Participants:
| Scene Title | Die Happy, Verse I |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Robyn Quinn sees the could-have-been. |
| Date | October 22, 2018 |
It had been a busy morning already for Robyn Quinn. The sound of a ticking clock is a small distraction. It comes in both literal and metaphorical senses, the analog clock that hangs over her record player in her office in Fort Jay ticking around. It matches with a ticking in her head, counting down the days she has available to her.
Today is the first day of her month long leave from her work with Wolfhound, something which brought her no end of relief - but also brought a host of new things to stress over.
The day has, by her account at least, been rather busy. Digging through the first set of files that's been delivered to her. Making phone calls. She still needs to put in her call to Kansas City, but that'll come later - it's the last of several she needs to make.
Tired eyes stare at the checklist in front of her, sitting on top of a small pile of collected notes, reports, and thoughts. Her small, personal file on everything she's managed to put together in the last month, including a transcript of her conversation with Donna Dunlap, the list of things Richard Ray had asked her to look into, her own personal concerns and questions, and more.
Minus, of course, more sensitive material. The last thing she intends on doing is actually crossing Avi Epstein more than she already has, and she know better than to keep a copy of her recent Wolfhound report anywhere besides the thumb drive it was tucked away on back at home.
The record player is quiet, for once, as Robyn sighs and stares at the papers in front of her. With a moment's hesitation, she reaches over to the phone on her desk and pulls up the receiver, before punching in a handful of numbers.
She waits while it rings. She waits until someone picks up, identifies that she's reached the right the right number. "Hello, this is-"
"Robyn Janestine Quinn." Chains run against metal as Robyn tries to relax in a metal chair, at a metal table. Manacles hold her wrists close to the table. She looks tired, disheveled - in need of a good night's sleep and a warm shower. A blaring guitar riff plays from a small radio seated at the end of the table. "Mind turnin' it up a bit? Wouldn't want t'miss the premier a' m'new single an' all, y'know. Else'll kill me."
-llo? Miss?" the voice on the other side of the phone inquires as Robyn's vision comes back into focus. She swallows loudly, staring at the phone silently for a moment.
"E-Else?" she repeats quietly, blinking twice before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.
"Else?" the voice on the other side of the phone repeats for a third time, sounding confus-
"Oh for fuck's sake, we're going to do this?" Robyn looks at the woman across from her, relaxing a bit in her chair. The radio continues to play music, a bit louder than it was a moment ago. "Yeah, Else Kjelstrom. Friend, collaborator, resident musical genius, wrote the lyrics t'this song? Christ, you know who I am an' who she is. Is this really necessary?" On the far side of the table, the radio's guitar riff gives away to a popping mix of synth and drums, before a woman begins to sing.
So what is this so-so-society?
Still drinking that Kool-Aid like it's free
Still popping that poison blow blow blow
Political, you know how it goes
"See? That's her. Y'gotta know that voice." There's a playful grin as she motions over to the radio as well as the chains and manacles will let her.
"I'm not interested in Ms. Kjelstrom," the woman sitting across from Robyn is dressed in a faded blue suit, almost black, with short cropped hair. She folds her hands in front of her, shaking her head. "I'd like to talk about Pinehearst, and the work you did for them."
Is this dystopia?
Is-
"-rything okay, m'am?" The voice on the other of the phone waits for a moment, before speaking up again. "M'am?"
Robyn stares at the receiver for a long second, her brow stitching together. "Pinehearst?" The receiver is set down on the table, Robyn having forgotten entirely that she was even on it. She looks down at the files in front of her, the myriad of names, and then her office - bleak and barren save for her strange array of turntable, crystal decanter, and oil lamps. "What is happening," she hisses as she rises quickly to her feet, quickly making her way to the SESA logo branded door to her office.
"Miss Quinn? Are still there? Is eve-"
"-rything is going to be fine, if you'll just cooperate, Mrs. Quinn."
Fame is the bait
And the switch is the look in your eye
What will you ask?
While we wait for the past to arrive
Robyn seems dazed for a moment, before holding up a single finger to the woman across from her, as if to signal hold on. The woman across from her rolls her eyes, and starts to move to turn off the radio, prompting Robyn to shake her head. "No, it's not- sorry. Just a little somethin' weird," she remarks, shifting in her seat a bit. "Look, yeah, Pinehearst…" She's distant for a moment, a glassy, grey look in her eyes for a moment before she looks up at the woman across the table.
Fame is the bait
And the switch is your head in the sand
Time that we waste
While we wait for the future to land
"Pinehearst," the other woman repeats expectantly.
"I mean, what do y'want me t'tell ya? I was their PR maven, an' damn good at it. Y'know, until things started actually blowin' up." She lets out a sardonic chuckle and leans forward with a dramatic crook of her brow. "Hard t' make that mess look good, y'know. Hell if I didn't try at first, through."
The woman on the other side of the table gives Robyn a flat look. "Mrs. Quinn, are you sure you want to forgo the right to representation?"
Die happy
In the summertime
So happy
I could die
"Why bother? I'll be out of here soon enough, one way or another. I mean, b'tween the fame, th' fact that my wife works at the UN, an' the fact that y'got nothin' t'say I did anythin' besides spin the news?"
This time, the interviewer grins. "You're sure about that?"
"Y-yes?" It takes a moment for Robyn to regain her senses, picking back up the receiver to answer the last question she heard from the other side. But there's no one there anymore, just the rapid beeping of a disconnected call. A sound of concern passes her lips as she hangs it back up, and moves to sit down at her desk. Still, uncertain. She pulls out a blank piece of paper from one of her notepads, and begins to scribble things down. Names. What she sees. The lyrics to the song that drifts in and out of her head with each moment.
"Merde," she exhales, a hand rubbing at her forehead. It's not the first time she's had some kind of vision, but something is different this time. Wrong, almost. She sees herself, but-
"Bitseach, what're y'writing down?" Suddenly flustered, Robyn tries to stand up as much as her restraints will let her.
This city is thick with common thieves
Still passing around the same disease
Who's running this town and why are we
Still drinking that Kool-Aid like it's free?
"Nothing yet, Mrs. Quinn. If you're not feeling well, we can reschedule this interview." The dark haired woman spreads her hands, looking intently at Robyn, growing concern showing in her face.
"No… nah. I wanna get this over with an' get back home t' Elaine." A surprisingly earnest answer from the photokinetic, looking over at the small radio for a moment.
"I don't think you understand the severity of the potential charges being brought against you, Mrs. Quinn, or the intensity of this investigation." The woman watches Robyn wuth an expression that tells of fading patience.
"It's more like I don't care," Robyn clarifies. "But, y'know. Go ahead an' take your best shot."
"You're awful confident for someone in your position, you know."
"Yeah, well, someone has t'be, right?"
In this dystopia
In this dystopia
In this dys-
Blinking, Robyn jolts in the chair at her desk, causing it to slide back a bit on it's wheels. She takes a deep breath as it comes to a rough stop against the back wall. She - herself - had asked what she was writing, almost as if she could see what she had been doing. There was no way this was a two way vision, whatever this was, but- One hand moves over her heart as she tries to recompose herself, to consider what she's seeing.
"What.. is this? What did I d-"
Fame is the bait
And the switch is the look in your eye
What will you ask?
While we wait for the past to arrive
Silence hangs in the air between the two women, broken only by the song that continues to play from the small radio. Robyn's eyes are vacant for a moment before she exhales a sharp breath. "Nothin' that didn't need t' be," she mutters, eliciting a tilt of her interviewer's head.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothin'," Robyn remarks as she sits up again. "Look, I changed m'mind. I wanna go back t'holding, can we do this t'morrow?
Fame is the bait
And the switch is your head in the sand
Time that we waste
While we wait for the future to land
The interviewer chuckles to herself, now looking confident herself. "Funny. You seemed so- what was the word you used yesterday. Punchy? Until I mentioned Royce Garret. Is there something I should know, Mrs. Quinn? It's better to clear the air now. It'll save us all a lot of trouble.
Robyn is visibly taken aback for a moment. "Feisigh leat," she practically spits out, the baleful expression she gives the woman almost as venomous as her choice of words. "Of all things t'try an' hold over m'head, y'bring up a arsehole who died while I was livin' on the streets?"
Fame is the bait
And the switch is your desolate smile
If I need it
Though we shelter the thing for a while
"Seems like I may have struck a nerve, Mrs. Quinn. Would-"
"Oh, shut up." Robyn cuts off the other woman with a unexpectedly confident and mischievous grin. She knew full well she'd killed Royce Garret, and she could dodge around the truth for hours, but she's had enough of this back and forth game. "Is that all you've got?"
The interviewer very quickly - and angrily rises to her feet. "I would like to reiterate the situation you are in right now, Mrs. Quinn."
Fame is the bait
And the switch is the touch of your hand
Time that we waste
While we wait for the future to land
"I would like to reiterate that I don't care." As she speaks, Robyn claps her hands together and smirks. "File says I'm a photokinetic, yeah?" There's some shouting from another room - assumedly from the one of the other side of the one way glass watching over the interview. There's a slight flash and the manacles fall off her hands, head tilting slightly to the side. "Oops! Might need a little updating."
The interview jumps up from her chair and immediately starts towards door. In another flash, Robyn is there before her, smiling wickedly - no longer the disheveled mess she was before, but looking proper dressed up, makeup and all like she's about to go on stage. "Curtain call!" she proclaims in a singsongy voice as the interview backpedals away from her.
Die happy
In the summertime
So happy
I could die
"Had t' happen at some point. Told Else that this wasn't going t'just go away. She'll be so disappointed." The interviewer backpedals again as Robyn puts her weight against the thumping door behind her. "Here's the deal. I'm gonna go home an' get my Elaine, yeah? An' then you losers aren't going t' see me 'round here again. Sounds like a better game t' play than this shit, right?"
Die happy
In the summertime
So happy
I could die
Reaching to point towards the interviewer, Robyn chuckles tauntingly. "Not that you'll be able t' tell them that," she remarks, a sudden snap crackle from her fingertip audible over the music. The interviewer lets out a gasp as light lances through her chest. Eyes wide, she takes a half step forward, and then falls into Robyn's arms. "Welp!" She says with a laugh to the dying woman. "I gotta get going."
Two fingers tap against the interviewer's cheek. "Later, tater," she remarks as she steps away from the door and lets it fly open, and in a burst of light-
"No!" Robyn suddenly shouts out, hands slamming down on her desk. Unexpectedly, she is out of breath. Eyes wide, she searches the room, to make sure she's back in her office, back in the now as she knows it. Everything is washed out, black and white - unlike what she had seen, presented to her in full, blinding colour.
Fingers curl inwards turning into fists as she slowly slinks down to her knees. One hand reaches up to her desk, pulling open a drawer and popping up a compartment to reveal a flask - lighter than she remembers it, and with a note from Nicole.
She ignores it as she curls up on the floor under her desk, momentarily terrified and fighting back tears over what she just had to see.
Whatever was happening now, she didn't want to think about it right now.
She'll just stay here until someone comes to check on her.