abby_icon.gif amadeus_icon.gif

Scene Title Deadbeat
Synopsis Someones son comes sniffing around his ex, in the hopes of finding out where he is.
Date August 18, 2010

Abigail's apartment, Le Rivage

Sprung from the pages of an IKEA catalog, Red sueded couches, love seat, armchair, a comfortable cushioned recliner that doubles as a rocking chair. A black cat can be seen on occasion, perched atop something, same for a brown furry dog that promises to be bigger as time passes.

Pictures on the wall of a blonde woman and two adults who look like her, blown up pictures of beautiful scenery. The kitchen is partially open to the main room, meticulous and clean, nothing out of place, a dining table and chairs in the dining area with flowers always in it's centerpiece.

A hallway leads to bathrooms and bedrooms, Three in total and one of which bears a gold cross hanging above it. Inside an antique arm chair in a black and red floral pattern, at odds with the rest of the room in it's pine, purple and cream theme. A painting hangs on the wall across from the bed by a long dead painter and worth a great deal of money. The other rooms unoccupied most of the time.

Somewhere, a budgie sings it's loving tune in it's spacious ornate cage.

Morning, is it morning? God it's morning… Clad in his black AC/DC shirt and old blue jeans, Amadeus wears a black baseball bat bag strapped across his back, with a white MLB logo in the middle. He's got half a joint in his mouth, and more or less smells like pot at the moment. His eyes are squinting and kind of red, and he looks like someone who wishes he was back in bed, but for once, duty calls.

There's an unfamiliar knocking at Abby's door as smoke rises to the ceiling, and all he can think of to say is, "Is Flint Deckard in there?"

There's a blonde on the other side of the door, granola bar in mouth and staring through the peephole at the person on the other side who's demanding to know if Flint is there. Leaning her shoulder against the door, it's a loud voice, equally pitched as high to make sure it goes through door. "Who wants to know?" Rhett is behind her, ass parked on the ground and watching his mistress with head cocked.

"Amadeus Deckard." he answers as he suddenly moves closer to the door to look through the peephole himself, which gives her an eye full of, well, eye. "Come on, I could be sleeping, or eating." He steps back from the door again, hunching over with a lazy groan and his hands in his pockets.

"Funny name, try again. He doesn't have family try again" When he moves closer to the peephole, the blonde pulls back, granting him at least a sliver of seeing who is on the other side when she opens the door, the night chain on. One eye's a few fingers worth of her profile as she stares out at him. Below her, down near the floor, out pops Rhett's head, straining in the small space allowed to get a good noseful of the person on the other side.

"Could you not smoke a joint in my hallway please"

"Goddamn, don't tell me he's a total fuckin' square." Amadeus removes the joint from his mouth with two fingers and grinds out into his pants before slipping the rest into his pocket. "Here, lemme show you…" He reaches into his right pocket, pulling out an old beat up black wallet, then pulls out his driver's license and voting card, holding them out to her. "I need to get my birth certificate too?" he asks with an impatient squint.
The proffered ID is scrutinized, and seems legitimate. Doesn't mean that she'll just up and open the door. He can't see the shotgun she has ready behind the door. When someone's already made a run for 15 million dollars… "No, Why are you coming here looking for Flint?" Distrusting, he's the first stranger she's known who's come looking for him.

"Well, lemme think…" Amadeus holds up a fist, then starts counting things off on his fingers. "Child support payments, twenty-four birthday presents, an apartment would be nice 'cause sleeping in my van sucks, and I guess I'll take a baseball game… no, two baseball games." He gives a swift nod, then leans in to face her a little closer. "So you know where he is or not? This curfew bullshit might get me thrown in jail again, so I'm banking on this whole 'Find Flint' plan."

"He's gone, he lives wherever he wants to live Mister Deckard. I'm not his keeper but I can take a message for you and if I come across him again, I can let him know that his … son… is looking for him." Flint Deckard has a son. Why on some level, does that not surprise her? Likely because he's a good twenty years older than her, maybe more. She's looking at him, up then down even as Rhett whines to be let out so he can get to Amadeus.

There's a pause in her thoughts, pursing her lips as if she might or might not follow through on what she's got rolling around in her head. "Do you have a number he can reach you at sir?" Sir. He's not that much older than her, though she looks just barely legal herself.

Amadeus reaches into his pocket for a pen and a silvery gum wrapper with a white papery side, which he writes his cell number on. "Well, I think I wanna surprise him, but I'll give you my number anyway, in case you wanna buy pot or need cable installed. If you're not old enough for beer, I charge double to make your beer runs." He offers up the wrapper, finally grinning widely. Maybe the morning's finally stopped getting on his nerves.

"He's not the kind of guy Mister Deckard" God, that feels so wrong. "To like surprises, I can tell you that right now" her hand snakes out to take the silver wrapper, long pale skinny arm, fingers closing around it and pulling back. Rhett's stuck and whining, which prompts her to sigh and lean down, the glimpse of a livingroom beyond as she works to pop the dogs head back in and then undo the night chain. "Let him smell you, he's paranoid"

"You can just call me Amadeus, or Mad, Mister Deckard's my father's name." Amadeus can't help but chuckle a little at that, bending down to offer his hand to the dog. "Damn you're a proper chick, doesn't match up with anything I've heard about 'im so far. What's your name, anyway?"

Nostrils flare, dog breath hot on his hand as the growing dog barges out, cautious once he's actually free, Abigail's hand on his collar in case. So far, the dog is okay to a degree with strangers unless food is involved. "Abigail, and he's Flint to me, you're Mister Deckard. I'll pass along your number if I come across him but I don't know where he lives and he only shows up when he wants to. Is there anything else Mister Deckard?"

"You're fuckin' hilarious, they don't make 'em like they do in the South anymore." Amadeus can't help but shake his head and laugh, standing up as he reaches into his pocket to pull the unlit joint out and slide it back inbetween his lips. "Thanks for helpin' out, I think I'm hot on his trail." He digs into his pocket again, then grabs a freshly rolled joint and flicks it through the air to her. "Payment for time. Later, Abby."

What the hell is he throwing at her? Abigail lets go of the collar so she can catch what he's thrown, Rhett surging forward with a growl at the movement. For time? She has to choose between lunging for her dog in case he might make to bite the younger Deckard, which she does, fingers scrabbling then holding tight to the collar while her other hand flails to try and catch the joint he's tossed at her. She'll look at whats in her hand, once she's back in her place, for right now, there's a bewildered look.

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