Participants:
| Scene Title | Coffee Talk |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Huruma and Megan meet Cassandra for Coffee. Cassandra realizes how cool these ladies are. |
| Date | October 14, 2018 |
Description of location, if any.
Sunday, 14 October 2018
Red Hook Marketplace, Safe Zone, New York City
A cool morning has shaped up to be a fairly pleasant afternoon for New York City. With clear blue skies overhead and the threat of rain far in the future, a large portion of the city has emerged from tenement houses and apartments to enjoy the comfortable weather before the cold of winter really sets in. At brief glances, it might be a scene from the early days of the city, before modernization and the horseless carriage, but the current day pokes into view every now and again with a car sputtering past or, more visibly, people using their phones to check text messages or get the occasional crackling call through to someone out in the rest of the world.
The most visible modernization that can be seen rests atop the Red Hook Marketplace. Rows and rows of solar panels are installed on pretty much every horizontal service, mounted to motorized steel racks with sealed motors alongside. If one would take the time to watch, they could see the panels moving to follow the sun as it arcs across the sky throughout the day to ensure they get as much power as they can for the batteries that live in a second floor storeroom. Even now workers move between the panels, adjusting things, wiring up new circuits, putting external mercury vapor lights on poles or bolting them into walls, and doing the final checks for the upcoming switch throwing and celebration of the new, improved Red Hook Marketplace. It’s a place that’s starting to thrive.
Arguably one of the most popular places in the Red Hook Market is Eleanor’s Coffee Stall. Starting out as a small single shop, it’s popularity has required her to expand into the stall to the left and the right on the corner she’s claimed, taking out a couple of walls to provide more seating. Everyone’s Grandmother, Eleanor has the best coffee in the Market, and sells it for a reasonable cost. Where, exactly, she gets the beans to brew no-one really knows, except that she has them and she makes a damn fine cup of coffee. This means that, at all hours, Eleanor and her small staff of two are busy brewing, bussing tables, washing mugs, and providing a taste of the past to those who are patiently waiting in line. This late in the afternoon, though, the crowds are mostly gone, with a few people claiming spots at one of the small cafe tables set out on the broken sidewalk. Snaking from inside the shop are several extension cords, each rubber end dangling near one of those external tables, supplied with power from across the way, allowing people to charge their phones or laptops. Cassandra is one of those people, her phone plugged into one of the leads to power up.
Sitting quietly with a mug of coffee steaming on the table next to her, Cassandra flips through an old paperback copy of George Bernard Shaw’s “The Intelligent Woman's Guide to Socialism & Capitalism.” It’s not entirely business related, though, since a couple of newspapers - the most recent New York Times and the Safe Zone Siren sit there, too - the second one more to clear the palate of the seriousness. After all, a little conspiracy never hurt anyone.
"—ter being up in Rochester again, seeing what is happening in these streets really… is just pissing me off," the redhead admits to her rather intimidatingly tall female companion. Huruma has always drawn eyes wherever they go, so Megan doesn't register it except in the regard of whether it 'feels' like hostile attention or not to her. (Which, honestly, Huruma is far more adept at ferreting out anyway.) "Even shit as simple as flu shots, people are scared to death to come in to get them now. The war made so many of the ones dodging the system even more paranoid that some days it's like coaxing kids." She grimaces. "And it's worse when you're doing blood drives. I don't think we collected nearly enough blood, but people absolutely do not want their DNA anywhere close to 'authority' nowadays."
There's a soft sigh and Megan admits in a quiet murmurs, "Some days I wonder what the fuck we fought so hard for." The admission has a hint of defeat. It's been a rough week for the nurse.
Having been a frequent flyer here, Huruma has gotten less and less second looks as time goes on. They are still there, of course. She is giving a teenage boy a glare down the planes of her cheekbones as he tips his head up to look at her. He practically picks up his own feet and edges away. Nope.
She probably helped push that Nope along. All of this happens in Megan’s wake, with Huruma tuning in to her friend’s words as they walk.
“You do your level best, and I think that such a thing is the most anyone can ask.” To Megan’s sulking over health crises, Huruma takes care when she answers, hands in the pockets of her coat. “It sounds as if there ought to be an effort to reassure the locals of the integrity of the hospital.” Huruma knows it, but she’s not the one that needs reassurance. She steps up just behind Megan to hook an arm around her shoulders, tugging the redhead in against her side. “We fought for your right to complain about people not getting their vaccinations, that is what.”
“And Eleanor’s coffee.”
At least the fear of these vaccinations could be considered a valid argument to keep genetic data out of ‘their’ hands, even though everyone in power and in the know knows that it isn't true. Besides, what use would all of that data be? A nearly bankrupt country really has little recourse to track people when basic working infrastructure is a rare and valued thing. In fact, one of the editorials in the Safe Zone Siren was warning about the government tracking and sapping precious bodily fluids - if Cassie didn't know better, she’d think that the person who wrote the article deliberately quoted Dr. Strangelove and managed to get it past the editors. If that was the case, good job.
Chuckling quietly to herself, Cassandra folds her paper and takes another sip of her coffee, looking up just in time to see a familiar and an unfamiliar face coming toward her just on her side of the street. “Miss Megan!” She calls, lifting a hand to wave. “Good afternoon!” A beat as they draw closer, Cassandra's head going back to gaze up at the towering Huruma. “It's good to see you.” Huruma, easily looming over the sitting Cassandra, gets another look and a smile. “Who’s your friend?”
Megan snickers, leaning into the arm around her shoulders. "I had the right to bitch before," she points out tartly. "It did me just as much good then!" That is to say, NONE. So why bother complaining?
Letting out a long breath, though, she comments, "But you're right. Bitching about it does me no damn good whatsoever. And it sounds whiny, which someone ought to smack me for." The redhead tries very hard not to do whiny.
The greeting brings her blue eyes toward the speaker, and it takes her just a moment but she places the face and grins. "Oh dear… am I going to see another Zoot suit?" She leans her head on Huruma's shoulder and then gestures between them. "Cassandra… I'm so sorry, I don't recall if you told me your last name," she tells the younger woman. "This is my best friend Huruma. Hooms, this is Cassandra. We met over coffee!" Megan tilts her head and asks, "How's work, Cass?" Because the agent works on the same streets Megan traverses.
Huruma laughs openly when Megan gets all tart about it, the sound sitting low in her chest. “It’s not ‘whiny’. Just exasperated, mm?” She remembers when she was one of those making Megan so exasperated. Sometimes she still manages it, even though it’s markedly more difficult.
When Cassandra greets Megan, it’s not hard to spot her with the waving. White eyes narrow in curiosity, and remain that way for much of the introduction.
“Zoot suit?” Huruma deadpans the question at Megan’s hair against her shoulder, puzzling. Her focus moves back to the young woman that’s been shown her. “Cassandra.” Hello. Testing the sound of it in her greeting, almost; Huruma’s darker voice rolls over the syllables quite smoothly.
The small woman giggles, shaking her head in the negative. “I don’t think I ever told you my last name, honestly. I just remember you as the nurse in Red Hook Market, but calling you “Nurse!” would have been a little rude, I think, since you probably hear that a dozen times an hour at least in much more trying circumstances.”
“My ability.” Cassandra clarifies after a moment, turning to Huruma and taking up her cup of coffee. “If I’m overly tired or a little bit drunk, sometimes my ability slips out of control and I project images from the past from whatever I was holding. When Megan first met me at a bookstore, I was holding a book from the 20’s that was owned by the person who was the image she saw. I’d swear Megan there experienced a guy from the disco era, but it might have been a zoot-suited 20’s guy, too.” She takes a sip of her coffee, putting it down on the wrought iron table with a clink.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Huruma.” And it is. She smiles, looking up at the larger woman before gesturing to the seats opposite her. “If you’ve got a moment to chat, I’d welcome the company. I’ll even buy the first round of coffee, if you’re interested. As far as work goes…” She trails off, rocking a hand back and forth in the universal ‘so-so’ sign. “It’s a lot of work. SESA investigations out the wazoo. I’m helping, though. Closing a few cases and giving direction on a few others. Still working on the electricity shortages and food theft problems, too.”
"Glad to hear that progress is being made." Of a sort. Megan glances up at her companion, the query about whether the other woman would like to join Cassandra a silent one. A faint smile quirks the redhead's lips and she looks back to Cassandra. "It was a disco man, I'm telling you. I remember the '70s. It wasn't pretty," she tells the younger woman as she moves to slide into one of the proffered chairs.
"Although I'm jealous as hell, Huruma. Someday I'm gonna make her play the live Queen concert or something." Megan sagenods.
Cassandra’s clarification on ‘zoot suit’ earns her a more considering look, curiosity remaining quite obvious. Huruma gives the younger woman a crooked little smile in reply, playing out such an ability in her head a moment. No wonder Megan’s jealous, it certainly sounds like something else.
“Likewise.” A friend of Megan’s is often a friend of hers, so the well-mannered Cassandra seems to hit the right place. She takes one of the other chairs at the table, stifling a laugh to Megan. “You and I couldn’t have been very old back then, how are you so sure of ‘disco’? I saw some fascinating fashion choices in the eighties, even in Nigeria…” Though maybe they were just a decade behind.
“You’re with SESA, then?” Huruma’s attention diverts swiftly enough, pale eyes resting on Cassandra once more. “I’ve heard some interesting theories on the outages and shortages, though never from someone much older than you seem…” Her mouth purses against her teeth. Ah, but she loves them anyway.
Her invitation accepted, Cassandra grins and hops to her feet, taking orders for coffee from both women and heading to the counter to place and pay for it, returning to her seat a few moments later. The coffee will be out when it’s done - coming to Eleanor’s isn’t something you do when you’re pressing up against time. It’ll be ready when it’s ready and not a moment before.
Slipping into her seat opposite the pair, Cassandra grins at Megan. “It’s not something I put out there very much, but I do have a little something from the Live Aid concert in 1985. Pretty much the whole twenty minute set, if you don’t mind the sing along with We are the Champions at the very end.” So Megan might get her wish to see Queen, live, at their biggest show. She just has to ask.
“Disco and New Wave in the 80’s is…well…far before I was around. I mean, I was born in 95, to put the whole thing into context, but…yeah.” Cassandra is young. The woman’s only 23 and working with SESA as a full time investigator. She takes another sip of her coffee, watching the commotion behind the counter from the corner of her eye as Huruma and Megan’s coffee is made. Still, she’s been asked, so she replies. “Yes, I’m with SESA. Got a badge and an office and everything. Fully fledged investigator and everything.” She doesn’t elaborate much, however. She’s seen a few things that are fairly gruesome in her investigations and is on medication to help her sleep, as well as a little therapy. It’s helping.
Nodding to Huruma, Cassandra shifts a little in her seat. “I obviously can’t comment officially on ongoing investigations, but yeah, we’re working on it. We think the food and the power shortages are from the same source, but until we get more proof of that source, we really can’t say anything because it sounds a little crazy.”
In this world of superheroes and war, something being called crazy means that it’s /really/ crazy.
Megan remembers Cassandra telling that story about Queen. There will come a day, most assuredly. Sympathy crosses the redhead's features at the explanation about sounds a little crazy. "The number of things we've seen the past … I don't know, decade or more, I guess… that fit into the definition of 'sounds a little crazy' is somewhat obscene. Nothing sounds a little crazy anymore, I'm pretty sure." But she holds up a hand. "But if you can't talk about it, we get it." Old soldiers.
Leaning back in her chair, Meg grins at Huruma. "Well, I was young," she admits. "But my parents were definitely into listening to the radio, so I remember some concerts I think." She grins at the two of them. "Born to people of the flower child era, ya know."
There's a slight grimace to Megan when Cassandra says 1995, but at least it wasn't after 2000? When did we get here??
“If it's what I've heard, yes, it goes into the realm of ‘a little crazy’.” Huruma doesn't elaborate, and Megan's words get her a small laugh. Obscene is a good word for it. “That explains some things.” The dark woman doesn't explain herself, though she does give Megan a taunting look out of the corner of her eye. Teasing, teasing. Her study of Cassandra continues once more before another question comes.
“Do you enjoy working as an investigator? I entertained the idea, once upon a time,” Huruma tosses Meg a grin. Can you imagine? “But they wanted a little too much rule following from me.”
“I do. I like being an investigator. It’s definitely hard, but I know I’m helping.” Cassandra sits back in her seat, thoughtful, worrying her lower lip with sharp incisors. “All things being equal, I’m glad I’m able to help bring closure and right some wrongs that are currently happening. I mean…earlier today, I was down at the morgue identifying some of the John and Jane Does from the memories that they had with them when they died. Giving some families some closure. Giving some people an end to their story, to a life that ended too soon, or violently.” She takes a sip of her coffee, draining it entirely, letting the mug rest back on the table, her eyes closed.
“The thing is, sometimes I just wish I could choose to forget some of the things I’ve seen.” She doesn’t elaborate on that at all, but the implication is there. Cassie may not have experienced the events herself, but she’s certainly seen some things that someone her age really shouldn’t have.
Just like everyone has in this post-war America.
There's a wrinkle of her nose at Huruma. Yep… we're the old farts. Just deal with it. The nurse grins impishly at the dark-skinned woman. "An investigator?" she asks her best friend. "Really? I can see that… you're incredibly nosy," she teases.
Then Megan reaches out to put her hand on Cassie's forearm. "That has to be one of the hardest jobs, but … I cannot begin to tell you how much it means to people. Nameless ones through the ER break my heart. There are so many people who lost everything in the war, they deserve their names. So … for all those who can't say it, thank you." The redhead is sincere and the twist of pain at the thought of so many with nothing is evident to Huruma. "If you're up to Elmhurst and you need to talk, Cassandra, please do feel free? Pretty much they'll be able to find me if you need me, okay?" Her smile is soft as she retracts her hand. She might be Nurse Ratched in the ER when necessary, but she couldn't do what she's done as a job for decades without caring deeply.
Huruma nods as she listens to Cassandra, filing things away as she always does. With an ability like that she can absolutely imagine it weighing on someone. Megan teasing her back draws her face in a swivel, mouth curled in an amused smile when she reaches out to give the redhead a playful poke along the ribs. You.
Serious time comes soon, though, just afterwards.
“I was reading about the recent wave of things like that- - the identification of unclaimed. It is a pity there are not more of you, Cassandra.” Huruma can’t help but wonder what a dozen of Cassandra could accomplish, but that’s a pipe dream. “It’s true,” She adds to Megan’s offer. “Now if I walk through the door perfectly healthy someone is already going to find you. I cannot tell if it is because they do not want to deal with me.” The last time they had to accommodate Huruma’s demands, it turned out to be nothing serious- - but now everyone knows that she mostly shows up for Megan.
Cassandra’s hand moves to rest atop Megan’s on her arm, patting it gently. She nods, the weight of the world seemingly on her shoulders. “I’ll get them all named eventually. My dream is to have a night where no-one is unknown when they’ve taken their last breath. Oh…while I’m thinking about it.” She slips her hand into her pocket, handing Megan a card with her phone number and name on it. It doesn’t say she’s a part of SESA, or even her last name. It simply says “Cassandra - Witness for the Lost.” and a phone number. “I trust that, if you need me, you’ll give me a call? I’ll come as soon as I’m able. I generally answer if I can.”
The offer of someone to talk to is accepted, gladly. “My SESA therapist doesn’t do much good for my peace of mind. Gets me some good sleeping medication that helps me get down despite everything and helps me talk my way out of some of the worst of it, but a friendly face, not someone who’s been assigned to help, would be welcomed.”
She’s now brought the mood of the meeting from playful to somber. Thankfully, Eleanor brings Huruma and Megan their coffees, giving both a smile before making her way back to her spot behind the counter to start cleaning up before closing for the afternoon, since Sundays are normally extremely slow.
The somber is broken a little by Huruma's comments and Megan has to laugh. She leans back and lets the coffee be set down, nodding to Cassandra as she takes the card. "I'll text my phone number to it. You call if you need to — I don't have great cell service, but I live close enough to Elmhurst that at least I have cell service. Sometimes. So do feel free to call me." But her blue eyes return to Huruma and she opines on a laugh, "They do, in fact, immediately come and get me. I swear to God, you didn't even look meanly at anyone and they're all like 'oh shit, it's Nurse Young's….. Whatever!' They haven't figured out whether we're best friends or more, as the kids like to say." And clearly the implication — which is certainly not a new one by any stretch — just cracks her up. "I think if you showed up one day and actually growled, Hannah at the front desk might literally pee herself. Jesus." She is thoroughly amused at her younger co-workers. They make her feel incredibly old sometimes, but their ridiculousness makes her laugh her ass off.
Huruma hadn’t been so sure about the little lady manning the coffee at first, but if her friends like someone she tends to let them grow on her; between Megan, Ben, and her frequent flier miles at Red Hook, Eleanor gets a warm thank you when she comes by.
She remains quiet as Cassandra passes her card to Megan, picking up the coffee in one hand to allow herself to smell it a while first while the two exchange information. Usually other stuff is weak, but somehow this is always just right. Maybe she has the power to grow coffee beans? An age of miracles, truly.
A snort comes from the dark woman lost in the smell of coffee, eyes flicking to Megan and a lazy laugh forming in her chest. Huruma takes a sip before she dignifies the giggle-fit.
“Is that what they like to say? The kids?” Huruma can’t keep her own face straight, though, despite her attempts at keeping deadpan again. “Hannah is so cute, why would I want to scare her?” Her laugh carries a small burst of something brighter with it. “I mean, I could,” Huruma’s brows lift up. “But then they’d probably trespass me.”
Not that rule-breaking ever stops her.
“You do have to admit, you are a little imposing.” Cassandra says with a giggle, her own coffee refilled when Eleanor wandered past. “It probably keeps them in line, Megan threatening to bring the big bad Huruma to visit.” Her defenses are starting to melt, becoming more curious about the larger woman.
“How did you and Megan meet, Huruma? And what do you do for fun?” It's Cassie's turn to ask questions.
Imposing. It's such a great word for the 6'5" woman. Megan sips her coffee and waits to see what tale Huruma might spin about how they met. Or what they do for fun… cuz that's a way more interesting question. Huruma can feel the laughter rolling off the redhead.
A little, just a little bit. Huruma’s senses absorb the positivity at the table like a cat in the sun, her ability sprawling lazily around her. It brings a more solid smile to her face, a flash of teeth and crease of her eyes. How did they meet? Should she go with the truth? Hm.
“After I defeated the Vanguard I returned to New York to build my semi-criminal empire. Things did not work as well as I’d hoped. So a laundered millions of dollars in real estate money and black market goods, pocketed it, and decided to lend my friends a hand now and again. That is how I met Megan.”
“What I do for fun is an interesting question.” Huruma leans in over the table, arching a brow and letting her mouth purse in thought. “My job and my hobbies intersect too vividly.” She starts, voice a low velvet. “But I will assume you do not mean to ask me about my paramilitary work and mercenary days- - so- - I like to travel, and go dancing, drink my fair share, and stalk my loved ones.” There are a few things, for a taste. Obviously not the gamut.
While Cassandra expected something simple, like jogging or archery, or out of sorts, like knitting, genealogy, or practicing singing showtunes, the stuff that Huruma claims for the meeting of Megan and things she enjoys garners a look of askance from Cassandra. Huruma probably gets a whiff of suspicion momentarily, followed by a sense of playfulness from the little brown-haired seer.
“Well.” She sits up, dusting off invisible crumbs from the table. “If that’s the case, I should thank you first for taking care of the vanguard for evolved people everywhere, and secondly, if you’re in a talking mood, I’m sure there are some cases we have established that could use tying up. Might you be free on Tuesday of next week to discuss some of your exploits?” She gives Huruma a grin and a sense of teasing, not expecting any of this to be true. Huruma is imposing, so why wouldn’t she have interesting pursuits?
Megan's husky chuckle at Cassandra's retort gives away the appreciation she has for the younger woman's sense of humor. She pushes Huruma's ankle with her foot and crosses her legs comfortably. "That wasn't as much fun as the time you told that guy we'd met stranded in the middle of Minnesota that we were sharing a cave where we," clearing of her throat, "stayed warm." Her brows lift and bounces her foot. "I thought he was going to choke on his own tongue, trying to imagine it."
Grinning at Cassie, Megan admits, "She's not exaggerating about some of it, though. We met during the years leading up to the war. Worked together for a time in the Ferry, and than teamed up for the war itself." Her blue eyes on Huruma are affectionate and amused. "It's been an interesting trip."
There is an obvious pleasure taken in Cassandra's response, and she seems to pick up that Huruma is a grade A trickster- - even if the tale is pretty truthful. Double cross, gotcha.
“If Wolfhound doesn't need me, it would be my pleasure to visit with you. Though I am not sure how well your superiors may accept a consultant in investigations.” Huruma laughs, adjusting her posture. “And you are welcome. For the Vanguard.” She takes a sip of coffee, eyes glittering with humor at Megan's additions.
“Actually, I am not exaggerating about any of it.” Huruma bumps toe to leg in return, looking back to Cassie. “I did all of those things. And-” Back to Megan, “-my other favorite was when I said that you and Ben saved me from a traveling carnival slash circus slash evo show. That was believable, right?”
“O…oh.” Cassandra stammers with a smile. “Hiding the truth with tales that sound too fantastic to be even halfway true, even though they are. A tricky one, you are, Huruma.” She had been entirely kidding when she suggested Huruma come in to discuss pre-war foibles and with Huruma seeming to take her seriously, she can’t help but giggle a little at the thought.
“It sounds like you’ve both had quite a few adventures in your time leading up to this moment.” An understatement, to be sure, but fitting in this particular time. “I guess we all had interesting times in the past, before and during the war. Mine weren’t nearly as exciting, I’ll have you know. Since the war started a little after I got into high school, a large portion of my time was spent fleeing from anti-evolved militias in the South. My father….” she pauses. “My father used some of his connections to find me a place at a military school in the middle of nowhere that was supported by people who thought the whole evolved thing smelled of Jim Crow a little too much. Defended by the National Guard - the ones that hadn’t been conscripted into the civil war. A fall-back point, I guess, is the best way to put it.” She chuckles. “It was nicknamed Xavier’s School for the Gifted after the X-men school. Kind of fitting, looking back at it all.”
The snort of laughter from Megan is inelegant and completely honest in the amusement it conveys. "Oh god, the Evo sideshow carnival," the redhead chuckles. "I thought that one was going to be the step too far that got us killed," she admits, looking back. "Ben's deadpan is epic, but I remember feeling so horrified when you said it that he actually stepped on my foot so I couldn't give it away!" Shame on all of them! Clearly the trio in question had their fun even in the midst of madness. "It was too believable. That camp was ready to head on out for a good old-fashioned lynching." She rolls her eyes. "It was, in fact, the best story I think you ever threw out there for how we all met. Although my personal favorite was when you told that one woman Ben couldn't stay in town because he hadn't finished learning how to cook properly in the wild yet so he wouldn't be of use to anyone until he did."
Just the thought of Ben Ryans and the LOOK he'd given them both makes the chuckles roll out of her. "When he said, oh-so-calmly, 'I'll look you up when I've worked off my indenture,' I thought she was gonna faint right there. She wanted him to stick around so bad."
Shaking her head, Megan just grins at Cassie. "Honestly I don't think we could make shit up that was better than some of the shit that actually happened to us out there." She pauses, looking thoughtful. "Hey, we heard rumors about a place like that. Don't know if it was your place or not — might surprise you to know how many small compounds sprang up to protect people. Remember the squad we tripped over in… where the hell were we? Maybe Kentucky or something? They were talking about a place like that."
Huruma leans in onto the small table to listen to Cassandra's own story of pre and during the war. It's only fair, the sharing. She absorbs it with a slight curve to her lips, filing it away. Interesting.
Fortunately for Cassie there isn't time for her to ask into it more, just yet anyway. Huruma is drawn back to Megan by her gleeful laughter, the sound contagious as the dark woman joins in on the cackling over stories.
“‘You don't want to know about the tapeworm incident’, remember?” She hisses laughter when she remarks on the woman who wanted the company so very badly. “She almost did faint, I felt the swoon all the way through my eye rolling.” Huruma bites down on the tip of her tongue to stifle herself, chuckling getting squished back down. It's funny to them more than it would be for Cassandra- - manners, manners.
“Kentucky, yes. We were taking that mountain road through the Blue Ridge. Rain all the way.” Huruma looks upward in a quieter consideration. “There were a few places I heard of which barricaded up like that. It seemed to work for them.” And clearly for Cassandra too.
Cassandra can't stop smiling, being around these two. “Is it silly that I just want to hang out and listen to you two talk, tell stories and drink coffee? I really don't have many friends here in New York.” Or any, really. Odd, considering she's been here for more than a year. It might be people’s ingrained fear of SESA, or just due to her keeping herself separated from the public out of fear of connections being made.
“It's not a surprise that they weren't very well known. Places like mine were kept pretty quiet. No advertising, for instance, that we were a safe spot for evolved. You can imagine the attention it might get if we weren't very quiet.” And it's certain tales of massacres were told, where ‘resistance was encountered and neutralized’ during the trials. Cassandra was just one of the lucky ones who wasn't in the crossfire.
Oh UGH! The tapeworm incident! Megan's nose wrinkles right up in abject disgust. "We don't talk about that one," she reminds Huruma quickly. And then she grins at Cassandra. "Bah… we're just a couple of middle-aged troublemakers. Not that we mind telling tales…. you'll never know which ones are true," she winks. "Huruma and I keep each other young. She's my ride or die, right?" She nudges Huruma with her foot again. "Battle buddies til the end."
It's patently clear that the relationship between the women is bone-deep — forged in fire, as it were. Megan's smile at Cassandra is teasing. "You definitely need to get better taste in free time. I mean… we're great for painting the town, but you might find the wrong sort of friends hanging around us," she says with a wink.
“Hff, not silly at all. We’re cool.” Huruma says it, but does it make it true? In this case, yes. Yes it does. Megan’s distaste for some stories is apparent now too, because Huruma laughs through her teeth at her friend’s revulsion. “Middle aged trouble makers sounds about correct.” Her hands open up. What can you do?
“Of course I am. Mostly ride, less die, thanks to her.” Huruma leans over to pull Megan in for a forceful cuddle, her cheek pressing intrusively against red hair. She loves you, see? “We move in strange circles.” Huruma adds to Megan’s last insinuation that they have trouble making friends, too. Her brows lift and her eyes shade under lids, smile feline. “It is not hard to stay on our good side, if that makes you feel any better.”
“Too much die in this world lately. Riding sounds fun.” Now Cassandra’s picturing Huruma on a motorcycle, speeding down an empty highway at unsafe speeds with her arms crossed across her chest as she goes. “I suppose the only way I’ll know if a tale is true is if I’m a part of it or manage to find a bit of leftover from when the tale was masde and use my ability to actually see what the past held.” She giggles. “I try not to do that with people I know, and definitely with their permission if I do, since you never know what kind of interesting pasts might be uncovered that might be embarrassing or, worse off, less than advertised. Or the tapeworm incident, whatever that is.” She lifts a hand. “No, I don’t even want to know.”
As an afterthought, Cassandra adds something. “If it’s a help, I would bring the average age down by like three or four years, if I start hanging out with you two.”
Megan laughs, rubbing her forehead against Huruma's jaw. When she sits up again, she's still chuckling. "Strange circles is putting it mildly," she comments in amusement. "Huruma is still running with the big dogs. I'm retired." No. Not really. Well, sort of. Her heart has always been in the healing part of things — being a soldier was just a necessity. "You really don't want to know about the tapeworm," she agrees, shaking her head vehemently. You know it's bad when an ER nurse doesn't want to talk about it; they've got cast-iron stomachs.
"I have to admit, I still find what you can do fascinating, Cassandra," the redhead admits as she picks up her drink and sips from it. "It still makes me want to haul you off to the museum and tells us things like…. Is that mummy they found actually Nefertiri? Or, ooh! Travel to Egypt and actually touch the walls and see what really happened there! Or… those things they picked up out of the Pacific, did they really belong to Amelia Earhart? Did she actually survive the crash?" She shrugs a little. "I'm a total history geek."
“I admire your discretion. If I had an ability like yours, I do not think I would be as able to resist temptation.” Huruma seems amused by the thought, just for a moment. It would be useful as hell, though. “Big dogs, old dogs, same thing.” She gives a crooked smile for Megan’s words. Retired, okay. “Several years, if I had to guess. Nothing wrong with having a high average, though, of course…”
“I imagine you must hear that quite often.” Huruma hooks a thumb at Megan once she finishes her wondering out loud about what Cassandra could look at. “Do you get a lot of freelance work? For museums and the like?”
Cassandra can only nod to Megan’s assertion, giving Huruma shake her head as an answer. “It is pretty cool.” She admits with a grin. “Being able to see the past like I do. In a different world, I’d be a researcher of some kind, helping archeologists relive the past in living color. Except…there aren’t many of those left.” Then, “Not really much freelance work, and not for lack of trying. I do set up at the Doyle Library every other weekend to help people figure out their past, and I’ve already talked about what I’m doing at the morgue. It’d be a dream for me to have a nice quiet seat in a museum, just researching historical things.” Perhaps one day. For now? It just means that there are more important things for people than researching the past.
“If there’s one thing that can be said about all of this; at least we have a chance to make the world again for the better. Hopefully we’ll avoid the foibles of the past as we move toward a brighter future.” She sounds hopeful. That’s nice. “Sometimes I want to get lost in the past and live there. No power shortages, no food shortages, and you get to worry about the latest Hollywood scandal…I mean, Hollywood would still be there, even. Looking back, like that, isn’t a good way to progress. It didn’t work for the conservative political parties then, and I don’t think it’ll work very well now.”
Megan offers a sympathetic smile at the memory of Hollywood and its fun. "I've heard rumors that the NYPD is getting set up… but well, you're already working in law enforcement. I can't imagine you need more nightmares," the redhead points out in response to the need or desire to research the past. "I would love to see the museums and libraries salvaged. I mean… certain parts of the country practically didn't get hit. They're mainly dealing with destroyed infrastructure rather than obliteration of town." Which is a good thing!
Making the world better? One can only hope. Megan smiles slightly at Huruma and murmurs, "Well… a better world is why we fight, yeah?" Some days she has to wonder, but… Huruma makes her laugh and her friends are doing okay. It's a good life, all in all, right now.
“If that is your dream, Cassandra, I hope that you find it.” Huruma’s smile is more tame this time, warmer for what it is. It’s nice to hear that hope and dreaming out of someone young. She knows Megan can probably feel that- - the ‘we did good’ feeling. “It is touching that you offer yourself to people like you do.”
Getting them closure, above all else. Not many people can boast that.
“Do you remember Marcus Donovan? Ran for mayor, years ago? That is who they’ve pegged for Chief coming up. The NYPD will be …different, this time, I think.” Huruma grins wider at Megan’s hushed words, and she reaches out to squeeze her friend’s shoulder. “Of course it is. We will get the world in order sooner or later. Hopefully sooner…?”
“I try to do my part, you know, with the stalking and the shooting and what not…” Huruma drawls, waving one hand in a noncommittal shrug. “People like me never really retire, though. We are in this until something gives.”
“I’m kind of the same way, Huruma. Never out, only on break. My ability is too useful to not be available in some context. I mean, investigations? Get me there and it’s pretty much solved. Still.” She sighs. “That makes it difficult to be seen as anything besides a conduit for an ability. Thankfully, the higher ups have started to lean on me a little less - can’t have their golden goose stop laying the eggs, as it were.” Cassandra lifts a hand to run it through her hair, leaning back in her seat a little to regard Huruma and Megan quietly, sipping at her mostly-gone coffee.
“Captain Donavan is supposed to come out and do a tour of the Island at some point.” That might be top secret, or might be public knowledge. She just got the memo the other day and it didn’t say to keep it secret. “I think it’s mainly for us to take a look at him than vice versa. See who we’re going to be working with and all. He seems to have good ideas, and having a non-military police force around here would take a lot of the heavy lifting off of our shoulders and give the people a little more agency in their day-to-day existence.”
Megan is thoughtful as she sips her coffee. "A good superior officer will look at your gift as merely a tool in your arsenal," she tells Cassandra quietly. The woman, after all, has run a military hospital unit, has run ground units and field hospitals in a couple of war zones, and has even had her boots on the ground in terms of fighting. She is fully military-trained, and it shows in the way she runs her ER. "Marcus Donovan, as I recall from the years before the city went to hell, was a good officer. He got things done, he gave the impression of someone who hated the red tape. And he looked out for his subordinates." She sets her cup on the table. "One of the beat cops I had reason to interact with a decent bit worked directly under him for a time — had nothing but good things to say about the man. And when he ran for mayor… well, it was a damn shame he lost to that bitch." Her jaw firms, remembering those years and the insanity that had begun to encroach.
"Any time you have the opportunity to work with anyone — whether it's Donovan or whatever superiors in SESA, whoever — who makes sure to treat you like the investigator you are with just another tool in your toolkit, you should take it and run with it." No one should simply be their ability. Megan looks at Huruma and grins faintly. "Old soldiers don't ever really retire, huh?" Megan, Hooms, Ben, Avi, Harkness, so many others… none of them ever really seem to get out completely.
“We do not.” Huruma echoes Megan. “I asked Ben once when we know we’re done, and he said the same thing.” There is a small laugh out of her at that. “It’s really all I know, anyway. I’m not exactly material for any other career…” She’s thought about finding something else, but she always comes back. “Can you imagine me as anything but?” A curious look gets tossed at Megan, though brief.
“I understand where you come from, Golden Goose.” Cassandra gets a bit of a purr with Huruma’s voice, lips in a smile. “People with gifts like ours are such a boon that we risk being used like tools. There is wisdom in knowing where to draw your boundaries, remember that. Never let them leash you.”
“It’s good to see that he is already taking department relations seriously. God knows that he will not get far if he is not on good terms with SESA and Major Olson’s lot. I suspect he will be meeting with others too. The safe zone is full of special interests- so hopefully the council likes him too.”
Quentin Frady probably won’t.
Huruma’s mention of Ben tickles Cassandra’s synapses. Could it be the same Ben she helped out with his memories? Nah, probably not. There are a lot of Bens out there, and Huruma is almost certainly talking about another one of them.
Cassandra smiles as she’s given back the nickname she flippantly bestowed upon herself, looking over to Megan. “Why didn’t you tell me you had such a wise friend?” she asks with a grin. It’s not like they see each other any time with any regularity, of course. More of a compliment to Huruma without outwardly complimenting her. A subtle one. “I’ll do that.”
The porcelain of her mug scrapes against the table as she twists it slightly, looking to Megan. “I think Donovan has to take those relationships seriously. SESA and small local groups have been the law here in New York since the war ended, and even then, the small groups have been more like neighborhood self preservation societies than actual law enforcement.” There were stories of law groups that ended their protection when you crossed a certain street, or ruled with an iron grip before being pushed out by the military. “Hopefully none of that happens anymore with the new chief of police.”
"We shall see," is all Megan can say to Cassandra's hope. She does smile at her best friend. "I really can't," she admits in reply to the question about whether she can see Huruma as anything but a soldier. "But then again, I don't know if I could have seen a lot of people doing what they do now, I guess." She shrugs mildly and then smiles.
“At least Scott still has the Tlanuwa. His whole…gearhead thing is the same.” Huruma laughs against her coffee cup. “I never finished school, maybe I could be a Madagascarian socialite.” It’s clear that she is joking, at least for Megan.
“I look forward to seeing how Donovan handles it. He was not unfamiliar with people like us years ago, so I hope my faith is well placed. The safe zone isn’t as safe as it sounds. Plus side, I heard they’re looking into horses. No sirens on a horse.” A pause. “Well… I don’t think so.” Can you put a bwip-light on a horse?
“Maybe something on the bridle, with activation buttons on the saddle.” Cassandra suggests, giggling softly at the thought of a horse with a flashing light on its head, galloping through the streets in pursuit of whatever it is they’ll be pursuing. “And Huruma, you do have your millions of dollars from laundering money from…what was it? Real estate and black market goods from before the war, so I think you’ll be fine.”
Donavan certainly has a job ahead of him. “It might be best for him to start centrally and then push into the further districts.” Another suggestion, but this one more of a ponderance. “Start in…. I don’t know… Red Hook, then leapfrog over one neighborhood and start another, then backtrack to get the one they leaped over. Kind of like a collapsing defense in war, but reversed.” Sounds like someone’s historically minded. “I just hope his eyes aren’t too big for his stomach, because there’s enough to bite off a thousand times over here in the city.”
Picking up her coffee cup, Megan hides her smile behind it. The description of Scott Harkness as a gearhead amuses the hell out of her, and even now it brings up some mild feelings of nostalgia. She sips her drink as she listens, giggling at the idea of horses with sirens. That's funny. "I'm sure they've laid out the challenges facing him — the man is a local. He knows what he's in for in terms of New York streets. Some things, the more they change, the more they stay the same, you know." New Yorkers are a hardy breed, and it takes a certain kind of person to keeps on those city streets. Especially now.
"I think despite the fact that his work is cut out for him, he'll find himself a solid core of officers and build from there. People want to return to something approaching what they used to consider normal. Having a functioning police station is a huge start. Especially now, with petty crime running rampant in the Market and human trafficking happening under everyone's nose. We need local police." Megan will, for one, be glad to see a precinct start up. She's never, technically, been the anti-establishment type.
“If he knows we’re gossiping maybe that will be reason enough not to fail.” Huruma laughs through her teeth again, leaning forward and holding up her half-empty coffee to the other women in a joking toast. “Hn, to seeing the NYPD again, I guess.” As a retired(?) criminal, Huruma blesses them with a taste of caution.
— ( we can close here OR we can close on cass)
— ( Up to you two. I can fling a close on this scene if you like.)
“If your history is half of what you've said, he'd do well to remember that.” Cassandra lifts her mug up in a quiet toast, mirroring Huruma, then takes a sip.
“Ladies, I'm sorry, we're closing up.” Eleanor in her apron and homespun dress had approached silently, taking the empty cups. The rest of the tables have been cleared, the chairs and tables put away, the tables chained to the front of the store. Basically they're waiting on this trio to finish closing.
Cassandra blanches, checks her watch, checks the sun, and then slumps. “Lord, time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it?” Gathering her things and stuffing them into her bag, she lets Eleanor take her mug and a thank you of some rumpled bills. Huruma gets one of Cassandra’s ‘witness’ cards. “Give me a call sometime. It doesn't have to be business. Just going out and eating something or hanging out would be…really nice, actually.” She bobs her head with a smile.
“Huruma, it was lovely to meet you. Megan, it was wonderful to see you again. Don't be strangers, you two. The regular amount of strange is plenty for this city.”