has seen it, which is a logic puzzle that's still giving her a headache to this day. But, the mimic has to be careful this time, since it's past curfew and she's a fugitive now. Which is why she cases the building first, to figure out where people are. She also doesn't have her keys… they're probably sitting in her apartment on Roosevelt, if they haven't been confiscated or something.
Which is why the window nearest Peyton gets a firm knock when Monica finds her, clinging to the side of the building like something out of a Spider-Man comic. But she is trying not to give her a scare, leaving herself visible through the window.
The knock startles Peyton out of her sleep; luckily she's the one closest to the window so it's the clairvoyant who sees Monica peering into the window. Peyton turns to look over her shoulder where Wes is already scampering for some sort of weapon, no doubt, as he has an arsenal at his disposal at all times. "It's Monica," she says earnestly, worry and happiness mixed in tone and features, since she hasn't seen the other woman for three weeks.
She kneels on the bed — dressed for chilly weather rather than any night shenanigans in fleece pj bottoms and a long sleeve t-shirt, feet in fuzzy socks , so Monica won't have to worry that she was interrupting anything — and unlatches the window, sliding it open and holding a hand out to the parkour ninja outside.
There's a rifle by the bed for a reason, but at Peyton's assurance, Wes retracts his hand. But Carson's barking is still loud enough to wake the dead, and Wes's somewhat hoase "Hey!" has to be delivered more than once to quiet the older dog down and get him to curl up once more at the end of the bed. Unlike Peyton, Wes doesn't rise immediately. Instead, he just sits up, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his hand.
While shenanigans would have been a fine way to keep warm, his current schedule has Wes in bed later and later, so sleep is as fine a bedfellow as Peyton. Dressed in a pair of fleece sweatpants and a long-sleeved thermal that hugs his torso and arms, Wes watches Peyton as she moves toward the window. "Close it quick," he murmurs. "Yer lettin' all the warm air out."
Monica takes that hand and crawls in the window, turning to shut it behind her at Wes' words. "Sorry to wake you guys up," she says, rubbing her arms to warm up. "I don't have my keys anymore, but I told Rich I'd drop in." She looks over to Smedley, giving him an apologetic smile, "It is pretty cold out there, sorry. You guys got a minute for some info? Just a couple things…"
Peyton moves to give Monica a hug. "Oh, my God, I'm so glad to see you okay. I mean, I've seen you okay, but you know, I was so worried when you were in jail or wherever they had you," she says, biting her lower lip as she steps back. "Sure, come on into the living room. Can I get you some hot cocoa or something? Wes, you wanna put the fire place on so she can get warm?"
Peyton's off the bed now, moving out of the bedroom; Von has woken from all the commotion and moves to put his paws on Monica's legs, brown eyes peering up at her as he strains upward for a petting or better yet, a face to slobber at, then he jumps down and follows Peyton toward the living room. "Richard isn't here," Peyton adds over her shoulder. "So … Redbird stuff is mostly me, Endgame Liz. Have you seen him — since you've been off the island?"
On the bed, Carson lets out a low, tense sort of noise that is halfway between a growl and a grumble. Someone - someone he doesn't know - just came in through the window during sleepytime. It's not normal, and therefore something (and someone) to be suspicious of. And Wes must be informed of Carson's suspicion. The smuggler, however, ignores the sound. He throws off the covers and stands, taking a brief moment to stretch.
"Sure," he says, his voice the sort of half-yawn that comes after one has tasted sleep without falling completely into it. Blearily, he moves along after the women, with Carson not far behind him. Of course, there are things to he moved away from the front of the fireplace, but Wes makes relatively short work of the few crates of what are presumably some sort of ammunition or firearms so that he can flip the single switch that takes care of the flue and flow of gas through the grate. Blinking, he frowns at it, despite the warm, blue-orange that glows through the screen.
Monica returns the hug, a smile coming to her face. "It's good to see you, too. I didn't know how you all made it through over here… I saw Abby on the island. I'm so glad you came through okay." She chuckles a little at them mention of jail, but it's a bit mirthless. "Yeah… that was… special. I'm pretty sure they were on the way to havin' us executed before the Ferry stepped in." She pauses a moment there before adding, sort of disjointedly, "But I would love some cocoa."
She does reach down to pet Von, though, because he's just irresistible, frankly, and she's missed the company mascot! "Yeah, I just saw him, actually. He told me about the new set up… but we ran into Delia's sister… she said… the Institute is trying to find Delia, too. Mind and body, I assume. Rich wanted to make sure you guys knew, just in case. But we were thinking maybe we should find her first… he said maybe ask Kaylee or Matt if they can work some mental magic there…"
That Monica saw Cardinal and that he sent her to Peyton gets a slight frown from Peyton as the brunette heads into the kitchen, pulling down a mug and filling it with water — this is simply Swiss Miss variety cocoa, she's not Betty Crocker, after all. "Matt's still out of commission. Isn't Kaylee on the island?" she asks, putting the water in the microwave and pushing buttons with a series of beeps.
"That creepy ass dead chick said she had to do it on 'er own," Smedley grunts as he settles himself on the couch with only a moderate amount of flopping. "But hell, we've moved 'er what? Twice now? Gotta keep 'er outta Institute hands, I get that. But ain't every time we move'er makin' it harder for her'tuh set things straight like she's s'posed to?" From Wes's tone, it's clear that the sleep-deprived smuggler isn't a fan of the lack of logic. But he could just be tired.
"Is she? I didn't exactly get out and socialize much." Monica frowns at the news about Matt, though. She didn't even know he was out of commission in the first place. "Well… I'll be going back to the island in a few days, if Kaylee's there, I'll talk to her."
When Wes pipes up, Monica looks over his way. "Dead chick? You know, you guys… I haven't seen or heard anything since well before the Eighth, so I have no idea what's been going on." She lets out sigh and shakes her head. "I don't know if moving her's a good idea, if people are watching… just be aware that they're on the hunt, too."
The tall brunette scowls at the microwave, staring at it while the water heats within. When it beeps, she punches the release button and lifts the hot water out, then mixes in the cocoa for Monica, giving Wes a curious glance at the description of a 'dead chick' as well. "Kaylee was there last I looked. I'll peek around during normal hours when she should be awake and see if I can find her anywhere else, and let you know," Peyton says, reaching for a spoon and stirring the brown powder and tiny marshmallows into the water.
Handing the mug to Monica, Peyton smiles a little weakly. "We're more like a coma ward right now, to be honest. I … I'll keep Delia here unless someone tells me otherwise. If they don't know she's here yet…" It doesn't mean they won't figure it out, goes without saying.
She crosses her arms, leaning against the counter. "If you see Cardinal again, tell him I had some girl coming for an internship, says she saw our name on a job board or something at Columbia where I don't think we have a job board posting, and she recognized Bishop, freaking Elle out. I don't know what it's about. All her references and stuff didn't pan out — lots of disconnected and wrong numbers. I donno what to make of it. He say when he's coming back?"
Wes can handle curious and strange looks, but he tenses when it seems like his two cents worth of information is going to be called into question. So when Monica and Peyton move onto other subjects, he relaxes some, leaning his head back against the couch cushion and letting his eyes close. "She didn't have uh'southern accent dihshe?" he asks, the words only half mumbled but spoken loudly enough for them to be understandable.
"Alright. I'll get one of those disposable cell phones and drop you the number while I'm on the mainland. I'll have to leave it here, though, when I go back over this weekend. I'm not really sure… what my situation is, frankly, but I don't think it's good. I got moved into an apartment on Roosevelt before… which is how I ended up in the riots and tossed in prison. But the Ferry broke us all out, so… I don't know. I don't know if there was really a record of my being in prison, it isn't like they arrested us, they just tossed us in the back of a van, negated us and threw us in cells. That was it." Monica looks between them, rubbing her face after a moment. "As for when he's coming back, he didn't say. He didn't really seem to want to talk about it all."
"Southern accent? No…" Peyton murmurs to Wes, then her dark eyes turn back to Monica, frowning at her words. Her brows knit together and she shakes her head. "Assholes. I know Carmichael caused the riots but the government… there's no excuse for that." The dark circles under her eyes show how strained she's been, taking care of the business and taking care of invalids, hiring clandestine doctors, and playing the face of Redbird on the television.
"Do you need anything? I have clothes here, money… let me know," she says, reaching to touch Monica's shoulder gently. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that."
"S'th'government, Pey," Smedley mumbles, turning and starting to fall to the shoulder of the couch. "S'required." He doesn't say anything else after that, but curls an arm around one of the throw pillows that came with the sofa and buries his face in the beige fabric. Slowly, he repositions so that both of his legs are also on the couch, resting precariously on Carson's back.
"I might have to borrow some clothes. What you see is what I've got at this point. But I was hoping one of the apartments was still open so I could sleep in a bed again. You know, without making you guys make room," Monica says, her smile teasing there. She does reach up to cover Peyton's hand, though. "It's okay. I'm just glad to be back again."
She glances over at Smedley, making a bit of an agreeing noise at his sentiments. "I hate to say so, but I think he's right there. And it's gotten so much worse…" She looks back to Peyton, though, "What is Endgame doing these days? Have I missed anything important?"
"Yeah, there's open apartments. I'll give you whatever I have clean here; I can get more tomorrow from my place. And we have extra toiletries just in case, like toothpaste and toothbrushes," Peyton assures Monica. "Come on. Grab the cocoa and I'll bring you to one of the other apartments. It'll be cold til the heat kicks in, sorry…"
As for Endgame, she shakes her head. "Right now, I'm just trying to keep an eye on where everyone is, keep Delia and Molly healthy, keep the business running. It's about all I know to do at the moment. Liz might know more, but she's busy with Frontline." Her voice sounds strained, as if she's reining in emotion. "C'mon."
She heads to the coffee table where her keys sit in her purse, pulling out one of the keys and handing it to the other woman. "Number matches the door," she adds. "Let me go bag you up some stuff."
"Cold is okay. Cold I can handle. I know a bed probably shouldn't make me this happy, but it does. And toothpaste. Probably warm water, too, huh? I'm back in the twenty-first." Monica smiles over at Peyton, taking the cocoa — which also makes her inordinately happy, frankly.
"Yeah, I was thinking we all might just be treading water at the moment. I'm… gonna be helping out the lighthouse kids. Their place was raided, too, I guess. They can't go back and all their stuff is gone and it's… I mean, those poor kids, stuck on an island and inside, too. But I'll be moving back and forth from the island, so I'll be in better contact from here on out." She takes the keys, though, clutching onto them for dear life. Civilization again! "I really appreciate this, Pey."
"You're probably hungry too," Peyton realizes. "Go ahead and go grab a shower, turn on the heat, and I'll gather up a care package for you — the room's furnished, but I don't think there's any food. I have stuff down in the lounge downstairs. Whatever you need, okay. And if you need something," she glances at Wes, giving him an apologetic grin, "feel free to knock if there's anything you don't have okay?"
She pushes Wes lightly. "Go ahead and go back to bed. I'll be up for a while."
For the last few weeks, she's felt there hasn't been much she could do or do well, feeling deeper and deeper over her head — but gathering clothes, an extra blanket, fresh towels, and food for a friend is something she can control, something she can succeed at. It won't solve the problems of the world, but it feels good to make a friend she'd almost lost smile.