Participants:
| Scene Title | Coffee in a Teacup |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Ethan starts making plans for survival in the dome. |
| Date | February 2, 2011 |
Nestled in the heart of the main street marketplace, the Ichihara Bookstore is an old and crooked structure pressed between two newer high-rise tenement buildings. The old glass windows and creaking wooden door on the shop's front give it a rustic and old-world feel. Catering to both antique books and newer prints, the narrow aisles and tall shelves are packed full of literature. A single shelf for periodicals lies near the front counter, while signage both out front by the register and in the back of the store indicates that tarot card reading is done on-site at request for ten dollars per reading.
Behind the old and weathered wooden counter that contains the register and a small stack of reserved books, a narrow wooden staircase leads upwards to a black wooden door with peeling paint, revealing red paint in narrow strips beneath, a rope crossing in front of that door hangs with a small sign that reads, "Private".
The coffee is tipped back. Before set down on the small plate he holds in front of him. Coffee in a teacup. It might seem odd to those on the outside looking in, the man known as the Wolf drinking out of a tiny pink enamelled teacup. It might be stranger still for those on the inside looking at Ethan. Primarily because the teacup nor the coffee originated from the bookstore. Edgar went for some kind of jog to save a something, and Lydia probably took a really long poo and bam: teacup.
Staring out the window, Ethan takes a step back from the door. Walking back to the counter, Ethan's little teacup is set on top of the counter. Taking a few steps around the bookstore a light sigh emits from his lips. Gabriel has been gone all day. And Ethan seems to miss his probably future son-in-law. It's getting close to evening time. The day has been full of.. reading. With everyone else going out and having fun in the giant bubble, with some insistence from his new roomies, he has kept to resting. That self inflicted stab wound aint gonna heal itself. Well it will.. But..
All this reading has gotten super boring, however. Ethan really wants a god damn knife.
"MROOOOOOOW~" Gabriel the cat skids down the stairs with his mistress padding after him with more grace than that exercised by the cat.
"Gabriel," Lydia pseudo-scolds. "You know better." Even if the cat can't really understand what she's saying, Lydia feels the need to express herself regardless. "No scratching the furniture upstairs." While Gabriel may not understand, Lydia feels the need to almost-scold him anyways.
And then Ethan comes into view. He's issued a tight-lipped smile, reserved and guarded while she regards him that heavy silence. Quiet paces bring her behind the counter where she retrieves what looks to be a deck of cards wrapped in a shawl far more precious to her than most she owns. Carefully, thoughtfully, she unfolds them from their fabric nest, exposing the broken helix back of the deck.
Her lips tighten as she begins to shuffle for her own sake.
She lays the cards in her standard five card layout. The first is Strength, the second the The Hanged Man, and the third? The Empress. This nearly has her pale as she recollects the card, stacking them back into the deck and choosing not to finish her reading.
She clears her throat, a vague distraction from her just-completed craft, "Are you well, Ethan?"
Glancing over his shoulder, Holden shrugs a bit. "Just worried." He admits. His eyes going to the cards then up to the woman. "'oo's Jenny?" As sensitive as ever, Holden turns some and leans his back against the counter. Arms folded, he places his hand against the knife wound on his side gently. Peering at the wound a little.. through his shirt, Ethan eventually lets out a tsk, looking up at the ceiling. That turned out to be a stupid move.
"Y'were crying about someone named Jenny." Holden throws in as if she probably forgot about her nickname. "She your daughter?"
Lydia's eyes narrow and her jaw tightens while her hands spread across the counter in front of her. Her dark eyes follow Ethan carefully while she tilts her head at him, attempting to discern whether this is something she cares to share. A simple 'yes' might suffice, but it wouldn't be true. Not really and Jenny's memory deserves the truth. She shakes her head while her lips thin into a line. "No. Jenny was not my daughter. Nor was she Edgar's."
She takes a slow breath, but her stare remains heavy-laden. "But she was ours to love everyday with a sweetness in all of her ways. A child ripped from the world too soon because of hatred that should have never been hers to bear." Her eyes trail back to the cards which she folds within the shawl, a means to keep her hands busy. "Jenny died from others' ignorance. Her death was in vain as many others. Her murder was not warranted, not justified, and had no sense, yet she died amongst those who loved her."
Dropping his arms, he looks over his shoulder at the woman. Something that resembles sympathy hangs there. His chin bobbing down , brows furrowing some. A long moment of silence passes. Maybe he's judging her, maybe he's feeling for her. Whatever he's doing, it takes a while. Finally his low voice creakes out of those locked lips. "'m sorry."
He looks out the window, eyes lidding some. "Lost a boy and a girl few years back. As well as me wife." Holden lets out.
"I 'ave one little girl left. She doesn't think she's little." The Wolf grins a little. "She might be dead."
"I'm sorry," Lydia replies lowly. Pain is something she knows well and grief has become her old friend for some time now— grief that she initiated. "Hold onto hope that she will be okay," while the word choice might be firm, the tone is far from it. Lydia had feigned to hope before and she found Edgar, or, more accurately he found her after so long.
Her voice lowers further, but maintains that richness in her tone, "I have a daughter too." She tucks her hair behind her ears while she notes, "And I have no idea where she is, but that was a right I gave up a long time ago."
"What are their names?" she tilts her head slightly. "Your children— " she clarifies "— what are their names?"
Turning to pick up the teacup, he brings it up slowly. A light sip at the coffee. "Nick." He lets out, features softening somewhat. "Nick and Gracie." His voice remains hard, though it's been years since he's openly talked about his children. He glances down at the ground. "Kathryn was me wife. And…"
"Eileen." The way he says it is indicative that that's the surviving one. The teacup is returned to the tiny plate. "Yours?"
At some point in time while Ethan was procuring the coffee filled teacup and Lydia was taking care of whatever business it was she was taking care of, Edgar had slipped in. Being Edgar, it's not especially surprising that no one noticed him zip through the bookstore and sequester himself in the basement. Until now. The quick tromp of boots against the wooden steps is the first signal that there's someone down there. Then the door opens and the carnie saunters through, kicking it closed behind him rather than using a hand.
The reason being, his hands are fully loaded with exactly what Ethan requested the previous day. The British guest wouldn't know it to see it though, the black rolls of cloth are more familiar to Lydia. When Edgar arrives at the counter, he places down the many rolls and begins untying them and unfurling them to display the contents. There, laid out before Ethan is Edgar's entire knife collection. Various daggers, dirks, his favored kukri, and even smaller swords and switches are laid before him. "Tha's wha' you're lookin' for?"
"Amanda," there's a hint of pride in Lydia's tone, warmer than she intends as she says her name. "I gave up the right to her some time ago." Thoughtfully her lips close again, "Some people can make whole the broken. Others? They tend to break the whole." Cryptically she pushes the card deck against the register to hide it away again, leaving her little party trick— if that's indeed what it is— for later. Hopefully paying customers who won't be unsettled by the card's accuracy and its potential future implications.
The steps from the basement have Lydia turning with a special smile, easier than any of the others she wears on any given day. Edgar makes her sparkle, even more so in the last few months of wedded bliss. "Edgar," she says warmly in greeting.
"Nice name. Sure sh'was beautiful." He glances at the cards for a moment before pretending like he didn't glance at them. Weirdo. Sipping his coffee teacup, he sets it back down on the counter. "That looks'bout roight." The deep voice intones as Holden turns to examine the collection. A light grin curling far up his lips. "A man after my own 'eart, it seems." Ethan lets out in a non-homo way probably. Looking over the wide variety like a kid at Christmas the man arches one brow in an impressed gesture. "Guns for show, knives for a pro." Picking up the kukri for a moment, he looks it over before placing it back down.
"This might last f'r a while." His hand motions to their surroundings, in reference to the Dome. "If it does. Y'two are going t'be fucked if y'sit 'ere." He gives a light shrug. "May be your place. But I wouldn't reccommend stayin' 'ere."
Ethan's assessment earns a glower from the speedster and the latter's face blurs a little as he glances at their surroundings. Sure, it's a fire hazzard, but it's Lydia's building and their home. "An' wha' would you recommend then? We know this buildin', if worse comes teh worse, we can defend et be'er than any other." Then there's the damned cats to consider. And the massive windows. Pros and cons, or in Edgar's case cons and cons… by one ex-con.
"We ain' 'zac'ly rollin' en the riches, cousin, eff we don' stay 'ere, we's goin' ou' there… wi' the rest'o the 'omeless." Something that Edgar isn't opposed to for himself but not Lydia. The look of concern he gives the blonde woman is telltale enough of that to all of them.
"She was. I hope she still is." Lydia, being the intuitive woman she is, catches the glance to her cards and arches her eyebrows at Ethan. "Did you want a reading?" if she's teasing him, it's impossible to tell.
Her lips press together at the notion of the building, allowing her smile to fade entirely. Her shoulders sink, elongating her neck as she turns to face Edgar, the notion of leaving heavy on her heart and mind. And then, with a faint smile she explains, "I made a promise to someone, multiple someones, that we would stay open until I was unable to do so." Her eyes turn to the door where the closed sign has been turned to the outside world, perhaps the time draws near when she can no longer stay open. "A nomadic life is just as noble as one lived in place."
"PMCs on this side. Stillwater or whotever th'fuck they is." Holden growls, twirling a dagger easily in one hand. Testing the weight he strolls towards the windows on one wall. As far as the reading goes? A simple grunt is Holden's answer. Looking out the window, "Those that're comin' over th'river. Talk about 'ow there's not much authority over there. Without a leader, it aint long til the men with guns start throwin' their weight around." Holden points the knife towards the window.
"If we're in 'ere for too long. Food's gonna get scarce." Holden gives a light shrug. "We slip over to Queens. Find a grocery store, sit on it. Protect it." He gives a light shrug. "First we should take out some of these Stillwater pricks." A beat. "If you're with Gabriel and me, that is." Not the cat.
With a deep intake of breath, Edgar furrows his eyebrows and presses his lips together before risking a glance at Lydia. "We could do both, eff yeh wan'teh stay 'ere Lydia. I can run fer supplies while Ethan an' Gabriel si' on the grocery, I can defend both from the outside." Unless there's a simultaneous attack of some sort. "Or, when we find a place across river, I can run wha' we 'ave 'ere an' board up the res'."
He falls silent then and with a shrug leaves the ball in her court. In the end, it's easier to follow Lydia than it is to give her an order. She's much too stubborn to stay put when she's told.
