Participants:
| Scene Title | Dance A Bit More |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Bryan and Elle have a pleasant conversation. |
| Date | August 5, 2010 |
The 'north wing' on Sublevel 1 is a series of corridors that access what has been designated the residential zone — living and working quarters for the majority of Fort Hero's agents and employees. As is true for most of the level, it is an eminently unremarkable concrete-walled tunnel; the doors in its sides are metal rather than wood, though not as heavy as some in the facility.
Finally. It's time for that big step that every person has to take at one point or another. Elle's gone and procured herself a place in the Octagon. An apartment of her own, with windows and soft-painted walls and carpeting and tile. No more concrete walls and ceilings and floors, she's going for a room with a view. She's currently struggling to get her things packed, the door to her living quarters is hanging open.
Elle really doesn't look like she should be doing this today. Her left arm is in a sling, with a stitched up bullet hole in the fleshy part where her shoulder meets her chest; the tank top she wears only goes to display the bandage that covers her shoulder. On top of all of that, her neck is nice and bruised from being choked by a member of FRONTLINE, and she's doped up on Vicodin to help her cope with the pain of having a hole in her shoulder.
Currently, she is seated on her bed, clearing things from the nightstand with an extremely mixed expression on her face. She seems angry, excited, and sad all at once, somehow.
The door opens with an unceremonial creak, only to have the light from the hall beyond shadowed by a figure. Bryan leans against the doorframe, his hands in the pockets of his twill slacks. As the door swings wide on it's hinges, groaning all the while, he lifts his face to look into Elle's room.
"Care for a hand, Elle?" he asks, his voice droll and teasing.
He doesn't ask before he steps into the room, kicking the door closed with the toe of one loafer-clad foot. The long sleeves of his fitted, white t-shirt are pushed to his elbows - as casual as his smirk. "I still don't understand why you're moving. You just did get settled, I thought." The smirk widens into half a grin, and Bryan lightly kicks at Elle's right foot before his voice drops to a more concerned, almost brotherly tone. "What's going on?"
The little blonde blinks as the door creaks open to reveal Bryan, and a small smile replaces the mixed expression as she places her phone charger in the box. Normally, she would be all gung-ho independant…but she's got a gunshot wound in her shoulder and the Vicodin is making her just want to lay down for a while. "That…would actually be really nice. I just need to get everything boxed up…"
Elle scoots over on the bed, drawing her feet up into indian-style. His concerned questioning prompts another small smile. "It's a lot of personal bullshit…I need a little more freedom from this place." She glances up at that cold concrete ceiling with its cold flourescent lights. "Things aren't going so good with my dad. We had an argument recently. I just want to get away from here. Try and be at least a little bit independant." She peers up at Bryan thoughtfully, a finger tapping at her chin.
"All the world's a cage, Elle," Bryan says with the tiniest of twinkles in his dark eyes. But then that look of hers catches him off guard and he straightens, pulling his hands from his pockets to let them hang at his sides. His grin melts into the pinched look of suspicion. "I know that face. You're scheming."
He turns and sits on the bed next to her, leaving just enough space between them to be considered polite. "So what is it? Now that you think you've gotten out of from under Big Bob's Bulbous Thumb, what are you cooking up in that head of yours?"
The little blonde can't help but smile slightly at his first remark. "It really is…but at least this cage will have a window with a view. Much better than concrete." She chuckles softly, laying back on the bed and pushing the box to one side. This is what the painkiller wants her to do, lay down. Much better than sitting up. She peers up at Bryan as he speaks, plopping her feet up in his lap in the process. She never was too polite with personal bubble space.
God, why does everyone notice that she's thinking of things? She's gotten too expressive lately. She really needs to cut it out. "There's a whole bunch of stuff I've been thinking. Speaking of cooking, I'm thinking of learning how. I'm going to be in my own apartment, so…I'll have to cook anyhow, right?" She gently pokes at his belly with a toe. "Have you ever been ballroom dancing?"
Bryan lets out a breathy chuckle as he watches Elle, suddenly very unsure what to do with his hands. "You know I have, Elle." He lifts them to one of Elle's feet, bracing the top with a palm while digging the heel of the other into the sole. "But you're in no condition to go dancing." A pause, during which Bryan focuses on bringing some measure of relief to his comrade in arms. "We can go once that shoulder's healed up. Promise.
"I'll even take you out to dinner. Just because you don't get your grub from a cafeteria doesn't mean you have to cook."
The girl grins to Bryan as he starts rubbing her feet, letting out a soft, happy sigh. That feels nice. For a brief moment, she ponders the possibility of warning him that she has an insane almost-stalker type fellow who has point blank said that he will kill any man who gets between him and her, and who happens to be the guy who blew up Primatech Bronx…but, hey, that doesn't really matter, at least not in Elle's mind. "That would be nice. They said the sling can probably come off in about two weeks, though I probably won't heal up for another month or so. I hate bullets."
She peers thoughtfully up at the ceiling again, rubbing at her chin. "…So what do YOU think, on a personal level, about all of this shit with the Institute?"
Who doesn't hate bullets? Bryan smiles anew, but it soon fades at the question. "That depends on what you mean by 'personal level,' he muses. "I mean, I can understand why the government wants more control over what's effectively been a private sector game, but that's their job - to want control." He keeps rubbing, paying special attention to Elle's ankle for awhile. "I like our way better. It's quiet. Secure. With a government, there's red tape and funding and a varying degree of transparency to worry about. With us…well, we used to be able to operate without sanction. But that changed." With everything else.
Elle smiles as she contemplates Bryan, rubbing her feet. Small nods are offered to denote that she's listening intently, her good arm tucking behind her head to make it easier to peer at the venemous man. "That's mostly what I meant. Your opinion." She smiles up at the man. "I liked our way better, yeah…it was nice while it lasted. But…yeah, you know. The bomb kind of changed everything." She sighs as he sets to work on her ankles.
"Where do you think this whole situation is going to end up? I'm not liking any of it, myself…everything is so tense around here."
"We'll dance a bit more, maybe," Bryan offers with a slight shrug, moving his efforts to the ball of Elle's foot. "But eventually we'll either all be hauled in and charged or worse, given a taste of our own medicine. Black-bagged. That sort of thing."
Bryan shakes his head, and his hands stop their ministrations and simply rest on Elle's dainty foot. "If they're nice, and they just let us go about our lives…well, that'd be cruel in it's own way. I dunno about you, Elle, but this…place. This job is…"
Pretty much it.
The little blonde closes her eyes, breathing slowly as she enjoys that pleasant foot rub. She certainly deserves it, with that gunshot wound. "I might have to agree with you there." She almost wishes that she could tell him of her adventures with the Institute, of her mutiny against the Company and her rebellious actions of late. It would be nice to have a confidant.
Sadly, before she can even manage to organize that thought into intelligable speech or tell herself not to say anything, she promptly nods off, falling asleep as Bryan rubs her feet. Hooray for vicodin, and their knack of making the little blonde girl zonk out.
Bryan smiles down at her as she loses the battle against sleep. He takes great care in extracting himself from the bed and positioning Elle's feet so as not to disturb her, despite the drug's strong effect. Crossing the room to the door, he turns long enough to drink her in once more before turning off the light and closing the door as quietly as possible.