Participants:
| Scene Title | Bourbon Drunk |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Coren gets wasted over the news he should tell Abby but doesn't. The result is that Abby finds out why he resigned from the FBI. |
| Date | April 2, 2009 |
Old Lucy's has a vibrant and lively feel to it, from the dark wooden floors to the shady crimson walls lit up by neon lights and many times, the flashing of cameras from the oft-crowded floor. The mirror behind the bar reflects prices of various drinks, bottles lined up, as well as the entire saloon as seen from the bartenders; bolted-down stools line the other side, and there are loose tables and chairs placed all around, though many times they find themselves pushed back for more space within the center of the saloon. A few speakers are placed at strategic places and around a raised stage to the far corner from the bar. Above the counter, an obviously well-used bar is hung; it is this that the girls working will use should there be dancing, which is one reason many patrons choose to come aside from the drinks. Across the bar and near the back, there is a door that leads to the owner's office and just inside a stairwell that leads a apartment on the floor above the bar.
It's been nearly two weeks since his last evening off, and once again Coren finds himself sitting at the bar in Old Lucy's. Bourbon on the rocks. Something a bit stronger than the Scotch he had his previous visit. Glass number three. Needless to say, at nearly eight o'clock, things are starting to go a little fuzzy around the edges.
Those last few pounds are hard to get back, but she'll get them, through sheer willpower and the Dr. Bianco tailored diet. Gold cross moves this way and that way as Abby huffs into the bar, her plans for the day cancelled. No go on healing for Moab. They'll tell her when they're going again/ So she's keeping busy, keeping her mind off the phonecall that she's waiting to come these last few days. So it is too that when Brenda calls her apartment to tell her that a certain Detective is at the bar, and he's not exactly looking all that great, the blonde hurries out of her place down the road and hightails it to the bar.
Past the bouncer at the door, no need for ID, even though she's underage. The upside to working here. A reusable steel bottle in hand and a straw, she makes her way through the people, waits for someone to vacate their seat beside Coren and slides up onto it herself. "You need some healing?"
Coren remains rather silent, finishing his drink and flagging another into his glass. "You have some friends to go calling you when I'm wallowing in injustice." It's almost unnatural, the swiftness with which he finishes the contents of his just-refilled glass, and just like that, it's refilled. Yes, his wallet is firmly packed. He licks his lips. He's never been a particular fan of alcohol, but it helps to take the edge off, and he needs that right now. One of the quirks of his ability. "You know," he says, "There's a definite problem with not needing a lot of sleep." He raises a finger and points it firmly at Abby, bobbing it up and down to punctuate his words, "I have way too much time to think about things."
"They call when they think it might be something I can help with. When it's a friend or someone from law enforcement" Someone brushes up against her and she shifts closer to Coren. Better the known, than the unknown. She cranes her neck, taking the whole of him in before glancing to Brenda. With a few quick motions she knows how much he's had to drink. "Evolved or not, your not driving home. My boss has a place over the top of this place and she's in jail, or there's my place, it's a few blocks away. You can drink as much as you need to and won't need to worry about getting home. I know a speedster too who can get you to Brooklyn in five minutes flat" Leaning over the counter, she grabs the bourbon. She seems almost normal, to those who don't know her, save that her tone is slightly off, the lines at the corner of her eyes, and her even more paranoid need to not be touched by anyone. "We have back room, or there's the basement again" You know, that place where she was chucking boxes around. "Or there's upstairs"
For whatever reason, Coren reaches out to put an arm around Abby as she comes closer, but stops as Abby leans over the counter to get the bottle of bourbon. The whole finger-pointing has ceased as he now holds his glass. He nods, "There's a reason I took a cab here. Evolved or not, I don't drink and drive. I like to set a good example." He takes a drink. "What's your poison? Anything that's legal, drink's on me."
"I have my sludge. That's all I'm supposed to drink besides water, V8 and maybe a cup of coffee. But the offer is appreciated Detective Shelby" The arm around her is barely tolerated. Moreso because of who he is and what he's done for her, as opposed to the fact that she knows him. His glass is refilled, the top off the bourbon, glass bottle tipped, her free hand settles on his to supposedly settle him, but really, it's her trying to check him out, see if he's hurt, fix it as well. She can't tell just by looking at him. "Trade you, your not needing to sleep, for my inability to sleep"
"It does come in handy," Coren says, withdrawing the arm, clearly seeing the discomfort it caused. "Sleepless nights aren't as mentally taxing, if they aren't still emotionally." Without his left arm around Abby, his hand sits idly on the bar, twirling his wedding band with his thumb. Then of course, he feels warmth coming from her touch, and running through his arms, shoulders, and knuckles. Prior to his foray to get completely boozed up, he was beating a punching bag senseless, as he had done also on the previous day. It got what was coming to it. "Abigail," he says in an admonishing tone, "You didn't have to do that." Openly. In the open. In public, with people around. It's amazing the thoughts that come to mind when the conscious censor is taking a bit of a break. Alcohol talks.
"No one can see it" Abigail murmurs, there's no purple glow, no visual cues since nothing on him is visible where it's hurt. The telltale has always been to the receiver. "And they still are" Just a few moments is all that's needed for Coren really, everything superficial and she pulls it away soon enough. "You're not hurt. Not more than.. an angry man might be. Come around the back, through the boor, I'll take you away from the noise" And she'll take the bourbon bottle too as well as her bottle of sludge. Off the black stool she slips, starting the hateful task of shouldering past people and around the counter. Expectation that the man will follow.
And Coren does follow. It's not quite the gait of a regular, old raggedy Bourbon Drunk — nobody's leaning the room on him or anything — but it's starting to resemble a person who's not quite balanced. "Anger is easy to dispel," he says, taking a drink as he walks. Hey, if he can take a drink and walk at the same time, he can't be too buzzed, right?
Either that or he's a really good drunk. Either or. Through the back door of the bar, into the back room. There's tables and chairs, seems a gathering for staff when they're not on duty and to drink in private. Lockers for purses and coats, storage for more alcohol and access to the larger coolers and the soda machines that feet the front fountains. There's another door, that when opened, leads to upstairs. The smell of burnt wood and such has dissipated and the place has been repaired since Izzy blew the hole in the door and it's ready should the woman ever get released or show back up. "Boss is evolved. Pyrokinetic. Unregistered. She's.. pretty protective of me. She gave me a job even though I wasn't old enough to drink and didn't have any bar experience. lets me come up and sleep a few hours if I came in for a shift and had been healing. Homeland has her now" She digs a key out of the messenger bag slung around her and opens the door, leading the way up the stairs and into a laid back apartment.
Coren nods, "Indeed." Talk about a flammable personality. He gives a slight smirk to the comment about Isabelle being protective of Abby. "In case you haven't noticed, you have that effect on people." He can tell by the way Harrison regards the case. His own emotions are clouded by past, bitter experience, but he too feels protective of her. "Nice hair, by the way. Why the change?"
"Becuase I'm beautiful, and religious and innocent seeming" Abby answers. "I've heard it before. From less than reputable places. Didn't stop some people from deciding to chain me up and keep me for their pleasure" Abby points out. "I'm told it's because I'm trying to hide, and trying to change myself and unconsciously deny what was done to me and cope with it. Same reason I got a tattoo. I think she might be right, maybe. I was red once before. But I didn't trudge over here to talk about my red hair. Why are you bent on drinking through a bottle of bourbon in my bar? I'm not near the NYPD headquarters Detective Shelby" She takes a seat on one end of the couch, sitting on the edge, ready to pour more when he needs it. She can take care of his liver when all is said and done.
"I was thinking because you have a good heart," Coren says as he takes a drink and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. "So why do you think changing your hair colour and getting a tattoo appealed to you?" Avoiding the question? It does seem that way, doesn't it? And he's fiddling with his wedding band again, which just happens to be something he does when he's drinking. It's funny, he doesn't think of his family that often. "I mean, you say you're told why you did it. But, ignoring that, I'm more interested in why you did it than what other people think was why."
"The first, makes me feel safer. The second…" The second. her hoodie is unzipped and the redhead twists in her her spot so he can see the palm sized cross, or what of it that can be seen, on her shoulder blade, obscured by the tank top beneath. "I was with a friend, a less than reputable friend, who.. kept me going while I was locked up. He was getting a tattoo and it felt right" Simplicity in design. "It jsut felt right"
"A badge of honour," Coren says. He downs the last bit of bourbon in his glass and reaches out for a refill, "Another if you will." That will make glass number six. He'll stop off at about six or seven. "You're lucky in so many ways, Abigail. You have so many people there to worry about you, and to fight for you." He leans back slightly, "But you still haven't re-adjusted to touch."
"I've never liked being touched" Abby slides her arms back once more into the sleeves of the hoodie, zipping it back up. "God didn't always grant me what control I have over it. To switch it to myself, or switch it to another. Every little touch of someone, and.. " He knows how it goes. The glass bottle is uncapped once more, pouring a few fingers worth of the alcohol for the detective. "I don't think I'll ever adjust to touch. Only a few get to do it. But friends, support… They can't.. fight for me, how they want to. Because I won't let them. Not all my friends, tend to walk on.. the more… legal side of things. I have favors, that I can call in, for what I've done. For.." She wriggles her fingers before screwing the cap back on. "A few of them want to go over to the island, to meet him in a dark alley and just rid the world of him" The cap to her own bottle is unscrewed, and the thick straw plopped inside and she looks at it. "Give John Logan a few months Detective Shelby. Shadows do strange things, they talk to you in the middle of the night and drive you crazy"
"I'll admit, the thought had crossed my own mind at least once," Coren says before taking a gulp of the bourbon. More than once. More than twice. "He'll get what's coming to him eventually…. they all will." Glass number six is empty, and he sets the glass down on his knee, not asking for a refill at this time. "I've seen some pretty bad things, Meg…. Horrible things. Don't deprive yourself of physical contact if you can help it. Those few friends you have that can… those are the ones you turn to. Because when all is said and done, we're creatures that thrive on the contact of the people we care about."
"Abigail. I'm not Meg." Her head tilts slightly to the side, watching the detective. "your wife? Or a daughter?" Maybe.. he's getting divorced? Maybe thats why he's getting obliterated in the bar.
There's a look of near-shock on Coren's face as Abigail says that name. Obviously he did not mean to say Meg. There's even a hint of a blush. He takes a glance at the glass on his knee and holds it out towards Abigail, "I think I've had enough to drink."
"One more for the road. I can set you up up here, or I can call you a cab, your choice" Not a wife, not a daughter. Not from that kind of look. Which leaves… "She was kidnapped too wasn't she?" The glass isn't taken, it's topped up with just a finger more of the liquid before she pulls the bottle away. Taking a stab in the dark.
Hit the nail on the coffin, er, head. "Meg Manning." He downs the liquid in a single heartbeat. "Two-thousand," he says. There's a faint glisten of something in his eyes. "Hardest case I ever worked. Destroyed my life." He eyes his glass, "You see, we fucked up." He shakes his head and looks down, "I spent countless hours trying to figure out where we'd gone astray with our profile of that monster…. I never did find it. Spent more time reviewing the case files, over and over, than I did with my wife and son, than I did doing my job. By oh-two, Angela had enough. She left, took Jacob with her, and filed for a divorce. I didn't fight it." Yet he still wears his ring.
"I couldn't let it go, so my supervisor told me to resign. That's why I left the FBI. I became so obsessed that I was no longer capable of doing my job. It was resign or be fired. Jeffrey Gillis was a good man. He saved my career. Took me a year to gain perspective, and then I took his letter of recommendation and joined the New York Police Department. One of the few lowly detectives with a double degree in psychology and criminology, and a master's and doctorate in criminology. You see, I'm Doctor Shelby." He lets out a grunt-like laugh, or a laugh-like grunt. "Doctor, Agent, Detective. Meaningless labels. Doesn't mean anything. Sure didn't help Meg." He looks up, "Didn't help you. I've been working with the department since two-thousand and four. Your name never once came across my desk until you were dropped in my lap. I wish it had." Can't change the past. It's a grim reality. At least he left out the fact that Meg was kidnapped three times, the last of which was … fatal. Well, technically, they never found the body. She could still be out there, and the thought had crossed his mind at least once.
"Well. I've only been kidnapped twice Doctor Shelby" Now that she knows the proper honorarium, she's using it. "So, I'll try my best to not taken again, but I'll make sure that somehow you get told, should my shadow come visit me if I do" Bad joke. Not that she's planning on being kidnapped anytime soon. Abby rises from the couch, a hand out to help him up. "But you did help me. I know, it's not a consolation, you only got my file after some less than legal people sprung me. But.. your trying, and sometimes Doctor Shelby, trying is all we can do." Her hand is warm and has nothing to do with her ability, though that's soon to join in with it as she works to help his organs filter the consumed alcohol. "and labels.. labels don't change what you call yourself. I'm labeled evolved, but I don't call myself that. Faith Healer. God touched. You, are Doctor Coren Shelby, who tried to help a young woman who had just gone through hell, and to make her feel better. Fatten her up. You jump through hoops to bring her kidnappers down, even if not for what they did to her. WHo's having a bad night it seems. We're all allowed bad nights"
Not that he really needed the help with the alcohol. His liver's really quite in good condition. Like the rest of him, it too can endure abuse. He stands with her. "I've told you," he says, "When I'm not on duty, please, call me Coren. It's more meaningful than anything else." Bad night? He won't say why because he has no intent on spreading the misery beyond what he may have already. "Working my kind of job, bad nights are more plentiful than good ones, especially in this time. I just have to not let it get to me so easily. That old case shook me, and working on yours brings that all back. But that won't stop me from working it. I will lock them up, no matter what I have to charge them with. That's a promise." He begins to head back the way they came, "I'll take that cab. I don't want to intrude." He also pulls out his wallet, "And I believe I owe thirty dollars for that bottle of bourbon."
"Your money is no good here. They'd kill me downstairs if I took your money Coren" She can make that concession even though good upbringing makes her want to tack a 'Mister' onto the start. "Save it for the cab, come on. There will be one outside, there always is. I'll walk you out" The bottles snatched up, her messenger bag slung over one shoulder after she releases his hand, satisfied after everything seems to be in order and heads for the door, expecting him to follow again, stopping now and then to make sure he can navigate the stairs without much difficulty, helping if there is. "Today sounds like it was an F for you Coren. It's still a C for me, and my nights… Well, they're still the same"
Coren laughs, "The people who make the booze would die if they knew their product was being given away for free. It's a whole bottle." He doesn't have much trouble navigating the stairs. He takes it a little slower than he normally would, which helps. "Yesterday was the F, today is the recuperation." He rifles through his coat and suit jacket, "I need to get myself a new phone. My old one met an untimely demise." When they're on normal ground again, he says, "The nights will suck for a while. Take my word on that one. Just keep someone friendly and caring close by. You're in for restless, sleepless nights, I won't lie to you. You'll have bad dreams, you'll see and hear things you'd rather forget. In the end, though, those sights and sounds will fade into the background noise and you'll find you can actually sleep again."
"I've never been alone at night since I've come back Coren. Between Liz and Brian, my nights are covered. Liz is better, she's got her voice. Brian's got good shoulders though and he makes hot chocolate the best and like you, seems to never need to sleep" She holds up a hand, a wait, as they're in the back room. Over to her locker, a cross magic-markered on the bottom right corner to denote which ones hers, and she brings out a pay as you go phone, still in it's plastic, a ten dollar card attached. "Just drop it off when your done. Just in case you need to call someone between when you leave here and you get your new phone. I have a few more" because that's how terrorists healers roll. He should probably have a good idea as to why.
"Thanks," he says, taking the phone. "Well, I do need to sleep, I just don't need much unless I really exert myself. Three or four hours a day is usually more than enough, and I can go several days without if need be…. there will just been a bit of a crash afterwards. You know, six to eight hours of sleep to recuperate. It's useful, it is, but as I said before, too much time on my hands. Sleep is the time we let our minds rest."
'Everything, has it's cost. Mine makes me a target for those who are greedy, yours… leaves you with idle hands when one would otherwise be sleeping" She hangs back still near her locker, grabbing a book from it, and switching it out with another. Textbook it seems. "cabs. I need to get back, before Brian comes and he sends out the police to find me" Regardless that she's with one. Out the backroom door, behind the counter to drop off the empty bottle of bourbon and a quick word to Brenda that she was heading home and out the front door, managing through great feats of flexibility to avoid touching anyone as she went till they were back out in the cool evening air.
And those feats don't slip past the watchful, if somewhat drunken, eye of Coren Shelby. He pays attention like that all the time out of habit. One of the hazards of being a profiler. Once they're outside, he leads the way to a cab. "Share a cab? I'm sure this Brian character will be happier to know you've been dropped off by someone trustworthy."
There's a gesture to down the street, the Village renaissance building. "Home. If it makes you feel better, you can sit in the cab and watch me walk home or make him drive slow while I get there. I'd take the ride but… It's like.. taking back something I lost. A little power. To be able to walk from work to home and not need a babysitter. I don't know if that makes sense to you" She offers her hand though, not to heal, but to shake. "Rest well, no matter how short Coren. I'll try and do the same. I promise. And thank you, for everything you've done, for you will do" And because, it's just right, like the tattoo and the hair, there's a step forward and one arm wrapping around the man, a brief hug. "Because we all need contact, like you said" No matter how stiff she is while doing it.
A brief, one-armed hug is better than no hug, even if she's stiff and awkward about it. There's a brief smile from Coren as he opens the cab door. "Take care of yourself, Abigail." He takes his seat and closes the door, buckling himself in and telling the driver his address. Abby is well on her way before the cab starts moving, and there is a brief wave to her as the cab passes by.
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