Entirely Honest


colette_icon.gif tasha_icon.gif

Scene Title Entirely Honest
Synopsis Secrets of varying kinds are confessed and a myriad of teenage emotions expressed, somehow bringing Tasha and Colette closer yet.
Date April 25, 2010

The Rookery

The Rookery hangs like a canker sore off of the northeastern coast of Staten Island. Not originally a neighborhood, the title "Rookery" has been given to what remains of the neighborhoods east of the Martin Luther King Jr. Expressway and north of the Staten Island Expressway, a massive tract of land that once was some sveen separate neighborhoods.

After the bomb, Staten Island grew to become a haven for undesirables. If the Island is their home, then the Rookery is their playground. Equal parts gritty and decadent, it boasts dark alleys, bright lights, and every pleasure that one could imagine. Provided you know where to ask, of course. Some areas have fared better than the rest of the island; some have fared far worse. For each well-tended brothel or gaming house, there's at least one creaky, crumbling structure left over from the days of pre-bomb suburban glory.

The population is considered universally distasteful, even by much of the rest of Staten Island. Criminals, refugees, victims of radiation poisoning. Those who have nowhere else to go often end up here. The most common method of getting out is to have your body dropped in the river, followed closely by being left wherever it is you got killed.

Where else can two eighteen year old girls share a beer in a bar in America other than the Rookery. One of the most dangerous neighborhoods in all New York City, this slice of modern day Sodom and Gamorah seems to have survived the winter weather largely intact. It'a by some sheer miracle of debauchery that Shooter's Bar and Grill is still open, and by merit of their heat and electricity that the place is absolutely packed on a Sunday afternoon.

Noisy music blaring out of a juke box creates an atmosphere where closeness is required to converse, and the rowdy laughter, conversations and clink of bottles and glasses through the bar accentuates its Wild West feel. Perhaps Colette Nichols and Tasha Oliver don't quite fit like the rest of the rough riders scattered around the brawl-scarred tables and stools, but the two young women sharing a booth in the darkly lit bar aren't here for the atmosphere, they're here to kill time.

Just arriving back at their booth, Colette offers a lopsided smile to Tasha, two dark brown bottles held by the neck between her fingers, one clunked down in front of Tasha, cap already popped off, the other kept in her hand as she comes to settle down beside the fellow brunette on the bench seat. Sure, there's plenty of room and she could've sat across from her, but then how could Tasha hear her talk? That's the excuse Colette would use, at any rate.

"We've got about twenty minutes to kill before the ferry gets here," Colette notes with a wrinkle of her nose, settling down onto the patched leader seat, scooting over beside Tasha. "Though— you know— this wasn't a bad place to wait, 'stead of outside an' stuff. The Rookery's pretty shitty, but if you act like you belong here it's not as bad, it's actually a little easier here since the Pancratium got exploded and the Happy Dagger burned down. This place used to be worse."

Believe it or not.

Waiting for Colette to return from the bar, Tasha kept her eyes down, playing with her cell phone to avoid any unwanted eye contact with the other bar patrons. At clunk of the bottle, she glances down at the beer with a smirk and then back up at Colette. She's already pulled off the ski gloves she wears to keep her fingers from getting frostbitten, and beneath are her fingerless gloves to add a bit more warmth. The black-and-white-striped-clad hand wraps around the beer and she lifts it to her lips to take a sip — before her nose wrinkles at the taste. Not a beer lover, apparently. She follows that up with a heartier swallow.

"It's definitely better'n outside. I think I've regained feeling in my nose," Tasha says playfully, before growing more serious, eyes inspecting the label of the beer before nervous fingers start to peel it off in small multi-colored bits of confetti. "Thanks again for coming with… I mean, I know I was not the most … inviting, but it's just… well, complicated. But I appreciate that you want to come with me, Cole."

"What're friends for if not stickin' our noses in things, right?" Colette's brows shoot up cheeruly to accompany her smile, and she reclines back against the booth's seat, one leg crossing over the other and seemingly content to nurse her beer in one hand, resting it on the unzipped front of her suede jacket. "'Sides, I— You know, why wouldn't I?" There's a bit of an awkward smile there, and Colette's green eyes avert down to her beer bottle.

Quiet for a moment, she nervously fidgets, uncrossing her legs and sitting forward, settling her bottle down on a coaster and resting her arms on the tabletop. "I wanted t'talk to you about something too, 'cause… cause I've been— kind've— " there's a crease of Colette's brows as she shifts her eyes from side to side, staring down at the table, "not been… entirely honest with you 'bout some important stuff, and— " Colette's teeth worry at her lower lip, "s'not fair t'you."

Tasha's brows furrow, and she lifts her beer to take another swallow — clearly not one to nurse a drink, especially one she doesn't like the taste of. The alcohol is warming, once the chill of the fluid is past.

"Is anyone in our little 'club' really honest about everything, Colette? I mean, most of us probably have fake names and there's reasons for that — it's cool. I've known you like, less than a week. I don't expect an encyclopedia of honesty from you right away, you know?" Because she certainly hasn't given the full story about herself.

"But you know you can tell me. I mean… you haven't sent me screaming away yet, right? Not even with your mismatched socks." She glances up, and tosses the bits of paper she's torn from the label at Colette's face with a grin.

Wrinkling her nose and flinching away from the scraps of the wrapper, Colette breaks out into a laugh, a bit less pained by it too. Thankfully the injury to her ribs from the shots she took to her vest were far less severe than when she was hit by a car. "Hey I'm wearin' your socks right now so stuff it," Colette says teasingly, lips creeping up into a smile. That explains where the missing pair of socks went earlier.

Finally lifting up her beer, Colette takes a distracted sip from it, one brow quirking up at some internal question, before she looks back over to Tasha. "Normally I— don't talk 'bout the stuff I wanted t'tell you, but… I um," green eyes wander away, and Colette's staring at her bottle again. "You— you know maybe— maybe you're right," Colette awkwardly stumbles, hands wringing around the bottle betwee her hands as nervous laughter rises up. "It's— not really that important," she deflects, feigning a smile and bobbing her head from side to side.

When green eyes wander away, brown eyes drop down and Tasha regrets the joke. "I'm sorry," she says earnestly, knocking one knee awkwardly against Colette's on the other side of her. "You wanted to tell me something and I get all clown face at you. If it matters to you, it matters, okay? You can tell me. And it will be fine. I promise."

Another swig is taken from the beer, about a third of the way empty already before she pushes it away. "I have no idea what being slightly tipsy on a boat will do for me but I'm going to guess nothing good can come of it," she says in an aside, before turning back to Colette. "If you don't want to tell me — you don't have to. If you want to tell me… you can. I just didn't want you to be beating yourself up for not telling me that… that… I don't know, that you used to wet your pants or something, it's no big deal. I'm sure there are things I haven't told you too that are more important."

Like, 100 percent sure.

Snorting out a laugh, Colette furrows her brows and looks over to Tasha, shaking her head despite the fact that she's smiling. "I worry about a lot've dumb stuff," Colette notes with a wrinkle of her nose, then looks down to the bottle, then back up to Tasha. "Come on, don't tell me one beer'll tp you over I take three," she offers with a crooked smile and a restrained giggle. Maybe that's something she wants Tasha to file away for later maybe not but Colette's new at this whole shameless flirting thing.

Huffing out a breath, Colette looks back over to her bottle. "You ever wonder if everything happens for a reason?" It's a distracted question from Colette, though partly relevent. "Like— destiny?" Green eyes angle back to the brunette, and it's obvious Colette's a bit nervous. "Like— do you ever just want to think that all the terrible stuff in your life's for a purpose, an' that eventually it'll all amke sense, and you'll go ooooh and then everythin'll be okay?" It's a bit naive, but so is Colette.

"If I wasn't drinking it down like it was water, it'd take more than one, but I don't know. We always drank wine coolers and those Jolly Rancher tasting things — Smirnoff's — like, the watermelon and green apple? Seriously taste like Jolly Ranchers. Not even sure how many it takes because you lose track since it's like eating candy and before you know it you're like, face down on the beach," Tasha babbles a little.

At the rest, she shakes her head, before pulling out her cigarette pack and tapping one out. "I … really don't know. I mean, I've lived a pretty mundane life until like two months ago. Nothing extraordinary for me to think that it was something special ordained for me, you know? And even recently — the stuff that's happened is more… around me, than to me." She brings a cigarette to her lips and then pulls a hot pink lighter from her other pocket, lighting the end as she inhales and the end of the cigarette glows like an ember. Puffing out to the side Colette's not on (whether the people at the next table care or not), she shrugs. "But maybe. There's a lot we don't know, things we can't explain. It's kinda nice to think that it's all for some reason that we don't know, you know? That all the pain and all the loss is not for nothing."

Wrinkling her nose at the cigarette, Colette watches Tasha for a moment, thoughtfully. The silence implies thought, and Colette's pensive expression confirms it when she turns her attention down to the table, brginning to do the same nervous motion Tasha had earlier as she peels the label off of her beer with her thumbnail. "I never used to think anything like that… when I was younger, it was like— Bad shit happens an' there's no point, so just deal with it."

Tearing off a corner of the silvery label, Colette flicks it across the table. "But then, like…" the teen sighs, nervously. "Back in the summer, two years ago," or there abouts, "I ran away from the state home I was living in after the bomb. I spent a few weeks just… livin' on the streets like a vagrant. One night, I meet this girl…" Green eyes go distant there, and Colette's voice quiets for a moment. "She brings me dinner, thanks me for something I hadn't even done yet— probably still haven't— and asks me if she can stay there with me."

There's a look up to Tasha, dark brows furrowed, something emotional hanging on the periphery of Colette's expression. "Her name's Tamara… and— " Colette looks away, "and she sees the future. All of it, all the time, an' she can't ever stop. She saved my life once, pulled me outta' the way of a speeding car. I— I probably would'a died if it weren't for her. I kind've fell in love with her…"


It's obvious from the way Colette's voice hitches that whatever she's getting to isn't easy for her to talk about. "Tamara can't remember the past. She— doesn't remember anything I say, anything I do, doesn't probably even remember the day— the day we met." Tightness comes ot her voice, and Colette wrings her hands around that bottle between them. "I— I've been like— infatuated with her for so long. I thought we were supposed to be together, like— soulmates. But it's… it is so hard, loving someoen who can't remember how much they mean to you."

Jaw unsteadying, Colette closes her eyes and dips her head down, breathing in deeply before exhaling a sigh. "Tamara only remembers," and she uses the term ironically, "what's goin' to happen. So, like, I have to keep— struggling to do good things for her so she'll remember me, an'— and I just…" Letting go of the bottle, Colette brings a hand up to her forehead, rubbing nervously there. "It's so hard to love someone, when— when they don't remember why you do."

Practically squeaking out those words, Colette hides her face behind one hand, shielding her eyes and trying to pull herself back together. It's obvious she's both embarrassed about the conversation, and something of the whole situation. "I really like you," Colette murmurs, "and I feel terrible for it."

From the onset of the story, Tasha's brows furrow, face contorting with sympathy for the girl next to her — someone so much like her and yet so different — merely because of circumstances. Accidents of birth and geography. Her own life hasn't been a crystal stair, as the poem goes, but it certainly hasn't been as hard as Colette's. When she mentions Tamara, Tasha nods, showing she's listening, though her eyes are downcast, staring at her own gloved hands, her thumb nail scratching at the chipped cobalt-blue polish on the nail of her middle finger.

She bites her lower lip when the point is made. She peers up through dark lashes and reaches to take the hand that shields Colette's face.

"You shouldn't feel bad for caring for someone. Emotions … attraction… it's out of our control. I mean… Actions are what are important, and you're the nicest person I know. You wouldn't hurt anyone on purpose," Tasha says, squeezing Colette's hand in her own. "Does… do you guys have any sort of understanding about — I guess not, if she can't remember, huh." She shakes her head, annoyed at herself for the stupid question. "I'm sorry. I … I don't want to make you feel bad. If it's easier…"

Tasha brings her cigarette to her lips with a slightly shaky hand, then exhales the smoke in the other direction. "I'm thinking it might just be too complicated for me to be here. If I leave… if I go back to Boston, would that help?"

Only then does Colette squeeze the hand back. "No," the teen offers in murmured answer, teeth pressing down at her lower lip, "it won't make her sane, and— it— won't change nothin'." Green eyes meet darker ones, then divert down to the table, and Colette's self-conscious nervousness rattles her, enough so that the teen's hand is trembling in Tasha's. "Look I— I'm fucked up." Colette admits with a furrow of her brows, eyes flicking back to Tasha nervously. "I shouldn't be— the way I am. I've known that since I was little, I shouldn't all— fucking— " there's a growl of frustration in Colette's voice, squeaking and tiny.

"I think you're the sweetest person I've ever met," Colette admits with a crack of her voice, thin fingers curling around Tasha's hand, even though she can't make eye contact, even though her face is flushing just as red as it was in the freezing wind, "I always— fall for people I can't have. 'Cause— I don't know, 'cause I'm retarded or— I'm just fucked up."

Swallowing nervously, Colette looks back to Tasha with smile, though it's obvious from the glassy look in her eyes it's a bittersweet one. "When you— just— everything you say makes me smile and I feel like I'm a big, dumb, goofy idiot around you because you talk about your boyfriend," that's emphasized pointedly, "and the last thing you need is this— emotionally— fucking— weird queer girl babbling and— oh God I'm sorry this is so fucking retarded of me."

Colette's trying to pull her hand away, trying to look away, trying to hide like she always does.

Tasha holds on to the hand, fingers lacing through Colette's. "What the fuck do you mean, you shouldn't be the way you are? That's what bigots say and people who …" she shakes her head angrily, her eyes narrowing fiercely.

"That's what intolerant hateful people say when obviously it's a normal way to be — it's just less common. Like having blue eyes. Are blue eyed people freaks or something just because the majority of people have brown? What about left handers? I'm a southpaw — am I a freak? They stopped making little kids write with their right hands like in the 1970s, my mother told me — before that they forced them to be rights even though it was screwed up and like hard for them. You'd think something as basic as understanding basic human needs wouldn't be so fucking slow to catch on but welcome to fucking America, right?"

"Come on, we need to get the boat," Tasha says, when a couple of men nearby turn to look at her with amusement for her diatribe. Keeping Colette's hand in hers, she leads the taller girl out, to head for the docks.

"For the record, he's my ex boyfriend, and he left so whatever about him, okay? He's in Florida, I think, and you know what? If things happen for a reason… I wouldn't be Ferry… I wouldn't be in New York right now if it weren't for him, so I can be happy about that, all right?"

Green eyes as wide as saucers at the speech, Colette is practically yanked up to her feet, a squeak leaping out from the girl as she scrambles up to her feet, sling-bound arm sitll close to her chest and eyes darting askance to the unfinished beers on the table in the moment before Tasha's dragging her out towards the door. Face cast bright red and boots clomping awkwardly to catch up to Tasha's hastier pace, Colette looks to have been sticken speechless by the young woman's firm appointment of beliefs and fiesty attitude.

On her way out the door, Colette offers a wide-eyed look back into the bar, before she's drawn out through the breezeway and then onto Shooters' front porch behind Tasha. Breath huffing out immediately as a cloud of steam, Colette squints against the cold, eyes watering mostly from the chill breeze before she gives a tug of Tasha's hand, planting her heels on that porch. "T— Tasha," Colette stammers, squeezing the hand in hers.

Tasha pitches her cigarette into the snow and lets go of Colette's hand to tug out her ski gloves from her pocket. She pulls them onto her hands, narrowed eyes scanning the water — the boat isn't there yet. Exhaling slowly, she turns to face Colette. "The way you were born is not an accident. I don't believe in God or anything like that but I don't think anything like that, that occurs naturally and normally in a like a… a statistically consistent percentage of a population is anything to be ashamed of. You will piss me off if you talk about yourself like that, because you have nothing to feel ashamed of," she says, calmer now.

She pauses, eyes glancing toward the water again. "Tamara is lucky to have you love her. And if you … if it's too hard after a while … and you move on… you shouldn't feel bad about that either. Love is a gift but it needs to be both given and taken or it becomes an obligation for someone. And that doesn't work out. Just ask my parents."

"This is exactly what I'm talking about!" Colette squeaks out frustratedly, nose wrinkling, brow furrowing, one booted foot stomping with a clunk against the wooden pier. Maybe she didn't mean to shout, but it's enough to scare the one seagull that was perched on the wooden pylon to the air. Huffing out a breath, Colette steps closer to Tasha, green eyes narrowed and lips pressed together. "You— " she looks angry but, "are— too nice to me."

As if that's somehow a detriment to Tasha's personality, Colette nods her head once in affirmation. "How— how can you be younger'n me an' have all this stuff figured out?" Colette practically whines, wrapping her good arm around herself and hunching her hsoulders forward against the bitter cold that sweeps in off the water.

Love is a gift but it needs to be both given and taken or it becomes an obligation for someone. And that doesn't work out.

Colette's brows furrow, green eyes search the dark water over the side of the pier, and she grows silent, trying to hide her mouth behind the pale blue of her scarf. At that, there's a crease of her brows, and green eyes look up to Tasha, thinking of something.

"I'm only like six days younger than you, Amazon elder," Tasha says with a smirk. "And I don't have anything figured out, except… I don't know. That people shouldn't be treated badly for being different, but you know, I learned that in Kindergarten, like that book said. Share your crayons, look both ways before you cross the street, and don't be a fucking bigot. Not so hard, right?" She wraps her (borrowed from someone) scarf more tightly around her neck as she squints into the cold gray sky.

"I've only had the one serious boyfriend. I thought it was love, but… do people who love you run off just because you're not the same as them? He didn't think I could understand being Evolved. Now I'm fighting the fight he ran away from, you know? It's kinda weird. Fucked up, really. Before that — I don't think I ever dated anyone longer than two weeks." She drops her eyes to the snow-covered ground. "I don't think it matters who you love, Colette. I think it just matters that you do."

It's a little more awkward, since Tasha has one of her own, but Colette's thinly cotton covered fingers reach up to tug her scarf off. It's a bit of a struggle, tightly wound as it is, but she gets it out from beneath the collar of her jacket and her throat. There's a smile, dark brows furrowed, head tipping into a nod, and Colette's green eyes lift back up to the brunette. Nervously, she slides her hand down to one end of the scarf, stepping over to Tasha and lifting one arm up, draping the scarf around the back of her neck, then down to the other shoulder.

Hard to do with one hand, too, Colette curls her fingers around both ends of the scarf once it's wrapped around Tasha, tugs gently, and leans forward. If Colette has learned anything in the last few weeks — good lesson or not — it is that sometimes she just has to take chances to get what she wants. She may not be as forward as Sable, but she can try.

Actions speak louder than words.

Despite her worldly wisdom about love and human kind spoken just moments ago, Tasha watches rather naively at the whole scarf maneuver, clearly not aware of what Colette is planning on doing — until she's suddenly tugged forward.

Her boot slips on the icy porch step, causing her to lose her balance. One gloved hand automatically grabs for Colette — unfortunately bringing the other girl down with her as she lands on her back with Colette atop her. Tasha lets out a groan as her body takes the impact of icy wood and helps soften the blow for Colette, but her immediate concern is for the other's injured shoulder. "Shit, are you okay?" she asks, hand moving to Colette's face as she peers up with wide brown eyes.

"I… before you decide you like me, I have something to tell you," she says in a softer voice.

Wincing more from the jostling of sore ribs than anything, Colette looks dazed by how she ended up on the— oh god on top of Tasha. Green eyes go wide and Colette freezes as she's about to jerk away when that gloved hand comes up to her cheek. Tense like a statue and eyes wide like a scared cat's, Colette stares down at Tasha silently, throat working up and down in a nervous swallow, jaw trembling until she gives a tiny bite to her lower lip to steady it.

"If you're goin' to tell me you're a ghost it's okay I saw that old movie, we can make pottery together it'll be fine." Colette nervously notes with an awkward laugh, offering the slightest brush of her cheek against Tasha's gloved hand, before she sits up, shifts to the side and manages to get up to her knees, offering Tasha a hand to help her up off of the porch because this is awkward and also cold.

Pottery, what? Tasha blinks up at Colette before the reference clicks and she shakes her head, eyes closing with a laugh. She takes Colette's good hand and slowly gets one foot, then the other beneath herself and stands. "Oh, God, that hurt," she says with a laugh. "Okay, off porch." She steps from the porch to the snow where at least if she falls again it will be on the snow.

"No, but it's why… it has to do with the complicated parent thing." She begins to make her way to the dock. Where is the damn boat, anyway? "And when I found out you guys have a telepath in your group — your friend Kaylee — that made me a little worried too, and because of … I don't want to get any one of you in trouble, you know? If … somehow … " Tasha sighs. Now she's the tonguetied one.

"Do you know what the Department of Evolved Affairs is?"

Shooters isn't all that far from the pier itself, and once the pair are down on the boardwalk outside of the bar it's not far over the windblown snow to the waterside and out onto the dock with clunking footfalls. When Tasha's back is to her, Colette's expression wrenches into one of pain and discomfort as her good hand comes up to her shoulder, silently hissing from th way the fall hurt her arm, but there's no way she was going to let Tasha feel the blame for that.

Still a bit tense and awkward even after finally letting out about her arm, Colette's trying to pay attention to what Tasha's saying, despite her own mind racing at the failed kiss attempt. "Um, yeah it— of course. We're like… we had to deal with them and stuff at Summer Meadows, I— " Colette's voice hitches in her throat and she comes to a stop, dark brows lifting up as she watches Tasha take a few steps ahead of her.

"Are— " Colette's voice hitches in the back of her throat, "are you a spy?" Because she's not sure if it would be awesome to have been seduced by a spy or horrifying.

"No." Tasha stops and reels around. "That's … that's why I'm telling you. I don't want it to get found out later and have you think I lied or something, I just… I didn't expect to be here so long and I didn't expect to help out on things or be involved and welcomed like this, and I didn't expect a friend." Her face contorts and she turns back away to face the water.

Tears glitter in her eyes as she looks at the gray water meeting the grayer sky.

"My father … he … I forget his title, because it's one of those bogus ones that mean shit you know, but he works for the Secretary of the DoEA." Breathe. After exhaling, she inhales, and adds, "And my mom works for the District Attorney's as a prosecutor."

Turning again, hair whipping around her face as she's forgotten to tug her cap back around it, Tasha looks at Colette with her teary eyes. "In Boston, it's not like a big thing — they don't know but it wasn't going to come up any time soon, but here…" she gives a vague wave of her hands to fill in the blank. But here it's inevitable.

There's a noise in the back of Colette's throat, weak and uncertain, but the sound of her boots scuffing against the wood of the pier comes quick up behind Tasha. "Hey…" Colette offers in a hushed tone of voice, brows lifted in worry and pace not stopping until she's got a gloved hand up and on Tasha's shoulder, and then as she steps around the teen a little, moves the hand up to cup her cheek, one cotton-clad finger stroking beneath Tasha's eye gently.

"It's no big deal," to Colette, at least. "I told you— my— my dad's a cop. The Feryr was really nervous about him too at first, but everyone knows how much he loves me and— and that he'd never hurt me." Letting her warm hand comes down to rest against the side of Tasha's jaw, Colette shakes her head slowly, green eyes cast down to her feet before they rise to meet amber-brown eyes again.

"If your folks really care about you, then it won't ever matter to 'em. Love makes people do all sort's a things, an'— an' it can make people figure out stuff about themselves real fast. If your mom an' dad love you then they'll understand, or— or even fi they don't they won't— they won't hurt you." It's an idealistic way of looking at things, but if Colette ever had to be accused of something, it certainly would be idealism.

"S'at why you didn't want me meetin' your dad?" Colette asks quietly, not realizing she's moved her hand to thread a lock of Tasha's hair between two fingers. "'Cause it's still okay, an'… an' I won't tell nobody."

Tasha nods to the last question, but her mind reels at the rest. She's naive but more cynical — after all, she knows her dad. She gives a soft huff of a laugh and shakes her head a moment later — contradicting the nod. "I … he's… I bet you anything your dad hates him, if he's a cop. He was internal affairs for them — to make more money, but you know, no one likes those IA guys. They're snitches and narcs, you know? My mom would probably be cool with me being Ferry — she's all about the Constitution and shit, right, being a lawyer? But my dad." She sighs. "He wouldn't get it. I guarantee you. And I don't know if that means he doesn't love me or not. We're not close. I mean, I don't hate him or anything, but we haven't been close for a long time."

Tasha glances down, hair falling forward to veil her face, but for the lock twined around Colette's fingers. "If you need to tell the others, you can. I probably should — I don't want to lie to them, but … I don't know if I would trust me if I were them, either."

It is only the shortest of pauses between when Tasha stops talking and when Colette starts up after her. "There's a lot've things I need to do, but I'm a procrastinator." Colette's lips creep up into a shy smile at that, and the hand at Tasha's jaw moves, lifting to brush dark locks of hair from the teen's face, lifting them up and tucking them behind one of her ears. "Talk to your dad…" Colette insists in a hushed tone of voice, curling her fingers behind that ear of Tasha's she'd just tucked hair behind, letting her thumb brush across the teen's cheek, a nudge of her hand trying to urge Tasha to look up, not down sullenly. "Knowing how he feels will be better than not knowing, or never talking, and always wondering…"

There's a smile waiting for her when she does finally look up. "I was scared to tell Judah, 'cause— he's really intense. But parents can surprise you, 'specially the good ones, an'… an' I think anybody'd be happy to have a daughter like you, all smart and independant an' stuff." There's a warmth to her smile, honesty, and most of all acceptance. Idealistic acceptance, but acceptance none the less.

"Maybe you're not daddy's little girl anymore, but…" Colette's head tilts to the side in a quirky shrug, dark bangs falling to hide one of her eyes. "That's probably all he's gonna' worry 'bout most. I— know I'd worry about losin' you. An' I didn't raise you," she notes teasingly.

The fingers on Tasha's cheek pull her eyes up to meet Colette's and she offers a half smile, the left corner creeping upward as she surveys the earnest face peering at her. She looks into that open and accepting gaze. "I can't… I'm not … I don't like to lie, and I try not to, but he's not like Judah. He's… he's all for Registration and he doesn't get that it's not right, that it's an infringement of human rights, and I've had the argument with him before, but you know, I'm just some bleeding heart kid who doesn't know what she's talking about, right? If he knew I was Ferry… I don't even know, Colette. And if they freaked out about your dad being a cop…"

She heaves another sigh. "I just came here to drop off a kid, you know? I didn't expect to have to make any major decisions." Tasha pauses and looks away. "If I were as smart as you think I am, I'd know what to do."

"If you were as smart as me you'd probably have to wear a helmet all the time," Colette jokes, deflecting seriousness with humor in the same manner Tasha does. Teasing as she is, Colette's expression is admittedly a bit worried, and she slips her hand from Tasha's sheek down to her neck, then around to her back as it quickly becomes a hug. It's somewhat awkward, as Colette's other arm is still in a sling, but the squeeze she gives Tasha is a gentle, though tender one.

Silence stays over the two, but only until Colette rests her forehead against Tasha's, nose to nose, and then slowly away as she leans back to talk. "If you ever do wanna' tell him, if you ever think it's a good idea? I— I'll totally be there for you, an' nobody even has to know." There's a crook of a smile, reluctantly so, and Colette moves her hand down to the small of Tasha's back over her jacket. "But eventually… sooner or later, here or Boston or— wherever. He's gonna' find out, and so's the Ferry. If there's one thing I've realized is certain, it's that no secret ever lasts forever… you just gotta decide if it gets to come out on your terms, or theirs."

The shorter girl accepts the hug, her hand coming around the other's waist to avoid her ribs. She nods slowly. "I … let me figure out if I'm even staying… If they need me back in Boston, upsetting New York is pretty pointless," Tasha says, her words not much more than a whisper. "And if I leave… just know it's not because of you or anything you've told me, okay? It'll just be because I go back to school or because they need me there or because it's safer." Because just about anywhere is safer than New York.

She glances up as the boat comes into view behind Colette's shoulder. "Thanks for telling me how you feel and for … for trusting me. I can't help that I'm a Lazzaro. It's not by choice."

Silent nervousness lingers in Colette when Tasha speaks, and very slowly she nods her head in response. "I hope you stay…" Colette offers, learning to voice her opinion on things has been a matter she's come to finally adapt to. Having a voice means being wrong and accepting the consequences of bad advice, but it also means not letting things slip past. "It'll always be safer somewhere else," she adds, quieter than before, "but if— " the if makes her tense, "you stay, I'll make sure you're safe…" Colette has no way of assuring that, she can't predict and prevent the future like Tamara can, she can hardly take care of herself most of the time, but it won't stop her from trying.

The boat at Colette's back lets out a whistle from its air-horn, and following that shrill noise the rumbling engine grows louder. Green eyes wandering Tasha's, Colette stays silent, but smiling. "We've got a boat to catch…" she says quietly, though not letting herself be the first to move.

There is a shake of Tasha's head at Colette's promise, but it is accompanied by a broad smile. "You can't promise that, but it means the world that you want to," she murmurs, then leans forward to give Colette another squeeze. The tears that sparkled in her eyes just moments ago slip past her lashes and onto her cheeks. She steps back a moment later and takes Colette's hand to make her way to the loading area.

"Come on, because I can't drink any more beer to pass the time if we miss this one. That stuff is disgusting," Tasha declares, one gloved hand coming up to wipe away the moisture on her cheeks before it gets frozen by the biting wind.
Head down and eyes tilted up to Tasha, Colette just nods her head once subtly, then follows the tug of the brunette's hand towards the boat making its way up to the moorings. Colette's lips creep into a smile, and she squeezes Tasha's hand tightly as she lets the subtly younger girl lead her ahead. She has a lot more to say, but there'll be plenty of time for that later. Boots clomping on the pier, she follows on Tasha's heels for the boat to take them back to Manhattan and to their respective fathers.

But if they missed this boat, Colette wouldn't mind it. Not even in the threat of the cold, the cheap beer, or the danger of the Rookery. Those last fifteen minutes would be worth repreating, because at the moment she's not sure there'll be much chance to in the future; for awkward smiles, honesty, threats of affection and the things in between.

A girl can hope, though.

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