Breakfast and Battle Scars in Bed


colette_icon.gif tasha_icon.gif

Scene Title Breakfast and Battle Scars in Bed
Synopsis Tasha brings the former and Colette shares the latter the day after the Ferry raid goes badly.
Date April 22, 2010

The Garden

Situated in a copse several miles away from the nearest stretch of asphalt, the Garden is accessible via an old dirt road that winds snakelike through the woods and dead-ends at the property's perimeter, which is surrounded by stone wall plastered with wicked coils of rusty barbed wire to keep would-be intruders from attempting to scale it. Those with a key can gain entry via the front gate.

The safehouse itself is a three-story brickwork cottage over a century old and covered in moss and ivy. It slants to one side, suggesting that the foundation has been steadily sinking into the wet earth; incidentally, this may be one of the reasons why its prior occupants never returned to the island to reclaim their property when government officials lifted evacuation orders and re-opened the Verrazano-Narrows shortly before its eventual destruction.

Inside, the cottage is decorated in mismatched antique furniture including a couch in the living room and an armchair nestled in the corner closest to the fireplace that go well with the safehouse's hardwood floors and the wood-burning stoves in some of the spare bedrooms. A heavy wooden table designed to seat eight separates the dining area from the rest of the kitchen, which is defined by its aged oak cabinetry and the dried wildflowers hanging above them.

Pale gray light comes in thorugh the frost-crusted windows of the Garden, one of the Ferrymen's most remote and secure safe houses. Upstairs on the second floor it's noticably warmer than the ground floor, and that's likely why the wounded from last night's raid in New Jersey have been kept up here. Individuals bedrooms have been given to the two wounded Ferrymen; Magnes Varlane and Colette Nichols, and the latter of the two is the only one conscious at this hour.

Seated up in her bed, heavy blankets wrapped partly over herself, she stares out vacantly at the iced windows that let in that pale light. Nearby to her bed, a portable kerosene space hearter vibrates noisily, shedding an almost sweltering warmth into the closed up room. It's probably for the better that Colette's room is kept warm, given the condition of her attire.

Bare shoulders look almost as pale as the white pillows propped up behind her, one of them marred by a deep and dark but perfectly smooth scar from some older trauma. Her right arm is cradled to her waist, held in place by a medical sling, bandages wrapped around her bicep from where her gunshot wound had been tended to.

The teen's midsection isn't dressed but is still covered by gauze bandages wrapped tightly from just under her arms all the way down to above her navel, the shots she took to her vest having possibly bruised her ribs, but without proper x-ray equipment there's no way to tell. At the moment the binding is a precaution. Mascara is still streaked down her face where it had run from the crying, dark blotches beneath her eyes that waver in fading lines down her cheeks. Hair as dark as the mascara looks decidedly bed-headed, one side toussled and black locks in considerable disarray.

She's alone up here, though. Colette's injures aren't serious enough to warrant further attention at the moment, and the more pressing discoveries the Ferry made after the raid have stolen much of everyone's attention, along with Magnes' serious condition following his short battle with Gabriel. For now, her room and the second floor is quiet, and that gives her time to think about the situation she's found herself. in.

And also think about who's not here.

Carrying a tray laden with a variety of foods, Tasha knocks lightly on the door, just loud enough to give an alert to an awake resident, but not to awaken any sleeping beauties, nor any sleeping Magneses in nearby rooms. "It's Tasha," the teen adds, her voice a soft murmur, before pushing the door open to check on the patient — her plan, if Colette was asleep, was to leave the food. Her head peeks in, dark eyes seeking Colette's form.

The tray Tasha carries has more food than Colette likely eats in a given meal by far, giving the girl's scant frame. Pancakes, a little dish of syrup to pour over them, a cup of fruit cocktail (sadly, due to the blizzard, fresh fruit is hard to come by — Tasha would have preferred strawberries for the aesthetic value — and taste value), a few strips of bacon, a cup of coffee, and a Capri Sun, Mixed Berry flavor. To the side are antibiotics and pain killers.

Seeing her friend awake, Tasha falters just a moment as she sees the extent of the damage done, but then grins broadly. "Hey. Hungry?"

Good hand curling into the fabric of her blanket, Colette pulls the comforters up just a little bit when she hears the door open and Tasha's voice. Dark brows lift and her head ducks down, green eyes wide as she offers something of a nervous smile, and only after seeing the ray does Colette actually parse what's being offered. "You— " speaking before thinking, Colette manages to catch herself before she says anything too stupid.

There's an awkward moment of silence, relieved only by the fact that Colette's starting to smile. "I— I wasn't but— " she sniffs at the air, "that's— that's bacon isn't it?" The teen's chin tilts up, one brow raises and Colette stifles a laugh as a wince comes over her and she lightly reaches to rest a hand at her chest. Grimacing, she nods her head and shifts her weight around very slowly, drawing her legs up beneath herself to sit cross-legged under those heavy blankets. "I… I'd love something to eat."

The color coming ot Colette's cheeks makes her look a touch healthier than the paleness she's afforded, even if it's more embarrassment than anything. "You— you didn't have to… I mean— there's— " Colette is quite obviously terrible at accepting kindness.

"What, you're gonna get your own food with one hand? Don't even worry about it. And don't expect gourmet meals or anything. Pancakes and spaghetti and tacos are about all I know how to make, unless you're a big fan of Ramen," Tasha says with a wide grin that's perhaps a little brighter than necessary. She moves to put the tray on the other girl's lap. The pancakes are all silver-dollar sized so Colette doesn't really have to bother with cutting them up; awkward to do one-handed.

After resting the tray on the other's lap, Tasha flops on the ground, ankles crossing and knees tenting up toward her chest; her arms wrap around them as she looks up at Colette on the bed. "Are you OK? I mean — the ribs, the arm — that sucks, and it hurts but… I mean… are you … it was really scary." Her eyes take in the old scarring — clearly Colette's no newcomer to danger as she is — maybe this is all normal for Colette. Tasha's gaze drops.

Brows lifting up slowly, Colette looks down at everything with wide eyes and a restrained laugh. "M'gonna need help with all've this," she notes with a wrinkle of her nose, still smiling despite the ache at her chest. Reaching for the coffee, Colette seems overly enthusiastic about the caffiene, lifting the mug up with one hand and just blowing across the top of it before casting green eyes to look at Tasha.

"Cooking's one've the few things I knew how t'do good before I joined the Ferry…" Colette notes with a crooked smile, dodging the question of whether or not she's okay. The silence following accompanies her sip from the mug of coffee, and wandering eyes over the tray of food in her lap. "I'll… be okay," Colette mumbles behind her mug, keeping it up near her mouth. "I'm— starting to get used to this."

Settling down the coffee cup, Colette looks up from the food to Tasha. "Odessa says the gunshot was just a flesh wound, but I'm gonna need my arm in a sling for a couple weeks. My ribs're probably bruised from the hits I took to the vest, but I've still got painkillers from— " the teen cuts herself off, grimacing as she ducks her head. "I— got hit by a car a few months ago. Nothing— nothing serious but I— this isn't new to me."

Bobbing her head in a subtle nod, Colette looks away and down to the blankets, then back up to Tasha, catching her eyes and then looking over ot the scar on her own shoulder. "I got this on my first ever mission-thing… I got caught in some crossfire from this guy who has laser powers. He wasn't aimin' at me, otherwise I'd probably not have an arm."

Pulling down the covers over herself, Colette doesn't turn much, but directs acction to stitches running two inches up her side just below where the bandages across her chest and ribs are. "Fell two stories thorugh a burning building, got stuck with some sharp wood." Her brows furrow together, and she raises her hand to brush back her bangs, showing more stitches near her hairline. "Whacked my head good in the fall too."

Her hand goes back down, tracing a line across her stomach along a thin scar just above her navel. "Caught a nail sticking out of a wall at this building on Roosevelt Island I was helping renovate in the fall." Lifting up her good arm, she holds it out to Tasha, turning her wrist up to show a half circle burn mark on her forearm. "Hot barrel from a pistol from this guy that landed on me in the back of a van I was in…" she doesn't explain the kidnapping situation any further though. "Probably more I've forgotten 'bout. I— I'm kind've… a danger magnet, s'what my sister says anyway. But— hey, chicks dig scars right?" Colette adds with nervous laughter.

Tasha's eyes move up when Colette starts discussing her 'war wounds,' and her cheeks color a little at the obvious amount of experience the other has in the Ferry, compared to her relative none. Dark eyes follow from shoulder to side to head to stomach to arm and she shakes her head, dark hair falling in jagged lines across her face as she laughs, a low and humorless one — those aren't anything to laugh about, though Colette's words are amusing.

"Danger magnet," Tasha repeats. "Something like that, I'll say. Maybe we need to swap your poles around so you repel danger instead… Think there's anyone with a power that could do that?" It's easier to make jokes than to wonder why someone as nice as the girl on the bed has to endure so much pain. And Colette doesn't even know the half of it.

"Those are new - the burning building thing? Geez. I hope you have good insurance." More jokes — obviously they didn't bring Colette to the hospital last night, but instead the medics of the Ferry took care of her.

"Listen…" her tone grows more subdued, more solemn. "You need to take care of you, Colette. You … you didn't have to get hurt last night. You only got hurt because you were trying to take care of me…" Tasha swallows hard, then repeats the words. "I'm sorry you got hurt trying to protect me." The last bit is spoken in a rush, as if a pause or breath in the midst would stop them entirely.

Wincing when she laughs, Colette only tries to giggle more at her own awkward situation. "Oh— oh god don't make me laugh," she wheezes with a smile, one hand at her chest, smiling despite the ache from her ribs. "L— Look I— I've been in your place before…" Colette admits quietly, looking down to the coffee and idly reaching for her fork, rolling it over in one hand as her eyes move from its shiny surface up to Tasha. "I got my life saved by someone once…" there's a furrow of her brows, "m— maybe more'n once, but once that really mattered most to me. So— look I— " there's a faint tug of Colette's teeth to her lower lip, brows tense and eyes drifting back down to her fork. "M'stubborn, and I'd do it again. So— that's that."

Swallowing a bit tightly, Colette's lips creep up into a smile when she looks back to Tasha. "I… I never would've forgiven myself if I just… saved my own dumb ass and… and something terrible happened t'you. I dunno how things are up back— home?" It sounds odd to call anywhere but here home anymore. "But New York's dangerous, and— well, you kinda' know that now, but— I— " a noise in the back of Colette's throat comes as she tries to put her words together peoperly and fails.

"I'd do it again." Colette reiterates, because it's the best answer she can give. "So… So don't go tryin' to change my mind, okay? I get my butt saved enough, it— it's about time I start doing it for people I…." With a sharp look away from Tasha and down to the tray, Colette offers an awkward smile and reaches out to awkwardly fork a piece of bacon and lift it up, occupying her mouth with chewing rather than rambling.

Tasha glances away as her light-brown eyes fill with tears as the other stubbornly — as stubbornly as Tasha herself would — insists that her choice was the correct one. She nods at the other's words, perhaps hearing in Colette's voice before the bacon gets crunched the tenacity of her own arguments and knowing it's futile to even try to rebut.

"I," she says, legs suddenly unfolding as she stands in a fluid motion and moves a step closer to sit on the edge of the bed, down by Colette's knees, careful not to jar her or the tray of food, "have lived a pretty sheltered life. I've broken two fingers playing that stupid sport of softball." She holds up her right hand, pinky and ring finger slightly crooked. "I've gotten exactly five stitches, here," she says, pulling her leg up and lifting her jeans to show a scar on her shin. "That's from Rufus the poodle next door growing up. Bastard." She flashes a grin at Colette.

She tilts her head, as if thinking. "Oh and I had my tonsils out, but I don't think you can see those without a flashlight." She smirks. "Wait, you don't need flashlights, Miss Lite-Brite."

"So my point, I think, is… thanks. I'm new at this, and it's really scary but I'm invested. I want to help, and you make it easier," Tasha finishes, before reaching for one of the bits of bacon and popping it into her mouth.

It took a little bit for what Tasha was getting on about to sink in, right about until she showed the scar on her leg. Colette's smile is restrained by a tug of teeth on her lower lip, brows creased and head bowed sheepishly as her thankful decision to eat keeps her from spluttering out who knows what nonsense in a nervous attempt to fill the silence. Green eyes track Tasha's hand when it comes down to the tray, and then back up again, the smile not restrained now.

"For all the times I've gotten beat up," Colette says quietly, "I can count the number of times I've been thanked on one hand. It— i tmeans a lot." Pursing her lips to one side, Colette sets down her form and idly begins the process of pouring a copiopus amount of syrup over the silver dollar pancakes.

Thoughtfully silent for a moment, her green eyes lift up and she offers Tasha a somewhat more serious look than her early goofy smile could've allowed. "Hopefully you won't ever have any new scars to show off either…" she says quietly. "Do— " a moment's hesitation comes as Colette looks down to her plate, tilting the syrup bottle back up raising her brows as she takes in a shallow breath, trying not to agitate her ribs. "Do… you know how long you're staying here for? I mean… New York?"

"Well, I've only been saved by anything dangerous twice now," Tasha says, also more somber, though she still smiles. "The other time is basically what introduced me to the Ferry," she adds, though she doesn't explain more about the frightening night in the alley. Near rape and burning flesh are hardly really polite topics for the breakfast table. Or tray, in this case. "But I appreciated it both times."

She glances down as she wipes her bacon-greasy fingers on her jeans. "I'm not sure. I have some family I should visit while I'm here. There's nothing really keeping me there unless I go back to school next Fall. The Ferry people were nice, but…" she shrugs one shoulder. "I want to help — I think it's maybe … maybe I can be more useful here. If … if Ferry here wants me to stay."

"One does," Colette notes with a lopsided smile, persisting in cutting up the already small pancakes in halves with the side of her fork meticulously, as if this was some sort of practiced ritual of breakfast. "I mean… M'not really important in the group but like— I— only have a few real, like… friends?" There's a hesitant smile creeping up on Colette's lips again. "I mean— I have friends but they're… I don't see people very often with what I do. I have two real friends in the Ferry, but I have't talked to one in forever 'cause she goes back and forth to England a lot, and… and the other's been sick. So…" Eric Doyle and Joseph Sumter are much more complicated than just friends, but that's too much for her to explain to Tasha right now.

Furrowing her brows and grimacing, Colette lets out an awkward laugh. "Haha, crap that— sounds really pathetic. Stay because I'm all lonely and suck at making friends, hur-dur!" Green eyes roll and Colette moves just a little too much, wincing again as a pain shoots up along the center of her chest, eliciting a grimace. "I— warned you I'm kinda' retarded, I— I'm sorry."

Tasha makes the face that teenage girls do when they find something sweet or cute or sad — eyebrows cocked, full lips in a playful pout. "Awwww, you're so sweet," she says in the sing-song voice that goes with such faces, and she reaches with one hand to gently pat the knee closest to her.

"You don't sound pathetic, and I totally understand the whole 'friends being an issue' thing. Like… all my friends at college were all pissed that I just sorta didn't show up to classes for two weeks and I couldn't exactly explain why, not without outing Dane and explaining where we'd been was kinda… awkward to say the least."

There's that distant look at the mention of the former boyfriend, but Tasha shakes it off with a frown at Colette's wince. "You want me to let you rest? I'm making you laugh and move too much… Some nursemaid I make, huh? Florence Nightingale has nothing to worry about, right?"

Wrinkling her nose and not getting the reference, Colette hides her ignorance behind a smile as she jabs her fork into the half of a silver dollar pancake. It's hard for her not to smile though, all things considered, it's the first time she's been so thouroughly injured and didn't regret the choice that got her hurt after the fact. "N— no you— don't have to go." Colette says in a hushed tone of voice, teeth pressing down against her bottom lip and tugging at it pensively. "Stay, please, I— I like the company." Green eyes flick to the hand that pat her knee, then back to Tasha again.

"Besides," Colette offers in a quiet, somewhat sheepish tone of voice, "I— I don't like eating alone. So…" Colette nods down to the plate in her lap, smile growing a bit more as she tries not to stumble over herself verbally. "Stay," she affirms, green eyes meeting darker ones.

"…stay for as long as you like."

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