Done Deal


isis_icon.gif patrick_icon.gif

Scene Title Done Deal
Synopsis Isis sets everything to rights and returns Patrick's body to its rightful, and understandably grumpy, owner.
Date June 19,2009

Central Park

Within Patrick's body, Isis was already seated in Central Park. She knew even before she made the call that he'd come - he had to come. She lifts Pat's cellular phone and punches in the digits of her own number before bringing the little speaker up. Through Patrick's baby blues she watches the afternoon crowd thinning, people heading home to enjoy a dinner. Suddenly she wished she had been able to enjoy that last nice meal in the Italian restaurant before returning to her own, mediocre life.

Patrick in Isis' body is easy to spot, and not because of its familar configuration. He is not walking like a woman. There's an awkward shuffle to the stride, like he's trying to be unattractive. At first glance, it might look like he's just got her hair tied back. But no. It's been chopped short. Fortunately, the hairdresser refused to give such a lovely young woman a masculine haircut, so it's feathered and neat. But it's short. He's clad Isis' body in the loosest pair of pants he could find in her wardrobe, paired it with the loosest t-shirt and covered that with what looks like a men's dress shirt salvaged from somewhere.
Isis gets to see herself as a grunger, apparently. Not a bit of makeup, unsurprisingly, and a pair of dark sunglasses to conceal the woman's eyes.
When he spots his own body, he nearly runs, though that causes a few glances of attention, so he slows his stride. He stops in front of Isis, the woman's lips curled up in preparation for nasty words that he wants to let slip. But he doesn't. She still has his body hostage, for all she's sitting right there. "Can I have my life back now?"

Patrick's cerulean, vibrant gaze scans the surroundings. And, it certainly is not a hard task pegging out her rightful form. Thankfully Isis is not much of a girly-girl, nor is she apt to care what people think, and so the clothes and the demeanor with which her body is drawn through the park have no affect. Then she spots her hair. Her lovely, long, curly red hair! It's gone!
Patrick's body jolts up from the bench, only to settle to a still, statuesque posture with fists clenched at his sides. "What did you do?" That atmosphere around them darkens slightly - a small illusion, a small loss of control, and a fact that is barely noticed by the few passersby seeking a path home. "You can have it back as soon as a few things are made clear," Isis notes, Patrick's voice a deep, stern note.

"What did I do? You fucking stole my life. You don't get to make the accusations here, princess." Patrick steps towards Isis in his body like he's still six foot and well-muscled. He still manages to make her look fairly threatening, but there's an edge of comedy to it as well. It's not quite the right posturing to work with this body.
But he simmers down, wrinkles his nose and rocks back on his, her, heels. He goes silent. Terms. Great.

Isis looks down upon her rightful body. The comedic note to her anger - it was the story of her life, in truth - a ruthless anger at times that always seemed somehow wrong in the tiny little frame. She passes a sigh over Patrick's lips before stuffing her hands in her pockets. "I know things…" She begins with a deadly serious tone. "I managed to play you successfully for a few days, and I've learned enough. We cut ties here. Completely. I don't want to hear a whisper about any of this coming back to haunt me. It was a mistake, pure and simple. You get your body and your life back. No harm, no foul. You forget me and anything you learned about me, and I'll do the same for you and yours. You got that?"

It takes a second for Patrick to clue in just what Isis means. He flares the redhead's nostrils, shoulder-squares and eyenarrows. "Fine." She doesn't need to know he went to the cops. She'll figure that out soon enough. He'll keep up his end of the bargain by just not following it up. And probably getting the hell out of New York.

A brow lifts into a subtle arc upon Patrick's rightful visage. That was easy. Easy things made her apprehensive. Still, she couldn't turn back and she couldn't stall this forever. "Deal." She stretches out one of Patrick's bare hands.

Patrick eyes his own hand, then looks up at the person in his body. He reaches out to grab hold firmly. Isis' strength is no match for the native strength of his own body, but he'll try, just in case she has second thoughts and decides to run off with his body again.

Isis makes no effort to instill a strength or tension into her end of the shake. It wasn't out of kindness, though. No, there would simply be no need for it. She makes no effort to smooth the uncomfortable and painful process of the swap. The first tip of contact has a lasso around both psyches. Like a hook impaled into one's navel, the force wrenches each consciousness into the opposite body, restoring things to their rightful order and leaving one disassociated. Luckily, it was an experience that Isis was getting used to. An advantage in this particular case. She shakes her hand free of the loose grip she had left Patrick with and stumbles back, shaking her head to clear her vision of the lingering stars and glimmers in the frame of her vision. "Goodbye," she bites quickly before turning away and doing her best to hurry through the park without drawing attention, looking back to be sure no chase is made, with every hope of clearing the area that might be infected should Patrick seek to use his damnable ability.

Luckily for Isis, Patrick was no more prepared for the swap than he was the first time. Well, maybe a little, but not enough to allow him access to his ability right away. His vision blurrs and he's forced to slump back onto the bench. By the time he gets his bearings back, Isis is already a good distance away.
He scowls at the redhead's retreating back, pats himself down to make sure everything is where it's supposed to be, then starts to head off quickly in the opposite direction. Time for damage control.

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