Participants:
| Scene Title | DEFCON Five |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | And there was peace in the land. |
| Date | April 14, 2011 |
Pollepel Island: Kitchen
Between meals, the kitchen is empty; it's a rather sad state, between the cooking and cleaning, where nothing seems to disturb it apart from once in a while, a child hiding in a drawer during some sort of game. They lost one, today, because she fell asleep inside of a cupboard. Huruma knew where she was, though, and when the girl woke up from her nap she found the dark woman lurking outside waiting for her. It wasn't enough to terrify the poor thing, but enough so that none of them will probably be hiding in there anymore. Still, it's been about half an hour since the girl left and Huruma was able to start doing what she'd gone to do.
Cleaning out the ovens isn't something that anyone wants to do, but somebody needs to, at least once in a while. Good thing that Huruma is dark enough that the charcoaled dirt she's been scrubbing at leaves just shadows on her arms and face. She is wearing older clothes- jeans with scuffed knees, a worn men's shirt, now covered in a mixture of that heavy duty soapy water and the muck she's been raking out of the old things. The echo of her breath inside the space makes it feel stuffed up, even though effectively, just a third of her is inside. Long arms are helpful when reaching, less so with small spaces. Huruma wants to be productive, certainly, but she also wants to get her mind off of other things- even though some of them have gotten better.
Empty kitchen is just what Lynette was aiming for, as she makes her way in and toward the coffee before she even notices anyone else there. She's a little surprised, but her disappointment at finding no coffee ready and waiting for it overshadows it pretty quickly.
"I was wondering who we'd conned into doing that job," she says, her smile crooked and her tone teasing as she goes about gathering what she needs to make some coffee. "Do you need any help?" She lifts an eyebrow, curious a bit.
Someone else might jerk up and bang their face on the inside of the stove, but rather than make a total fool of herself, the footsteps padding in come across her weakened radar, and she lets it reach wider. Oh. Lynette. The force of the name in Huruma' mind startles her inwardly. Nothing terrible, no- just- she puts too much sharpness to it.
"Conned is such a dirty word." Huruma's voice sounds truly haunting when it is put through the chamber that is the oven, vibrating smooth and purring against the metal. "Not yet. I think I would'ave t'put all of you in here t'get at th'back…" It is the big one. When Huruma finally inches herself out, it is with a grimy handheld brush that she drops into the metal bucket nearby.
"I love dirty words," Lynette says, while she sets up the coffee. Someone is in a good mood today. And why not? Her missing piece recovered her ability and was subsequently sucked back into the one that stands there now. It was good news. Enough Lynettes have kicked it recently.
And the good mood is further proven when she laughs at Huruma's reply. "God, that's so true. Length has never been one of my strong points," she says with a nod, "But I'm an expert at handing things. Tools, sponges, whatnot." And when Huruma manages to get herself out of there, Lynette nods a more proper hello just as she's turning on the coffee. And then she grabs a chair because she's aiming to get the first cup for herself this time around.
Huruma has a strong point in innuendo, but when she perceives it from someone else there is always a bit of double standard prudence. Mostly if she isn't used to them. So Lynette gets a moment of Huruma's eyes tilting sidelong in the sockets, and then she is back to rinsing out the brush.
"Th'last time I was your size, I was… ten?" Something around there. Huruma squints once and taps the brush out on the edge of the bucket, before leaning down and putting just her head and shoulders in. She does the back first, it seems. "I can't imagine it now. I suppose they also wanted me t'clean these f'some kind of- cruel poetry. Me, climbing in a person sized stove, right?"
Unfortunately, when innuendo is involved, Lynette has no shame, no matter who disapproves. So She can only grin a little wider at that look from the much more imposing woman.
But that last part, the irony seems to be lost on her. Someone is out of the loop. "Because in another life, you were a stove salesman," she says, not really guessing, but asking in a roundabout way. But at the same time, not really asking at all. She seems to be leaving it up to Huruma, the interpretation of her statement.
"B'cause I used t'eat people. Not like soylent green people-" Huruma's voice echoes, and she pauses after that. Past tense. Plus, you know- she said it out loud that time. Go figure that the first time she says the whole thing, it is to Lynette while she is facefirst in a scummy oven. "…like Hannibal Lecter people." She finally mutters, seemingly finished with the sentence. "Enough people know, t'be able t'give me berth. And punish me."
"Obviously I don'do it now." Now. Her words are very careful.
There's a long pause there, where Lynette goes through a round of confusion — I beg your pardon? — and doubt — Haha, nice joke. — and finally acceptance and of course… some disgust. But she manages to keep it all off her face. If one were just going by looks, they'd see a blank stare that lasts too long to be part of polite conversation.
"Hopefully not right now, at least," Lynette says with a suspicious glance to the stove. She can't help it, humor is how she deals with things! To her credit, she's able to push past the disgust pretty quickly, to regard Huruma frankly. "I suppose we all got skeletons in our closets," she says, the acceptance probably coming mostly because a certain Ben Ryans counts this woman among his friends and she's reasonably sure that means she's mostly sane. "I didn't mean the pun that time." But it's true that inwardly, there's wariness. But less than there might normally be, since she's certain at least one copy of her could survive anything at the moment.
Huruma doesn't need to go by her face to know. But that series of emotions is so familiar in that kind of situation that she is not at all surprised. "Some more literally, yes." Huruma reaches up to the top of the stove to pull down a damp rag from its spot, taking it in with her now. "I have been given a reason to stop by God, so I have listened."
"I am not going t'do anything t'you, don'worry." The wariness' continuance makes her lean out again, peering at Lynette through those ivory-colored eyes. "Don'bother saying you weren't nervous. Or pretend t'not be disgusted." Does Lynette know what Huruma does? This is a good way to find out.
"God talks to you, huh? You are a remarkable woman," Lynette says, and no one even need empathy to catch on that she's not exactly a believer. "Although stopping, that's probably for the best. For all involved, I imagine," she notes, wryly.
"Oh, I'm not denying. But I'm not going to pretend like you're suddenly the boogy-man and not a person. Flaws happen, mistakes happen. Addictions happen," and she would know. There's a touch of shame there, which goes to show she's not completely without it, at least. "Although, I have to say, that one is particularly gross. But I knew a guy in LA that had a thing about manure baths and I think that might be a little moreso."
"I didn'say he talked t'me, I said he has given me a reason." Huruma is not invested in making Lynette believe the strange version she has in mind either, so she leaves it at word semantics. She puts her arm over one knee, pausing to sit there and consider Lynette closely. The flicker of shame doesn't slip past her. Though the last words from the blonde catch her somewhat off-guard. "Well- gee- thank you." For telling Huruma she is slightly more gross than manure baths. Nice.
"It feels as if you have your own skeletons, so I hope you understand, when I wish to change th'subject."
"You're welcome," Lynette says in her direction, her smile crooked. Amusement. "I meant that the other way around, hun," she says, that smile growing a bit, "He was definitely more gross. He didn't have your looks, see?" That, too, is more teasing than flattery.
"Oh, I have tons of skeletons. A few favorites here and there." But that shame doesn't seem to be making her want to change the subject. "I was on drugs for a while. So I do understand unsavory addictions." Tit for tat there.
Huruma can manage to be embarrassed once in a while. Lynette telling her she meant it the other way around, brings a half-smile onto her lips, and a snort of a laugh. Okay, okay. The finish flashes a second of teeth before it goes to a smirk. "Ah." The singular confirmation comes when they apparently move onto what is wrong with Lynette instead. "So you do."
"I take it that you have also gotten better? Hopefully it was not as recent as to pose an issue here?" A faint bit of polite concern, as much as is considered unobtrusive.
"No issues here, no," Lynette says, confirming that right away. "and I suppose I'm as better as I'm ever going to get. Sometimes it's a struggle, but nothing I can't handle these days. Although, I'm keeping my fingers crossed that it stays that way."
Her tilts her head a little, a faint smile marking the mix of butterfly fluttering with that rougher shame she's got. "Ben made sure it wouldn't be a problem here, once he found out. Pushy man." But that remark is not without it's affection.
Huruma lets her eyes draw over to where the water for the coffee is heating up, listening as she is given a summary of health by Lynette. It feels truthful, at least, so she doesn't press the idea of otherwise. Her eyes turn back when she feels the skip-jump of emotions within the confines around the younger woman's shame. The dark woman hoods her eyelids, regarding this with a passing second of envy.
"He has a way of- hm-" Huruma leans down to start scrubbing again, her voice softening. The remark is similar at its roots from affection. "He has a way of making people change for th'better."
"I had noticed that. Never much cared for being a good person before." That, too, is truthful, and lets her move away from the shame of her own flaws to the typical emotions wrapped up in romance. A little adoration, a little lust, a little giddiness… although, there's also this thread of almost dread that spins through it all, like the woman might be constantly waiting for everything to just go wrong. "Then he waltzed it. I ought to smack him a little."
She doesn't miss that bit of affection there, though she's hardly as perceptive as the other woman. "You, too, hmm?"
Staring up at the metal belly of the oven, Huruma momentarily considers going back on her previous word. That she wouldn't do anything to her. But of course, there is that rumbling voice in her skull now, telling her to let it alone.
"If you'ad told th'me of just a few years ago, about th'me of now, I would have laughed." Huruma begins, slow to start, and it comes slightly easier after the first words get out, somber as they escape being confined in the oven. "Some of th'Ferry knew me then, too. Benjamin did, years and years ago, when he worked hunting us. That is how I first met him. I didn'know people could- change so fast. Especially not me."
"I used t'not truly care about anyone. Then Abigail, then m'son, then Benjamin…" So yes, to answer that, in a very vague and tricky way.
"My father once gave me the advice that one should never care about anything, because nothing stays forever. Most of my life I've followed that advice. It's very safe, not to care." Lynette lets out a sigh there, some sadness sneaking in, a little bitterness there. Although it doesn't seem to be aimed at anyone in particular.
"But sometimes it's fun to live a little dangerously," she adds with a crooked smile and a little rush of mischief.
"I never cared b'cause nobody cared about me, save for very few. Don'let me fool you, I can be a very bitter woman." Huruma is quick with this, and there is a faint amusement in her voice. "At this point, I think that I am fortunate to'ave found… something more than social resentment, and more than one regret about what I'ave done. Even if it took me so long, hm?"
"I too, miss Rowan, like to live dangerously. We seem to'ave something in common." Shockingly enough, right? Well- something else in common- there's that elephant in the room that Huruma isn't sure she's picked up on.
"I never cared because every time I did, all I got in return was a kick in the teeth. Sometimes literally. I think we all get the capacity for bitterness after a little interaction with the human race," Lynette says in a dry tone. This is the I need a cigarette tone, even though it comes with a glance toward the coffee. One vice is as good as another. "But positive influence is nothing to complain about. Being jaded and cynical was only cool in high school."
She looks back in Huruma's direction, her lips curling with amusement. "And honestly, I thought we'd never find two women more different. Goes to show you, never trust assumptions." If she has picked up on it, she's not giving anything away. Things like jealousy or territorialism, they're just not there.
Unfortunately, Huruma is naturally a creature of suspicion; and is going to assume something is there unless its stated otherwise. A poor situation for any budding acquaintances, but there's not much to do about it. She doesn't immediately respond, at least, which means she is considering Lynette's words.
"We obviously went to totally different schools. Or per'aps I was not there long enough." Huruma leans out of the stove, rinsing out the brush again. "Are you sure that we are so different in th'first place? Sure, I am literally two times your size and a thousand shades darker, but I would b'shocked if you didn'appreciate a good pair of heels. You seem th'type."
Lynette chuckles a little there, conceding, "I went to school in Los Angeles." As if this would explain everything. And maybe it does.
She lifts an eyebrow as the woman speaks up again, though, perhaps finding a number of things different at first glance. For one, Lynette is hardly intimidating. But Huruma's words make her smile again. "Oh, you've got that right on," she says, her smile more genuine. Ahh, fashion. "Sadly, I lost most of my collection in the raids on November Eighth, but there is nothing quite like a hot pair of shoes."
It sure does. Huruma's eyebrows tick upwards, in a non-verbal 'oh'. "Los Angeles is considerably more different than Lagos. Is that coffee finished?" She secedes that one. "If I didn'wear fourteens, I would happily lend you something." So the lady likes shoes. Huruma does, to a certain point. Maybe not to the fashionista extent, but it is there. Maybe it's the sheer difficulty in finding things her own size that keeps it at bay.
"So there you have it- we like t'look nice, we have mediating faith in th'human race, we like t'live dangerously-" So much stuff in common. Serious.
"I dare say you're right on that one." Lynette stands up, though, to check on the coffee and it must be getting there, because she takes down a couple mugs to pour each of them a cup. There's no offer of cream or sugar, as Lynette isn't even sure there's any around.
"Practically twins," is her wry reply as she passes Huruma one of the mugs.
Laying herself back down, fresh brush in hand, Huruma is only at it again for a few seconds before her hip bumps against the soapy bucket and causes it to dump its contents on the floor and up the side of her shirt. The tall woman lets out an exasperated growl, pausing completely before tossing the brush with a clatter and sitting up again. "I hate this."
"Well, I suppose I am mopping, now." Also soaked- her clothes seem to be absorbent to some degree, especially when she stands up and drips from at least two limbs. "There is sweetener in th'top left of th' top cupboards, if you wanted any." No cream and no real sugar, but at least something that takes the bitter out of food or drink. Aspartame isn't a delicacy normally.
Lynette does laugh, lightly and good-naturedly, but too her credit, she stands to grab the mop herself. "I'll mop. You try to wring yourself out," she says, still amused. But she even sets her coffee down to get over to the spill to start cleaning up.
"Never could stand my coffee anything but black as it could get. I do sometimes put a little vodka in there, but it's such a precious commodity these days, I try to use it sparingly."
"Number four. I can take a good drink. I would fistfight over the last bit of a good scotch." That would be interesting, to say the least. Though whoever it was would probably just let her have it. The drink, not the fistfight. (Maybe?) She takes wringing out literally, stepping away from the large puddle of soapy mess to start unbuttoning her shirt, eyes half concentrated between the mugs and her long fingers.
"I am partial t'tea, so if I have coffee it is usually not black. Here I don'ave a choice. I take what I can get."
"A scotch girl, huh? I would have guessed rum. And I'm glad to say I will never have reason to fight you over drinks. Vodka is where I start and end." Lynette turns her back, all part of paying attention to what she's doing, but also to give the woman some privacy.
"A sad state of affairs," she comments as far as taking what they can get, "Hopefully these dreams everyone's having are a bunch of bull and in five years, this place is a little island paradise complete with cabana boys."
"Rum is fine, unless you drank it for too long like I did. I can take it sometimes." Huruma won't elaborate on why she 'drank it for too long'. "But it reminds me of too much, now." She quiets to slip out of the wet shirt, and to examine the white A-shirt she has under it. Given that it only has a spot of water, Huruma can take a slight draft, in favor of wringing some water out of the shirt and tying the arms around her waist.
Huruma remains quiet when Lynette mentions the dreams, though; she stands more still than before, her posture straightening, mouth thinning. "I hope so." She murmurs. "I'ave only had th'one. Megan and Ben did too. I was dying." So of course she doesn't want them to be true. Plus, you know- cabana boys..
"Ah yes, I understand negative associations well enough." There's no prying into just what it reminds her of, never on a first date. Lynette only glances back when the other woman goes so still, one eyebrow lifted.
"Ah. That's a particularly bad one. I only had one as well, hardly anything so dramatic." Comfort has never really been something Lynette was any good at, though. It's all a little awkward. Hell, the woman doesn't even deal with her own issues, let alone someone else's. "We'll change all that. What we're seeing, it isn't going to happen that way. For one, I had short hair. I hate short hair."
Huruma knows how to make a joke- she runs her palm over her sheared hair, looking askance at the doorway and back to Lynette. You hate short hair?! No way, Jose.
"Whatever they are, I don'like them." She sticks her chin into the air, just enough to look imperious. "Other than th'fact they have brought about conversations I had been wanting t'ave, they are a menace to all of us here. I hope someone figures out how they are happening, and soon." Because she doesn't want to accidentally have another, because she knows it will be terrible.
"I can't quite pull it off," Lynette says, although there's a simmer of anger under that. Something about her and short hair just pissed her off, she can't help it.
There's a brief glance away, letting old anger drain away before she looks back again. "I'm with you on that one. I hate seeing the future, it screws with everything. I'm hoping Delia and Kaylee can be geniuses on this one and figure it out fast. And whoever this is, I'd like to smack them one before it's all over."
Huruma can't feel the same way about something as silly as hair, but she can imagine why Lynette might be. She crosses the floor to locate her rogue brush, still slightly crusted from her short scrub after rinsing it. "I have only seen it one other time b'fore. A man, living with m'family in Madagascar. He is able to see things. Somehow he made us, too. A world underwater- buildings in the sea…" She sounds almost reverent.
"That was th'vision of th'world if we'ad not stopped th'Vanguard." A drowned planet, an ended people.
"The Preacher, too. The visions that centered around the Eighth? Mine was all too close to what I saw despite taking every chance to try to thwart it. This time, I'm not letting that damn dream decide anything for me." And Lynette is pretty firm on that one. "Talk about self-fulfilling prophecy."
And it annoys her. Quite obviously. "But the plan is the same now as it was before this started. Keep the Ferry safe, stop the bastards."
"I had one of those too. Though it was not as- major- as death, or world floods. So, three times, I suppose." Huruma gives a half-smirk, and she stops again to pick up the drippy metal bucket from Lynette's way of the mop. "Yes. I'd say that is the fifth thing we'ave in common, miss Rowan."
"Lucky you," Lynette frowns about that, too. She has some thing to frown about, particularly the section of her life that involved bad haircuts and murdering people with kitchen knives. She's so focused on it, in fact, that she doesn't notice Huruma approaching until she's there.
And she jumps a little, even. "Jesus, woman. You're like an Amazonian ninja." She lets out a breath and glances back toward her cup of coffee. "I need a cigarette. You're welcome to join me, if you'd like." It's mostly offered so she doesn't give the impression that Huruma is the reason she goes to grab her coffee and turns toward the door.
It's just vices.
