Dodgy Jammers


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Also Featuring:

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Scene Title Dodgy Jammers
Synopsis Citizens of Eltingville and soldiers alike are enticed by the goods available at the farmer's and flea market.
Date July 22, 2011

Eltingville Blocks

The Eltingville Blocks comprises three main areas of suburban territory, divided further into smaller districts. Formerly a simple neighbourhood of suburbia pre-Bomb, the Eltingville Blocks still contain the stink of abandonment and neglect for all that new structures are clustered here and there, such as new residential units, public facilities and retail outlets.

Many of the homes and buildings remain closed down and abandoned, but squatting and homelessness is circumvented by the fact that the Eltingville Blocks are heavily patrolled around their borders. But while the military can sweep through the territories themselves, the policing within is light-handed, neglected, and left to the devices of the people inside. As the population steadily climbs through the Resettlement Project, so does crime.

Graffiti of various kinds, old and new, mark grey and brown brick. Wire fences don't have razors on them until you get to the borders. The traffic is minimal, with cars mostly heard on Hylan Boulevard, which seems to have a near constant trickle of military vehicles perhaps on their way to Miller Airfield to the east. Weeds grow in anywhere green. Old businesses - a bias towards Italian names and restaurants, echoing of its culture prior to a mass exodus and re-population - are boarded over and left to rot, but there are corner stores, liquor stores, a few bars and a small, functioning economy, even if it spills out into the form of street markets, both daylight and legitimate as well as not.

The afternoon is a clean one, the weather behaving itself and deciding that perhaps, today, it will not grow terribly humid nor heated. It is warm enough to qualify as a summer day, though the dry breeze offers moments of coolness. The sky is a pale blue amidst smears of white clouds, and the sun finds himself stuck behind most of them.

The markets in Eltingville have been around virtually since it opened for residents; in time, however, one or two began to come out above the rest, and soon, it was only one. This one is not only a Farmer's Market, but it can be classified as a Flea Market as well. People bring items of all kinds to sell or trade, and many people that don't have the means to constantly go grocery shopping elsewhere come here for fresher produce and meat than can be offered by stamps at a store further away. Though the food vendors have to go through the usual channels of permit, and are usually let in from regional farms, the mass of them seem content to be wary of the locals. That is not to say, that some booths are not locals selling food wares-

Delilah Trafford is at one of these canopied tables, in a summery yellow floral dress that contrasts oddly with the fact she has shades of old bruises up the sides of her legs, and partly on her arms. Her face is even a bit plum colored around her cheek and nose, but Delilah seems to carry it as an athletic badge more than anything. She is sitting behind a tabletop of baked goods, and some jams and jellies. Simple things. Someone that's been on this circuit even from before they moved her here. Samson is at home today, and the stroller that Delilah has brought for her young son is marginally the size of the jogging stroller. Your basic city street stroller, braked at her side with its little redhaired passenger clutching onto a stuffed animal. Walter regards the world of legs and tables and canopies with bewildered blue eyes and a swiveling face, watching people pass by with children, and people picking through things in crates, inspecting as is normal. As for his mother, she is exchanging some words with a woman stopped at the table.

The market takes up a good chunk of the abandoned parking lot of an equally abandoned drugstore near the border of the neighborhood, and though it is popular, everyone for now seems to be getting along. There is, unfortunately, a presence of an army truck down the road. A couple of its young men have taken to come over to the market themselves, to both keep a closer eye and to show the people that they can be as mundane as anyone, automatic rifles or not. Whether this vague attempt at public relations is successful or not depends on who you ask.

It's been eons since she's managed any major heists, and Daphne's sticky fingers were getting a bit itchy with idleness — so it is a thieved nectarine that Daphne Millbrook eats as she strolls along the booths and tables. It took a good ten minutes of would-be nonchalant strolling before she finally mustered the courage (on the far side of the market away from the soldiers) to snatch the fruit from a basket and into a pocket.

It took another few minutes until she rounded another aisle before the forbidden fruit came out and to her lips for a bite of summery sweetness. It might be a touch on the reckless side, but what's life without a little challenge? Her free hand reaches up to rub her nose, giving a rueful look to the hot sun that seems intent on giving her more freckles on cheeks, nose, and her shoulders left bare by a turquoise tank top.

And speaking of breaking the law and long delays, there's Daryl hanging out among the crowd, keeping as low a profile as he can manage— which isn't much when you're wearing a neon green T-shirt. Sign up for volunteer work, check. Sneak in and see your girl, check. Sneak her out without setting off any alarms… that's still got him stumped, but he's spending the summer watching for an opportunity. Until then, he's window-shopping and acting harmless.

Sable's hair was going to be wet either way. Even in moderation the summer sun makes hauling ass around town and serving papers pretty sweaty work, and what started as a healthy sheen upon her return over the borders of Eltingville Blocks would be unbecoming if not cleaned, so a shower waylaid her and thus her hair would have been wet either way. But this way the dark spines the towel leaves smells of shampoo and soap, not salt and exertion.

She moves like maybe her legs ache, and there is a gingerness to the way she places a greeting kiss on Delilah's cheek as she saunters into the envelope of shade cast by the canopy. Minding well the lingering contusions.

"Move any macaroons, darlin'?" she inquires, setting in a false lean upon the handle of the stroller. Her yellow eyes slide out into the crowded market, flickering across the armed men and lingering there. Her smile is tinged with sardonicism. "Got some'a th' local constabulary comin' this way."

There's at least one new figure moving amongst the crod of people gathered for the market - flea, farmer's, whatever. It's an opportunity to buy some stuff without having to venture outside the confines of Eltingville, which while preferred, always seems to be too much of a hassle.

Well, at least too much of a hassle for this particular resident of the Blocks. Her brown hair done up in a ponytail, Sandi lets out a bit o a sigh as she moves from stall to stall. What should have been a fun afternon is turning into a bit of annoyance as Sandi finds nothing she'd been hoping too among the homegrown foods and other items. Maybe she was going to end up going out after all? Either way,s he's going to finish looking aound her at least, a smile offered in Delilah and Sable's direction as she starts towards their little setup.

The armored vehicle is given a wide berth as Delia makes her way into the market with her arms loaded with flowers. They're cut from the best bushes that she's grown, a little too much labor has gone into the pitiful little bouquets in her arms but she has a look of pride on her face all the same.

Dressed in a pair of cut off shorts and a simple short sleeved t-shirt. Her mid calf socks are folded down on one side, the other is pulled up just enough to attempt to hide the ankle bracelet that shows orange through the white material. She's trying to not be embarrassed about it.

Slipping past some of the less interesting booths, she stops at the baked goods and eyes a few tarts before looking up to notice all the familiar faces. Delilah, Sable, and Daphne are all given a smile before she plucks a little wild bluebell from one of the bunches of flowers and offers it over to Walter. "Hey little guy, how are you today? Are you getting all hand sticky?"

Delilah welcomes Sable with a smile and a hand that wanders under the table to produce the second of two foldout chairs- canvas on a four legged contraption that looks like a quiver of arrows before she opens the top and hands it over. "Plenty of macaroons, not as much banana bread." What can she do? People like cookie-treats a bit more, today. "Yeah, I've seen them around. I can't tell if they're trying to be intimidating or not." The redhead's smile wavers sheepishly, though picks back up when she finds that for a moment, things are gravitating nearer the table.

Walter, not having his faithful hund about to intercept strangers, is faced with the monumental task of socializing on his own. Delia leans in with the flower, and he eyeballs her- red hair, tall- that's okay, he supposes. One hand grips his stuffed animal, and the other one reaches up for the bluebell stem.

"I gave him raspberry jam earlier, it's like glitter- one touch and it is everywhere, and doesn't come off." Delilah smiles as the other woman offers the baby something, and he seems to want to take it. "It's only a matter of time before he learns to open things like jars and baggies. Dreading that part."

Daphne arches one dark brow as everyone she knows (and even likes) seems to congregate at one table, and heads that way herself, tossing what's left of the nectarine into a trash can as she moves by it, narrowly missing Daryl as the pit cuts off his path in a low arc. No harm, no foul, right?

"Always the social butterfly," she teases Delilah, but gives a smile to the others. "Or it might just be the smell of baked goods bringing everyone to you like flies to honey."

She peers at the goodies. "What's the chef's suggestion?"

"Then it wouldn't hurt none if I…" Sable presumes, leaning forward in her recently unfolded chair with wiggling fingers aiming for the slow moving banana bread. A moment later and she's nibbling on it with a squirrelish intentness, surveying the scene with the serenity of one who is getting her after-work sugar fix.

Damn soldiers. Inevitable that they'd be around somewhere, but why'd they have to be here? Haven't they got homes to invade or doughnuts to eat or something? Shaking his head, Daryl continues on, eyeing the latest knot of people— but giving the little kid a wide berth. Little kids spit up and stuff, after all. His attention is drawn more to one of the people talking with him, the one with the unobtrusive bulge down near the bottom of one leg.

There do seem to be a lot of people converging on one table, Sandi's eyes moving from face to ace as she smirks, recognising Daphne from the day before. She sidles her way over (as best as one can sidle a speedster, at least). "Surprised to see you out here," sheremas with a bit of a laugh. Hoping to pick up some new movies?" A good natured rib, punctuaged by a sodt ab of her elbow into Daphne's side. Shaking her head, she looks ahead to those at table, smiling at Dlilah and Sable for a moment, before turning to look at Walter. "Oh, don't tell me - he's for sale, too?"

Smiling a little wider at Delilah, Delia reaches toward Walter before actually asking his mother, "May I?" She doesn't seem as bothered by children and jammy fingers as her housemate was at the beginning of the month. Stopping from actually picking the baby up, she tucks a finger into one of his fists and wiggles it around in play.

"You're getting so big! Yes you are! Such a big big boy!" Her voice for dogs and voice for cats and voice for children is all the same, ultra high pitched and super excited. "You tell your mommy that handsome little devils like you are too cute to cause trouble!" With the hand that's been recently freed of the flower stem, she ducks in for a tickle of the fat little baby belly. "Until you're older… then you'll cause all sorts of trouble. Yes you will.."

When Sandi asks about the baby's price, Delia makes an exaggerated 'o' face to the little boy and claps her hand against her cheek. "Oh no! You tell her that Baby Wall-Eeee isn't for sale, no no no!"

"Or it could be the honey, I put it in some things- hey-" Delilah watches Sable's little hands go pecking about for food. "Well, I'd suggest the banana bread, but I've got gremlins in that, apparently." Her knuckles nudge against Sable's hip, more a taunt than admonishment. "If I tried to sell him, it wouldn't be here." Dee tells the new face with as much seriousness as possible- but it isn't much, considering. She offers Delia a grin, though. "Go ahead."

Walter has no idea what anyone is saying, but that doesn't mean he can't giggle at whatever it is that Delia is spouting, flower stemmed in one hand, and the other one being taken up by an offered finger. The baby snorgling is bound to give anyone a fit, good or bad; Walter's giggle turns into a chortle, and he squirms when he is tickled.

"You have no idea." Delilah laughs, leaning one elbow on the table, and her chin in her hand, as she turns eyes to regard Sandi again. "I can't sell you my firstborn, but I can sell you some chocolate chip cookies?" Or whatever tickles her fancy.

"No, Amadeus'll get me crappy movies out of the back of some guys' van, I'm sure," Daphne says of the strange roommate Sandi had the pleasure of not meeting yesterday at Daphne's place.

She waggles fingers in a blur of motion at Walter as he giggles, then turns back to the table, selecting a couple of items, then digging into her pocket for a crumpled up five-dollar bill. "Sandi, this is Delilah, that's Sable, that's Walter and Delia," she murmurs, good manners coming to the forefront before they fall away again as she points at each person. "Some of these people live here on purpose. Rent's cheap, I guess."

It's a slow process by which Daryl makes up his mind to approach the group more closely. Part of it is Walter's failure, at least thus far, to actually make a mess of anything. Part of it is Delia's comment about future troublemaking, which brings a sympathetic half-grin to his lips. But most of it is that last comment from Daphne, which promptly knocks the wind out of his don't-attract-attention mantra. "You're kidding, right?" he exclaims, nearly knocking down a rickety table as he backs into one end of it. "Gotta be. You mean somebody actually believes all that crap on TV?"

Sure, Odessa Price is able to purchase her groceries beyond the fenced-off community of the Eltingville blocks, and thus tends to have a well-stocked kitchen, but… This is her community! She should be a good patron, non?

Oui. Perusing the assorted offerings from the various stalls, strappy silver stilettos clicking is muted by the volume of others gathered for the same purpose. Fashion over practicality is further evident in the black skirt that hugs her hips and upper thighs that doesn't look terribly comfortable in this heat, apart from its length. (Or lack thereof?) The tanktop's hem that barely brushes her waistband is a royal blue that brings out the colour of her remaining eye. The velvet patch over the ruined one is a similar shade, dotted with silver stars.

Monovision sometimes messes with the woman's depth perception, but it isn't Odessa that walks into the table that she's browsing the goods laid out on. She saw something shiny, okay? It caught her attention. But her attention is broken and now she notices… People she actually knows! A wary look is cast to Daryl, who interrupted her blissful little shopping reverie. Her chin tilts upward to the gathering in silent greeting. She doesn't interrupt whatever this is about to turn into. Tirade, or fun rant?

Sable's smile over the last crust of the hastily devoured slice is appropriately gremlinish, and she has to clear the crumbs from her lower lip with the sweep of her hand. "We're waitin' f'r him t' mature in value-" is her position, vis a vis baby sales.

"How d'you do?" Sable says, inclining her head to Sandi upon the introduction. She folds her arms as she watches Delia be ever so Delia, lips twisting upwards at the corners.

This stops once Daryl invokes the duress some here live under. It's not a happy thing to think of, and while she generally salutes subversion… it's tough to live with, day to day. Odessa's appearance - well look who it is - prompts a thankful distraction. She lifts a hand, wiggles her fingers, like she's playing keys.

"Oh,wow, you know a lot of people. That's awesome." And for once, Sandi doesn't soun like she's being sarcastic, looking over at Daphne with a smile. "Clearly I need to hang out with you so much." The mention of getting movies out of the back of a van is rewarded with a rol of her eyes. "Of course he would. I can't decide if I want to meet this guy or not."

And then Daryl starts going on about something and Sandi just decides to ignore him in favour of leaning over towards Walter. "I dunno. THey depreciate in cuteness as they age. That's where, like, half the value comes from, isn't it?" She laughs, offering a finger to the young child as she looks around the table. "Yeah, Sandi. It's nice to meet you all! I didn't really expect to be meeting people out here." A look over to Odessa as she looms, but nothing really thought of it.

Swooping the baby up in her arms, Delia swings him into a little arm cradle and gets her nose only a hair from Walter's. "You tell them Wall-Ee, redheads never get uncute.. unless they're Carrot Top or that weird old Partridge guy!" The young nurse may be a bit biased in that regard. Swinging him a little closer to Sandi, she gives the baby just enough leeway to get a good grab (or feel).

Her attention is drawn by Daryl's statement, which is somewhat contrary to Daphne's. "Some of us did chose to live here, k— " she cuts herself off just before using the boys age in somewhat of a derogatory way, choosing instead to focus on the sparklies that are headed this way. "Hello Doctor Price, how are you?"

"Nice to meet you, Sandi." Delilah has short time to offer a friendly smile, as Daryl has come slinking over to corral what he must think is a lapse on Daph's behalf. "I live here because I was moved here. And they gave me a house. I have to take care of Walter first, I can't be getting too political about things." There is little actually keeping her there, perhaps, but for the moment, Daphne is correct in that costs are what Dee accepts as a public excuse. Ask in private, and you will get a most different answer.

Walter is rather easygoing, still, though in a few weeks shyness may grow to be part of daily activity. He'll understand more and more that not everyone is there for his amusement. Today, though, he is as wide-eyed as ever, attempting to stick the flower in his mouth while at the same time grabbing at Sandi's finger.

"We'll see. I'm hoping I'll have a handsome son to marry off and give me grandbabies or something. That sounds about right."

The speedster snorts a little at Sandi's exuberance at meeting the group and needing to hang with Daphne more often. "Probably not," she says in regards to meeting Amadeus. "Unless you're hoping to score a different kind of brownie." She nods toward the baked good table.

Daryl's remark earns an arch of brows in his direction, then catches sight of Odessa. Her brows knit and she tips her head before looking away again, discounting the familiarity as coincidence.

Turning his attention to the mom of the group, Daryl nods and bites his lip, holding back the rest of that rant-in-progress. "Yeah, I can see that. Still sucks, but looks like you two are doing okay." Easy to miss amidst the various threads of conversation is the slight emphasis on 'you two'… okay, holding back most of the rant, at least.

With that said, he returns his attention to Delia, scratching his head. "So how come, then? I mean, I don't get it." I'm not quite a rude enough kid to call you stupid to your face.

"Delia," Odessa offers in return to her greeting. "I'm just fine. That trend should continue as long as my SPF continues to hold out." Pale as she is, freckles that don't otherwise show have seemingly been dusted onto her prominent cheekbones and along her nose. She also catches sight of Daphne, a bright and short-lived smile on her scarred lips that disappears when she's not acknowledged.

Not something she's unused to. Melancholy is briefly abated by distraction, however. "Oh my gosh, are those Jammie Dodgers?" Apart from the scars and the fucked up eye and the snow white of her hair, Odessa's also developed quite the appetite since she last crossed paths with Daphne. This much is evident in the way that the ridges of her ribs don't show through the fabric of her clinging clothes the way they otherwise used to. "They look delicious."

When Walter takes her finger, Sandi laughs, shaking her head. "Wow, you sound just like a sitcom mom, Delilah. If you get into the same inda hijinks, I'm all for it, though." Her other hand reaches up, ruffling Walter's hair as she grins at him. "What do you think, Wally? Wishing this were a Look Who's Talking at this point, I bet."

Standing back up from the boy, she looks back over between the others gathered around. She blinks, looking back at Odessa with a tilted head. "Jammie Dodgers?" Whatever those are, she doesn't really know. Instead, she's looking at the bread. "Do you have, like, a whole loaf of that? I'd love to take some back to my apartment, if you can spare it."

Daryl's question is met with a slight raise of one eyebrow and the lift of one shoulder in a shrug. "I moved here with my housemate," it's a simple enough answer and directly afterward she glances down to the anklet that she's been trying to hide with a sock, the little Walter in her arms is held firmly but also tilted in the same direction. "If you're referring to that thing on my ankle, I got it recently."

With that, she turns her attention back to Odessa and widens her eyes a little, bringing Walter's cheek to her own and smooshing their faces together. "What's a jammie dodger? Someone that doesn't like bedtime?"

"Better a sitcom than a drama, right?" Delilah is used to weird people; if she recognizes anything about Odessa as she comes over, she won't say anything- as far as she is concerned, Odessa is here for cookies. "Why yes ma'am, they are. Used my own plum jam. My aunt loves it, but she can't have all of it. So I reuse it. You guys can try some if you'd like. I have some whole loaves of most things, if you don't want the pieced." Dee is quick to offer samples and suggestions, partly because she doesn't want to take home food when she could have been getting coin off of it. Oh- coin- "Sable? can you go get me some change from John?" Though there is little other choice- Dee practically shoves the cash in her hand and sets her sailing out from behind the booth, moving with sore limbs off to do as she's asked.

Walter finds his face being smooshed, and wiggles, planting his hand on Delia's eye to push at her head. "It's a cookie."

The voice that comes floating into the conversation is a young, masculine one, followed by its host- one of the two soldiers that was milling around the market. Seeing as Delilah had so offered, he helps himself to one off of the plate of samples, all gloved hands and drab colors, his rifle slung across his back. The other one, a taller, more distinctly sour-looking version, seems to want nothing to do with this, and stands off near the next booth down.

When she hears Odessa speak, the speedster turns back, head tilting and brows drawing together in concern and worry for her fellow time-traveler, but she's distracted like a nervous rabbit by many things at once.

Namely, free cookie samples and soldiers coming closer.

Holding her bag of paid-for goodies but still helps herself to a sample — free food is free! — to nibble on, Daphne casts a glance behind her at the soldiers before flitting just a touch too fast so that her turquoise and gray and white blurs for a split second, until she stands next to Odessa. "What the hell happened?" she whispers in a low voice, dark eyes wide as she peers into the other woman's face. It's not the time or place (or the right company) for the story, of course.

"I was, yeah," Daryl replies, glancing downward just long enough to acknowledge the anklet without calling any further undue attention to it. Is he on the side of the residents or the organizers? He hasn't actually said, but he isn't ranting about how it's Not Going Far Enough, at least.

Once again, he lets the general chatter - about the baby and the food and the people who in some cases already know each other - pass him by, looking vaguely bored but not enough to wander off somewhere else. And do either of those soldiers feel like stirring the pot further? That seems to be the real wild card for the moment.

Odessa's visible eye grows wide with delight. "Ooooh. Jammie Dodgers are the best." She immediately fishes into the left side of her tank top where it would appear she's wedged her money clip between her ribcage and her brassiere. "Can I buy…" She draws a small, vague circle in the air over the display of baked goods as if trying to decide how many she wants before she settles on, "All of them? These would be great in care packages."

Then there are soldiers, and there's Daphne at her shoulder. This is the sort of conversation where Odessa should wave her hand and give them privacy for. It wouldn't even take the normal amount of effort, being as how Daphne by default circumvents Odessa's brand of time stop. Except that it isn't an option anymore. And while it occurs to her that it would be much easier if she could bring the scene around them to a screeching halt, she finds she doesn't feel the pang of longing for the ability she once did. Its loss isn't the tragedy it once was.

It just is.

One hand comes up over the shopper's mouth as if in contemplation, to mask the movement of scarred lips. "I jumped a bitch," white whispers to platinum. "She jumped me back." Then Odessa's hand drops again and her attention shifts back to Delilah again, all smiles even if she does flicker a glance to the soldier helping himself to samples. She should probably feel more ill at ease than she does. A symptom of her special brand of psychosis?

Cheerfully, the doctor with a sweet tooth asks, "How much for the lot?"

The unexpected voice of the man with the rifle causes Delia to nearly fumble little Walter out of sheer fright. Lucky for Walter, the arm he's using to push at the young woman's eye belongs to the armpit used to reaffirm her hold. The jolt has her unnerved enough to quickly pass the baby back to his mother, while murmuring a quick apology.

One hand that's not in the pile of cookies is hers. Instead, she hunches her shoulders defensively in an effort to seem smaller and perhaps a little more invisible to the man with the gun. "I— I have to go…" is the closest thing to an apology that any of her friends receive before Delia nudges out of the little group in an attempt to escape the market and the man attracted by cookies.

"Care package issa'xactly what I'm talkin'about." The young man, in his size-too-big uniform, seems less concerned about people passing off babies, and more concerned with the food. About now, they can notice the plastic bag hanging from one of his wrists; this isn't the first table he's been to. "I think we're deserving of a little care, right? For lookin'out for you? I'm sure you don't mind." Dark hair and a weaselly face, it comes as no giant shock when he decides to just relieve the table of a few of the packages of baked food. Delilah, holding onto the baby, courtesy of Delia, says absolutely nothing, pressing her lips together and all but biting off her tongue.

"However much you want to give me. Most of it's a few dollars each. Whatever is in the coolers is a bit less, it's older." Delilah addresses Odessa explicitly, turning a not-so-blind eye (no offense) to whatever it is that the market guard wants to do.

Maybe because he's done it more than once? Possibly.

Chewing on her lip, Daphne peers at the 'nightingale' for another moment, then shakes her head. "Remind me not to piss you off," she finally settles on, letting her eyes drift to the guard and his antics.

Her mouth screws to the side and her arms cross; she looks ready to "sass" but something's holding her back — maybe the anklet on her leg. Possibly the scars visible beneath the t-strap of her tank top.

It holds her back for a moment — which to her is a lifetime. Her feet fidget, one foot blurring forward and then back. Like a cat waving its tail, she's indecisive. "Funny, I thought you got paid for that," she points out at last.

This is not an unfamiliar concept for Daryl, taking things without giving anything back— only, at least in his mind, his targets actually kind of deserve to get screwed over. These folks with the cookies don't; never mind that the soldiers might genuinely believe their own line.

It's a petty reason to take a risk. But goddamn, it's just irresistible.

Shaking his head, he turns and walks away, appearing to wash his hands of the matter— only to fade out of sight as soon as no one seems to be watching, or at least once he's out of sight of the uniformed thugs. And then, quietly creeping back, he slo-o-owly reaches his hands toward the stray ends of their bootlaces. It always works in the movies…

"No, no, dear. Certainly not enough." Odessa peels out a twenty from her clip as she responds to Daphne without really looking back, if only to keep the situation at hand in sight. The cash is passed to Delilah. "Here. All yours if you'll box these up for me and let me pick 'em up a bit later? Pretty please?" She may have just tried to wink. But it's really hard to tell when a girl only has one eye to work with.

And it's possible it was a wink, because Odessa is turning to the soldier looking for handouts and flashing him her best smile. "You know, I could not agree more. You do us such a favour, keeping us all safe in here." (Well-feigned) Sincerity is almost unbecoming on the woman whose white ponytail bounces as she turns her head from one side to the other and claps three times for the soldiers. "Bravo." Then, she leans in conspiratorially with a smirk playing on her lips, "Say, would you mind walking me home? I've got a nice bottle of vodka at my place that I would be more than happy to share with you for your trouble. It's just over on Thornycroft."

The soldiers are really the only thing that make Sandi uncomfortable with living with Eltingville. Maybe not as much as others, since they don;t really bother her and she can come and go as she pleases. But soldiers should make anyone nervous, and even if she does't have an explicit reason to be, that doesn't mean that their presence doesn't have that affect on her. Her arms cross acrros her chest as she looks down at the cookies, suddenly becoming very quiet, a look of annoyance coming across her voice. "Hey. Maybe I wanna buy a few," she grumbles at Odessa, not paying her much mind as she speaks to the men.

"Tell you what, I'll let Sandi here take some off my hands, if she wants, and I can box you the rest? I'll be here a bit yet, I'm afraid." If just so that she doesn't have to deal with the guys here hovering around her food. Delilah ignores them. "I can stick around, surely." Walter peers past his mother's neck while the young soldiers stand in pecking order, doing more than looking out for anyone. Dee seems to be edging more towards the edge of her chair, too.

"Eh? They don't pay us rat shit." He is so eloquent, though his words may or may not be true. They must have found this guy under a rock somewhere in Brooklyn, as he can't seem to pick up on something. Part of him knows that he's being made fun of, but only until he gets an opportunity to look Odessa over. After that, he's distracted, and the dour fellow with him is eyeballing a package of tarts on the table.

"Ya got your own legs, don't you?" Maybe not the usual reply Odessa gets. With his bag a couple things heavier, the dark-haired soldier shifts and moves to step away from the table. Unfortunately, he gets about half a step before he goes tipping forward, one boot jerking upwards under him; he, and the bag of things he's commandeered from the market, go clattering hard onto the asphalt. Wuh-oh.

"At least you're allowed to work," says the now-sassy Daphne, but her eyes widen and she backs up when the soldier goes tumbling; this time, she grabs Odessa's arm and takes the other woman with her. when their forms coalesce once more into "solids," they're five feet away.

"Crap," Daphne mutters under her breath — if anyone's the obvious suspect, it might be her: fast enough to cause mischief before it's noticed. She knows she's innocent, of course.

"You can share it with me, instead," she suggests to Odessa. "I'm fastest martini shaker in the … anywhere."

Just after the soldier goes flailing down, Daryl reappears - there's still some telltale dirt and grime on his knees, which hopefully they'll be too distracted to notice - and has the gall to act surprised by his own handiwork. "Whoa, you okay there?" he calls out, offering the man a hand up. Unaware that anyone else present might offer a convenient scapegoat, he's just trying to deflect suspicion from himself.

Outwardly, Odessa appears gracious as she responds to the soldier. "Of course I do, but I'm no imposing figure." She really thought the bottle of vodka would be enough to get the neanderthal to look past her scars and follow along with her, leave these people alone.

Inwardly, Odessa is seething. It's just about all she can do to keep herself from shaking with anger. For a moment, she almost wonders if it's through sheer force of will that she caused the bastard to go tumbling. She goes half-stumbling back when Daphne tugs her along, and there's a real urge to mutter, your own legs don't seem to work.

She's grateful to have a little distance now, at least. Odessa turns to Daphne, gaze a little wide. "Let's get the fuck outta here and I'll share the whole thing with you."

When the soldier goes tumbling downwards, Sandi lets out a quiet "eek!" and does a half step jump back - clearly she's caught off guard at what just happened. But once it settles and people aren't falling anymore, she can't help but smirk. Inside, she's cheering just as much as she's dreading what the soldier is going to have to say for these little shenanigans. Almost assuredly one of them's going to get blamed, and that should be a whole ton of fun. Daphne and the other woman being gone leaves her at a little bit of a loss, taking another step back as she looks up at Delilah and smiles. "I'll just get some next week. You'll be back next week, right?" She doesn't really look like she plans on sticking around for an answer.

"Yeah, yeah." Delilah, at this point, is only half answering Sandi, her eyes drawn more to the soldiers and whatever antics have caused that mess. There aren't words for how angry the shorter soldier is, now; he's swearing, but if you can catch any one word at first, that would be a miracle.

"Fuck off, brat-" He practically swats Daryl's arm away, stubbornly pushing himself awkwardly off of the ground, one hand going to yank hard at the knot of his bootlaces. His friend seems far less angry, slightly amused, but still, he finds the prank enough of a threat that he tips the rifle at his hip into both of his hands. His friend has more of something in mind, though, and true to form, he reels on the most likely suspect, pivoting his head to look after Daphne from his seat on the ground. "You little bitch. Think this is cute, don't you?" The laces come apart, and he rights himself onto both feet, starting after her.

"Sounds g-" Daphne is saying to her re-found friend before the soldier is moving her way. To run or not to run — that is the question. She's not about to let him manhandle her, but she doesn't want to run and be thrown in any smaller of a prison than the one she's already in. "N-no," she manages, as she backs up, pulling Odessa with her, keeping a few feet away — for every step he takes, she takes two.

"I didn't do that — you would have felt it if I moved that fast. See?" She lets go of Odessa's arm to rush in toward the guard and then back away, just out of his reach again, so that his hair and clothing are rustled by her wake.

"It was probably," Daphne adds, pointing below the table, "some little kid that none of us noticed because we were all watching the cookies."

She shrugs, holding up her hands in rsignation as her head cants in a mock-sympathetic manner. "Whatcha gonna do, huh?" And she dances back another couple of steps.

"Hey, fuck you too, pal!" Way to be ungraceful and ungracious there, Private Dickweed. Daryl will not be offering you help again any time soon, not even fake help. He might need to do something about your partner's rifle there in a second, though.

Little kid? Right, little kid. He'd better jump on that bandwagon, before they go and mess with Daphne for something she didn't do. "Yeah, you know how kids are, right? Just go in and fuck with stuff for a laugh."

"It's true. She was right at my side the whole time." Odessa offers quickly in further defense of Daphne. Her gaze wanders after Daryl for a moment, at first concerned when he's swatted at…

Before he smarts off and she tilts her snowy head in his direction. "How'd you get the dirt on your knees?" Sorry, kid.

"Dude, shut up," Sandi responds, pushing Daryl a bit as she backs away. Oh yeah, curse back at the soldiers. That'll get them to leave us alone. She grits her teeth a bit, looking around nervously for a way to get away without getting hurt if things go awry.

The soldier that was pinioning Daphne for her involvement, starts back when she zips up into his face, and back again. It crosses his face with a short burst of temper. "Stay away from me, or I'll call your anklet in." The threat isn't empty. "I don't care which one of you did it. I could have you all taken into custody for lack of cooperation." His mouth edges into a vile little smile, and really, the effect is unpleasant. His friend passes as ambivalent here, which is somewhat odd; he holds his rifle, though he does not appear invested. Maybe he doesn't care where this goes. Or maybe he's more invested in not making anything worse.

"I'll be back again, don't you all worry- you'll see my handsome face every time." A jerky shrug of his shoulders puts his hand down to take the bag up again. "And maybe I'll be looking for troublemakers. No telling what people do behind your backs." More vague threats, probably not so empty either.

"Stay away. Got it," Daphne repeats. "There's one thing you and I agree on, champ."

With that, she grabs Odessa once more. She throws a quick wave toward the others she knows, and then the two become a blur streaking out of the parking lot. True to Daphne's word, there is that wake of wind that ruffles hair and clothing and the bag the soldier holds.

"I was trying to help that—!" retorts Daryl, not missing a beat this time. He could have gotten down far enough to get his knees dirty. But then Odessa's suddenly gone, and the soldiers are doing likewise… he shakes his head and turns to follow suit, wondering about the situation. Did he just make things on the island better or worse, in the end?

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