Participants:
| Scene Title | Completing The Circuit |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Bella wants a drink and Abby meets the shrink of her currently on the outs boyfriend. There's not really that many religious pink haired women named Abby in the city and Bella makes a small leap - tipsy - in logic and hits paydirt. |
| Date | November 16, 2009 |
Monday nights, start of the college students and those in need of just a good night out are clamoring at the bar. It's not a weekend night so it's not so horrid. Yes, the women still on the hour get up and do their thing at the bar, dance, make noise, Abigail runs behind the bar and pours the tequila into shot glasses for the ladies to sell while they're up there. It's a coyote ugly, only not. It's still sticking pretty true to Isabelle's vision when she made the place. There's only an addition of a picture behind the bar and above the mirrors where the firey woman's portrait hangs in memorium.
Perhaps sensing Abby's mood, most folks have flocked to the other end of the bar, to brenda and Tanya, the new girl. Abby's end gets the more sedate bar goer's or those who know the pink haired woman. Most glance to the bruise that's not so hidden anymore under make up that's waning as the evening goes on. "Pitcher! Table three!" Called out as a stack of pilsner cups and a pitcher are pushed over for table four to come fetch.
At the bar, looking radically out of place, is an uncharacteristically slouched shape of Dr. Isabella Sheridan, dressed to the nines in a business suit with respectable but attractive skirt, and middle-height heels. Her hair is down, looks clean and brushed but otherwise neglected. No style in play. She has a sort of disheveled elegance, though, more her features than her breeding, which still isn't bad. She almost glowers up at the dancing pulchritude nearby, then spots Abby and lifts her hand to get her attention. She needs a drink, it would seem. Unless she's here to file a decency complaint.
people from all sorts come through here, so elegant disheveled isn't that out of place. The pitcher is claimed, cash exchanged and Abby's on to the next person. "Hey, welcome to Old Lucy's, my names Abby, or you can call me the nun-" There's an honest to god gold cross hanging round her neck and she's dressed far more conservatively than the others that are working the bar and serving. "I answer to either, what can I getcha?" Southern drawl heard clear and sweet across the din of the room as the women start to climb down and the lucky few who got come up and dance too head for solid ground. She offers a smile that doesn't quite reach her ears.
It's not so much her appearance, as her attitude. She looks uncomfortable, or rather she looks like she's trying very hard to look comfortable even if she's not. It's almost like bad acting. Her eyes follow the pink-crowned gal until she speaks, and the accent causes her to lift a brow very slightly, but also the corner of her mouth. "An Old Fashioned," she says, "Been watching Mad Men, recently. Can't believe I have to wait 'til June for the next season," she gives a wry sort of grin, not all that pretty, "That's what drives me to drink, you see."
"Mad Men?" Confusion reign supreme, but she does know what an old fashioned is. "A band?"
"It's a show Abigail. God, you need cable"
"Oprah is enough for me Brenda" Abby fires back, getting a rock glass, tossing in sugar, a bottle of bitters tossed in then seltzer and whiskey. stir, stir, toss in a cherry and a wedge of lemon and the pink nun is sliding across a glass on a napkin and naming the price. "Good television show? I'm a Grey's Anatomy kinda girl. Patrick Dempsey and his hair"
Bella scowls, face very sour. "Oh, god, really? Dr. McSexy or whatever? I get them confused. No, no, no. Sandra Oh, okay, I like her a lot. But the main character is just appalling. Dull and irritating," she fishes into her pocket for her wallet, "How much?" She takes out her credit card, then looks at Abby, then realizes it's not usually nice to sneer at other people's TV shows. "I'm sorry. I'm being a bitch. Want honesty? I watched 'Daisy of Love'. The whole thing. Who am I fucking kidding?" She grins, lopsidedly.
Another television show that's gone over her head as she takes the credit card. "It's McSteamy and McSexy. But I don't watch too much television, don't worry. I have the set turned to the crystal cathedral on Sunday's, drives my roommate nuts. Maybe I'll see if he knows about this Mad Men" Card is swiped, passed back to Bella, everything within sight. "You wanting to start a tab or pay as you go" Blue eyes glance up and over. "Hmm, business suit, and hair down, I'm going to guess, not a lawyer, as Lawyers don't chat up the bartender. Accountant, maybe, but your not drab enough" She's trying for some humor.
"I'd love to be chatted up by a drab but strangely charming accountant. I think his drabness would almost be sexy, in that Humphrey Bogart 'ugly-cute' way, know what I mean?" Bella says. Her ramble suggests she may have pregamed before arriving. In fact, her eyes /are/ a bit bloodshot. But she can afford a cab, so whatever, she likes to have fun sometimes. Dammit. "I'm a pill pusher!" she declares, "A head shrinker. A tripod." Whatever that last means. Yeah, definitely squinty eyes. She takes her drink, lifts it, takes a swig. She nods her approval, "With this quality of drink, start a tab!"
"A shrink" There's a real smile. "Well, Miss. Next round is on me. Shrinks are a godsend in this world and if I didn't have one, I'd be a wreck in my apartment and never come out" The waitress sidle up with some orders for pitchers and Abigail, while she needs to fill em, keeps talking while doing that and setting up the next old fashioned.
"What's a tripod though, never heard that name associated with a psychologist before and I'll be sure to point out the drab respectable Accountants"
"Well, be glad you haven't got me as a shrink, because I seem to tend to the most terminal cases. With some few exceptions," Bella opines, coming dangerously close to what some might consider a breach of confidentiality. She takes another sip, this one more reasonable, "I'm Bella," she says, extending her hand, even if Abby is working, she's not paying much attention to her hands since her hair is so eye-catching. In fact, it reminds her of something, though she can't quite put her finger on it… "Might I ask your name, Ms. South-of-Mason-Dixon?"
"Dr. Genevieve Yee is my headcracker of choice. Friend of mine hooked us up. She specializes in PTSD within the evolved community" Out goes the pitcher, cups, more pitchers to eb served up to the hungering masses. "I sure hope that you get some good patients in the mix Bella. Abigail Beauchamp" She squeezes a lemon onto her hands then dries off her own hands before shaking Bella's.
"From Manhattan by way of Louisiana. One half of the owner of the bar" Not that she looks old enough to be drinking, much less owning. "Pleasure to meet you Bella. Hope that we see you round the bar a bit more" Her grip is firm, hands that aren't soft, but they're not rough. Used, abused, taken care of afterwards.
Another synaptic spark in Bella's brain, something that pushes from her memory cortex but doesn't quite hit the pre-frontal. A sense, a twitch, a 'tip of the tongue'. But then nothing. Bella smiles, a little bleary. She's working at that drink. "I've read some of Dr. Yee's work. Her case studies on some Evolved patients. At least I think they were hers," she shrugs, "We're only a handful, us Evolved specialists. Honestly, I don't get why more people haven't seen the potentials, the possibilities, the uncovered ground."
"Because they themselves are afraid? I had a shrink that I visited, while Yee was on vacation. One of her patient had an episode, so it's said and accidentally killed her" There's a frown, genuine remorse in the woman's face and a murmured god rest her soul. "Dr. Martinez. She was a good woman. Very good woman and I might have gone to her permanently" If it hadn't been for the electrokinetic frying her.
But Bella works with evolveds too. "Specialize in evolveds? An particular part or just, on the whole?" Orders pour in and Abigail makes them while talking, not participating in the high activity and infection joy the other bartenders have. Brenda's making eyes at some guy claiming to be a fire fighter. Bella's free round makes it up and across the counter to her.
Bella works primarily through and for the Company, so she usually has protections in place in dangerous situations. The reality of real private practice, or even clinic work… She frowns, realizing she'd desperately need negaters, her mind racing to consider how to best utilize the ability, to… She snaps out of it. Planning logistics and all that had never really been where her joy lay. "General Evolved psychology," she says, "With an interest in unique cognitive pathologies, ability-psychology-personality interaction, and a bit of interest, also, in neurochemical research, though I'm not as good at that. I'm more of a people person," she spreads her arms, drink swishing in its glass but not spilling, "Can't you tell." Another pause, another spark. "Is that a wig? Not that it /looks/ like a wig, just that I read online cool people wear wigs sometimes, and you seem sort of cool. Or maybe I just think that because you're younger than me."
"If it was a wig, maybe it wouldn't have sent my Dah into a near heart attack when he saw it two weeks ago. It is very much real. I know an evolved who can change colors of things. I was doing it to try and get someone to .. do something, backfired. But I'm liking it, so I'm keeping it. Dr. yee calls it my way of hiding from something, that my changing hair colors is a-" She imitates her shrink.
"reaction to stress and my way of running away from an issue and hiding in a change instead of confronting it head on" That brings about a grin. "Sometimes, it's just cause… I want a change. Should have heard her when she saw my first tattoo" Which when Abby twists a bit, the tops of some wings, a string of latin words and a cross are seen, vibrant on her skin. "You? I'm thinking, that you are a natural red head"
Bella peers hard at the Latin words, mouthing them, trying to see if she can use some of her decent french to backwards Romance it into meaning. She has no real luck. "What's it mean?" she finally gives in and asks. She smiles at the comment about her hair. "My one great vanity. Yes, it's natural, and I am much to pleased with it, it's immature." Now why was it she asked about the hair again? Maybe another drink will remind her. But this one's empty! Ah, but there's another one. "Cheers." She christens the next drink.
The line of text disappears down under shirt, aligned vertical instead of horizontal on flesh. "Faith, is the light, that guides you through the darkness" She offers up after speaking the Latin text. "Wings are … a reminder of what I was to some and the cross was a momento of what I bore. You have any tattoo's?" No customers, they're flocking to other red heads at the bar so Abigail sets to leaning against the business side of the bar to regard the shrink. "There are some who would kill for that shade of red, I have an old roommate, Teodoro. Heavens, he'd ask for your number in a heartbeat" There's a genuine grin.
She almost considers making a face at the first name, but no need to think ill of all the world's many innocent Teodoros when it's just one you have difficulties with. She dips her head, modest at once. "Well, thank you. As it is, my love life has been fairly weird lately. And I don't know weird in a good way. But, well… I've hardly been able to be picky." Yes, Bella's engaging in barside confessional. She doesn't want to go see a shrink herself, she can't stand going through therapy. Drives her mental. And she's not Catholic. "I only ever meet clients. And you can't date clients. Who'd want to, anyhow? Jesus."
"They're already broken when they come to you, you don't need to break em even further if things go.. wrong" Abigail agree's. "Just.. make time. Do what you're doing now. Go out to bars, or some other thing. There's some Christmas parties that will be starting up soon in the city. You should go buy yourself some fancy dresses and tickets to them and go" The pink haired woman encourages. "Lord above knows, I'd drag Fl-" Well, no she wouldn't, not right now at least. "I'd surely go to something like that. I might even spend something more than 30 dollars on a dress. Maybe even show a little chest. Not enough to make my momma blush, but, something"
And with that truncated name spoken, something kicks off. She doesn't even realize that's what tripped it off, the memory, or more the suspicion. It just happens, the last piece, unseen but completing the circuit. "Abigail? Do you sometimes go by Abbey?" Rather sudden change of topic.
"Depends, on the person. Friends tend to stick to Abby" There's a tilt of the younger woman's head as she regards the customer across the bar. "or Ab's, but usually Abby"
Okay, if she's wrong, then she'll make something of an ass out of herself, and this nice conversation (she's having fun at least) will be awkwardly over, perhaps. That's a risk, in her mind. But if she doesn't she won't know, and she might be, in fact, the Abby to whom Deckard refers so often. One of the cities… many Abby's? This just all feels to weird, and she gets a little touch of paranoia, but she quickly pulls herself back together. "You wouldn't, by any chance, know a Flint Deckard, would you?" she says, with some hesitation, drawing out the last words into 'wooould you?'
There's a tic near her right eye and at the mention of the name, there's lack of eye contact as she suddenly gets very busy with her hands in pouring a drink for Brenda's customer. "Maybe"
"I can tell you, professional opinion, that that's a yes," Bella says, and grins, almost wolfishly, "/I/," she says, setting a hand to her chest, "Am his therapist. I understand that perhaps this constitutes some breach of confidentiality," she adds, quickly, and her stomach flips, wondering if she has, in fact, done this, another stupid, amateur league move, "But honestly, I had wanted to speak with you, to meet you. I just… never expected I would. Since I didn't expect him to bring you in."
Sweet baby Jesus in a high chair. Bullshit. "Flint doesn't see shrinks. I could barely get him to see a movie outside of my apartment, much less afford a shrink" There's a pursing of pink lips, frown, blonde brows furrowing as she shakes her head. "I don't know what game you're playing Miss Bella, but this isn't funny. Your drinks are free rest of the night. Brenda, i'm heading out I gotta go, can you cover her?" Conversation closed with a glance towards the business clad woman and she's scurrying behind the bar with a pause enough to grab a jacket from inside a door and heading for an exit. Like a cockroach making for it's life.
Only wait, since 'Brandon' recommended Deckard, and Deckard's journal was full of mentions of Teo. This whole effed up social circle she had viewed with such concern. She's this close from it. She suddenly feels something that is not quite fear, but not just a thrill. A strange cocktail of neurochemicals joining the other truant ones. Her eyes narrow with interest at Abby's retreating back. Well, that /did/ end the conversation. But it gives her very much food for thought.
There's a pause at the door, the side exit as she's shoving one arm into the sleeve of the blue pea-coat, then the other. Studying the woman curiously from the door. Shrink. Flint, seeing a shrink. She doesn't know whether to believe the woman or not, be scared herself that someone claiming to be his shrink just happens across her bar. The hand on the lintel, cool air being let in, she matches the woman's eyes before - with a small amount of hesitation, there's a beckoning wave of slender hand from the pink haired woman to the side exit.
Bella is surprised. She didn't expect this. She thought done was done. And this means she has to pull her wits together because she's being beckoned by someone she knows it part of a potentially dangerous and scary group of people. But as she's important to Deckard, and Deckard is important to her, she figures she's got at least a little insurance. Liquid courage helps. She gets up, and Abby can notice a very slight limp as she heads over towards the indicated side exit.
Crap, Flint hadn't healed his shrink?
Abby waits at the door, waiting for the limping woman to come to it before beckoning her further out. The door isn't closed fully, but it's closed enough, a box wedged to keep it from locking. The alley of Old Lucy's. So much goes down here. "Listen, if this is a joke, or some way to get to him through me, try again. It's not going to work. You wouldn't be the first if you are, and neither the last. He's a friend. That's all" It's where he's been put since the weekend. "If you really are his shrink.." Abigail looks down, booted foot scuffing the ground.
"Is he okay? I mean.. really, is he okay? Because.. he's been…" The look on her face is worry, guilt, fear all squished in and tripping over one another on her features like clowns in a car.
"I obviously can't divulge anything he told me in session," Bella says, her tone careful, controlled, trying to be more sober than she is, "But I really am. I'd appreciate if you let me tell him about this encounter, or at least, don't tell him until you see him as a matter of course. I'd like to be the one to handle this particular disclosure," she frowns, "I shouldn't have said anything, and this might harm our trust but… well. He owes me." Or so she'll hope he thinks. "He's depressed. Clinically. Whether it's acute or chronic, I can't yet judge. I haven't been with him long enough."
He's depressed.
"That's how he is. It's always.. been how he is, getting him to smile is like trying to break into fort Knox and any and all attempts are usually.. looked at like said breaking into" Save for the time in Milwaukee. "I'm leaving the country. Going away for an indeterminate amount of time and I won't be talking to him anytime soon till.. he apologizes"
So that's a no, she won't be telling him about this. Not any time soon. Abigail sets about to zipping up her coat, searching for the keys in her pocket. "He's been depressed since I met him, more so lately because of it"
"Understand, that how he is does not make him happy. And if he came to me, he does want that to change," Bella says, "It's a very serious, hard decision to ask for help. Please honor it. Not that I'm saying you wouldn't, I just need to make sure. I believe you understand, since you yourself have gone through therapy."
"I needed therapy Bella, because I was ability raped on Staten Island for a month, and then said ability was taken and shoved into him by someone who's very gift is to do that nearly.. half a year ago. Change abilities. Only I didn't get Flint's x-ray vision, and he got something that he doesn't know how to deal with and is trying dealing with it. That he went to someone, if he did" If he did she tells herself.
"If he did, then that's good. Praise god, if he did. But the stunt he pulled this weekend… " Abigail shakes her head. "Going out of town isn't avoidable, and he's going to have to live with what he did and the distance it's going to put between us to think about his actions and hurting people who love him." She burrows her neck into the collar of her coat. "I won't tell him, that you came here, or anything else. It's between you and him, not me. I swear on the bible"
Bella understands that this is no small oath coming from Abby. That it means nothing to Bella is irrelevant; issues of lights in darkness aside, faith, as far as Bella's concerned, certainly makes people reliable. "I'll be helping him work through those issues and will try to assist him in making the choices that are best for him." Which doesn't necessarily means what's best for Abby or anyone else, she has to make that clear in her phrasing. Clients first.
There's a subtle nod from the pink haired woman, a lift of hand to wipe at an eye and pretend that it's just something in her eye. "Good. Good, cause.. he need someone on his side. Needs.. to know that he's…" There's a look up, eye to eye. "Needs to know that he's somebody in this world, that he's important and that he's cared about. That he would be missed, if he were to just.. up and go" And then she's feeling embarrassed and there's a gesture to the alleyway entrance. "Listen I really do have to go. I need to pick someone up. It was.. surreal meeting you and I hope, you're on his side"
Ah, if only it were that easy. She smiles warmly, however. "I'm a therapist. I'm always on my patients' side, whether they like it or not." Weird though it may be, it's new information for her, and she likes information. "Take care, Abigail. It was very surreal."
Only a nod in return, no more, no less as head down, the pink haired former healer takes off, scurrying for the alley again for the warmth of her car when she'd turned it on with a press of a button when she'd hit the door. Goodbye Bella. Hopefully, if she didn't survive Moscow, at least Flint would have someone to help him.
