Participants:
| Scene Title | Emergency Sleepover |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | After meeting a cute guy, there's really only one thing for it. |
| Date | June 22, 2018 |
Stretching.
It was a meditative exercise and one that Lucille indulged in often, keeping her limber and adding to the draw towards her center that she liked to stay balanced in. The training room was empty but Lucille had long since wound down, her breathing is even and eyes closed she goes through a few motions before exhaling and pulling herself up into a stand.
Tank top and shorts with bare feet as the woman pads out softly to the hallway angling towards her room. She drags a hand through her shoulder length auburn hair pulling it from its ponytail, staring pale blue eyes at the strands of hair in between her fingers, she needed a trim but the length was nice. Luce had missed her long hair, maybe she’d keep it.
Blowing the strands away from her hand she turns the corner to slip into the hallway with the doors leading into each Hound’s respective quarters.
Whatever peace Luce has gained from her meditation, Berlin barrels right through it. As Luce rounds the corner toward the rooms, Berlin is rounding it from the opposite direction. Looking for her.
She finds her by smacking right into her.
"Oh! God," Berlin says, "Sorry Luce." She doesn't ask if she's okay, because she knows it takes more than that to bruise a Hound. "I was looking for you," she says as she gets her own footing back. "You have time for a sleepover tonight?"
It's important not to have any big missions or meetings on the docket, a morning after one of their sleepovers. Between losing out on any actual sleep and the booze that is typically present, it can be a challenge.
Reflexively Lucille throws her hands out to grasp Berlin whose bumped into her. It's been a few months since her healing and the old habits of rearing away from someone has started to recede, she's getting back to normal.”Hey!” Shrugging off the apology it's no big.
A mischievous glint in her eyes as she nods and leans in, “I'm there.” They had to catch up of course and if there weren't any meetings or assignment in the morning then hell yes to booze and sleepovers. “Come to my room!” Calling out as she walks over to open the door before sliding in.
Berlin smiles at her friend's easy acceptance and enthusiastic invitation. She doesn't need to be asked twice. She follows Luce in, clearly counting on her friend to share pajamas, even, because she hasn't brought anything with her. Or maybe she just forgot about that part.
When she's inside the room, she closes the door and leans back against it. "There is a really cute guy in the Market down in the safe zone," she says, words tripping over each other, "and I think he was flirting with me but I'm pretty sure I only said dumb things. Luce, help me."
Of course, it is too late for help now, but still. She asks.
Sweeping into her room and going towards the desk to lean in and pull out a bottle of mezcal and putting it on the table, a pair of glasses follows and the woman grins widely at her friend, “A cute boy?” Eyebrows raising and she remembers when she would fumble her own words. Luce pours a finger, no two fingers each and sets the bottle on the desk and walks over to hand Berlin the other glass, “Okay sit tell me everything,” Before she told Colette because let's be honest who was the better romance advice giver?
Ah well Luce was single but still.
Motioning to the bed that is burdened with books, stories of the Vanguard, abilities, several sections visible from the open books highlighted on life force manipulation. “Uh sorry I've been doing some reading since our visit to Julie. She scratched my bug.” The reader in her was loving the knowledge she was absorbing from the texts.
A busted up copy of The Sight by David Clement-Davis lays on top most of the books though, her latest or repeat indulgence in that fantasy epic. “Lemme move these,” Going to close them and place them on the floor in a neat stack.
Taking the glass, Berlin responds to the question of everything with an embarrassed noise in the back of her throat. But she comes over to the bed, blinking at the collection of books piled up there. She picks up one, looking at the highlighted section before she glances over at Luce. "If you find out what life force is supposed to be, let me know," she says, her tone only gently teasing. "Because right now it only makes me think that Volken was more into yoga than we ever thought."
But she helps move the books, too, before she hops onto the bed. Kazimir Volken was not the boy she came here to talk about, after all. She downs her finger and sets the glass aside before she looks over at Lucille again.
"His name is Rory. He's a terrakinetic and he has a stall at the market in Red Hook. He makes these stone statues. They're really beautiful." And a peek into Berlin's room would show a collection already growing because she left the market with two of them already. "He's British, but sort of trying to downplay that. He's terrible at it." But, Expressives in England aren't in a good place, so Berlin can understand if he'd rather avoid the subject.
A bark of laughter at the mental image of Kazimir and the Vanguard in child's pose in a wide open warehouse. “I've been reading up on it and ya.. they were a wild bunch.” To say the least. “Life-force,” her eyes roll, “Is complicated as fuck. But.” A shrug, she’ll keep reading and that's all she says on that as they finish moving the books and crouching on the bed. A sip of her mezcal a signal that's she's ready for the tea to be spilled.
And Berlin spills.
…
The older woman leans in with a smile, “Did he make your heart quake?” Ducking back with a laugh before Berlin can swat her hopefully. She keeps blue eyes trained on her friend and waves her hand, “I'm sorry I couldn't help it.” Luce couldn't. A light grin on her face as she threads a hand through longer locks than usual. “He's got an accent. He should work it!” Though she frowns because she knows of the status overseas. She's lost contact with many friends who helped her along the way when she was smuggled back into the country. “Well.. when's the first date?” A dark grin.
"Luce!" Berlin's swat misses, so she picks up a pillow to throw at her. Mind the mezcal! "I can't believe you just said that. Awful." At the question— the question— Berlin groans and falls back on the bed, covering her face with her hands. "There is no first date!" Her hands lift and then flop back to the bed in a helpless gesture.
"I ended up talking to him about goats and salt for some reason," she says before she sits back up again sharply. "I have no idea what I'm doing," she says in wide-eyed realization. "He probably thinks I'm such a weirdo. I mean— ugh, he was there to sell things, he was probably just being nice so he wouldn't drive off a sale."
This thought is just terrible and Berlin drops back down with a groan.
A hand goes out to grab the pillow and she swings it at Berlin’s knees in retaliation with a grin, “Oh come on!” Taking a healthy gulp of the smoky liquor before she's leaning on one hand to tilt her head over at the younger inexperienced woman. She and Col forgot sometimes, how young she actually was. Well that was a testament to Berlin’s maturity. The way she looked at life, Luce didn't always feel like she was the older of the two. But in this instance, “I'm telling you. You’re are a hot, badass, totally genius woman.”
A wink, “Oh he definitely wants to go on a date.” And to sell his wares but who could fault him for that times were tough and they weren't hurting that's for sure. Lucille takes a moment to stare are Berlin, “One you're not a weirdo and two,”
Sly smile on her face, “When are you seeing him again?” she doesn't let up. “I mean what, you’re obviously intrigued! It's just like with a source,” Luce’s crooked smile flashes bright. “The universe is giving you some bait, you better take it.” This earnest view from Lucille comes with her healing, her outlook on life and happiness different again.
Berlin chuckles at the retaliation, because it's hard to stay in a bad mood around Luce. She rolls onto her side to look over at her at the compliments. "And we don't like guys who are intimidated by women like us," she says, because she's hardly the only person around here that fits the description. It's probably in the hiring protocols.
Luce's confidence in him wanting a date gets Berlin to sit up again. She doesn't know that she agrees, but she hopes Luce has it right. "Pretty sure I'm a little weird," she notes, but with a crooked smile.
"Next week," she says, her smile widening. Because she's looking forward to it. She's probably going to be frazzled all week waiting for it. "He told me he'd be there next week. That's… that's like an invitation, right?" And yes, she is obviously intrigued. "Usually if someone is baiting you, there's a trap on the other side of it. I guess I better be careful with the universe," she says, trying to sound dry, but she's too excited to hit it.
Leaning in at the words ‘Next Week’ Lucille taps her chin with a fingertip as she regards Berlin the look one she received on go-sees as a model (God things were different now), appraising her friend. “It's an invitation and he'd be a real idiot if he wasn't meaning to extend it.” Luce is all about building that confidence of homegirls up up up up. Rory could have been just stating a fact but, “I've noticed people always have a reason for saying what they do. Even if the reason is subconscious.”
There goes some more hope because damn it, Burr deserved a nice dude and Luce was all for this okay?
“Not all traps end up with you in tears.” Thoughtfully as Lucille leans back and takes another sip of her drink before going to retrieve the bottle walking on her tiptoes, feet sweeping the ground. “You just have to remember to keep breathing. And think before you speak. You're good at it.” A compliment to the younger woman, the smile on Lucille’s face radiates, “You look perfect as you are so.. but maybe a mini? I have this leather one whoa Burr.” Its like 2009 resurfaced inside of Lucille as her mind goes wild with all the outfit possibilities. She had thought she’d be a stylist once she got too old to walk the runway. How wrong she was.
All that confidence building has Berlin giving Luce a sideways look. Her cautious nature rearing up in that look. The higher she goes, the worse the fall when this all turns out to be her imagination, after all. But she can't help the bubble of anticipation forming in her chest— she wants Luce to be right, maybe more than she fears her being wrong.
"Most of them do," she says, eventually. Of traps. She watches Luce go, her steps almost like a dance. But that wasn't so odd, somehow Luce always managed to look like she was still ready for a photoshoot to break out, even when they were all out in full tac gear. Maybe especially then. "Breathing and thinking, hopefully I can remember that." And then, after space for a blink, "A mini what, Luce?"
If there was one thing that fell by the wayside for many ex-Ferry kids— or this one, at least— it was fashion trends.
"I can't wear leather, what if I see an Institute guy and have to kick his ass?"
“Mini skirt,” like duh, “Wear tights under! Listen you can kick ass in a miniskirt and heels.” Luce had done it. The leather comment gets a laugh though and Lucille sighs, “Leather can still work, it's a skirt!!” Breaking out into laughter she pours more of the mezcal into her bottle before slinking over to the do the same for Berlin.
“Listen I've been a cynic for a long time,” something Berlin knows even though she got to the core of Lucille. “I think if there's someone that makes your heart thump a little harder you should be around them more.” Luce has a wandering thought of if she's a goddamn matchmaker now. First her dad and Huruma.. and now this. Love conquers all, she wants to roll her eyes but the mood is positive and she wants to continue to push Berlin in that upward direction.
“If you had the choice of a perfect date. Like fuck reality just go balls to the wall with it, tell me.”
"Luce, I don't own tights or heels," Berlin says, almost as if the very thought of it makes her panic a little. "Let's work up to skirts, okay? Baby steps." Very tiny baby steps maybe, but she's not refusing altogether, which is progress. She considers that outlook, about grabbing onto things that make you feel a little more. Her gaze falls to her newly refilled glass as it twists between fingers, as if the mezcal might be able to tell her if it would be such a bad thing, to let her heart thump a little harder. "What if it turns out to be nothing?"
She looks back up at those last words, looking a little lost there. Because she doesn't know. Instead of settling for that answer, though, she tilts her head to think about it. It's slow in coming, but when she has the idea, it hits her fully formed— like seeing it in a movie.
"Imagine," she states, settling into a cross-legged position once she has the moment in her head, "breaking into a museum after hours— not to steal anything, but just to be the only two people there. Everything's quiet, steps echo through open rooms, and you try to only whisper to each other even though you keep making each other laugh. And you fall in love looking at something beautiful, like… Il Bacio. And after you sneak back out, neither of you wants to go home, so you walk along a river and watch how the sky looks reflected in the water and you pretend like the night's going to go on forever."
She glances over at Lucille, her expression a little embarrassed because the answer is full of sentiment and romance and fantasy instead of something more flashy.
"Please don't laugh."
“Sometimes it is but anyone who can have that effect on you can teach you a valuable lesson, about yourself.” That might be a selfish thing to state but it makes it no less true. “Every heartbreak just another lesson.” It's not said with bitterness or regret. Lucille swallows down some of the mezcal and settles down on the edge of the bed.
Berlin’s tale of the perfect date/art heist gets a small smile out of the woman but she doesn't move to mock or anything of the sort. Her shoulders roll back and she tilts her head at the younger woman. “Oh you are a romantic. This is good.” Much better than someone who just wants to watch a movie and fuck. At least in her book. “I don't think Rory will be bored with you. Anyone for that matter.” Because it is healthy to acknowledge yes there could definitely be others.
“Also,” an afterthought she wished had told herself before punching Tahir in the face when they first reunited, “Be open to second chances. We’re..” her expression grows dark. “Fickle little things, human beings. Flip flop in our desires. Sometimes we just need to grow. It's hard for someone to see that.” Hard for her at times, here's hoping she can take some of her own advice. Gulp.
Berlin groans a little at being called a romantic, even though she can't really deny it. It's just somewhere in her mind the mix of badass and romantic clash— or she thinks they should. "Well, I hope he isn't bored. Him or anyone else," she adds, because she doesn't want to let herself get carried away and the reminder is a good one.
She lifts an eyebrow at the notion of second chances, but she keeps her thoughts on it quiet until Lucille actually finishes. It is hard, even contemplating the hypothetical idea of letting it go if that fickleness were directed at her. But, in the end, she nods. "That's… true. That we need to grow. That we're always growing. I… will keep that in mind."
“It's hard to know what's cool and what's not. Fuck I still don't have it right.” Another lingering thought on Tahir at this point she's projecting and it's noticeable to the woman and Luce shrugs it off. “You've got a good head on your shoulders and I think.. I think you've got this.” Another smile from Berlin’s partner in crime.
Laying back on the bed her head nestled in the crook of her arm she keeps her gaze on the ceiling as she ponders dates.. people.. relationships..
“You know if this goes well he will totally make a statue in your honor.” Snickering at the thought, “A sixteen footer. Our Lady of Romance.”
And that's a nickname that's gonna stick.
"Oh my god," Berlin says as her face lands firmly in her palm. "I don't know what's worse, the statue or the name." And to that endless mystery, she reaches for the bottle— because she's going to need more than a finger's worth to get through this conversation.