Everything is Different


magnes_icon.gif sable_icon.gif

Scene Title Everything is Different
Synopsis 'We'll figure it out though.'
Date February 11, 2011

Edge of Chelsea

They had to talk, or so she said last, and while time has unfurled between Sable's insistence and the present moment - practice for concert and concert itself interposing - it seems the necessity hasn't faded. If anything, the longer she waits the more important it becomes to talk, lest she forget just where she stands, or what she has to say.

So today is the day, or so Sable's text to Magnes would suggest, requesting they meet not far from the the ragged remnants of Chelsea, past a fair few checkpoints that, thanks to Sable's totally legit card and (for the moment, at least) discreet demeanor, don't impede her considerably. The young woman is dressed as February demands, in hoody and thick leather jacket, a hat tugged firmly over her unruly dark hair, yellow eyes glaring above a set mouth. She's perched on the side of a toppled mailbox, its metal legs twisted pitifully, still clinging to crumbling concrete. Her hands fiddled idly with what looks to be a foil pack of cigarettes, worn and beaten.

She has no headphones, a concession that's pretty grand considering her jones for music generally, but she's murmuring a tune under her breath, words indistinct at any real distance.

Not taking his car today, Magnes decides to show up in a buttoned up formal coat, with a pair of blue jeans and red Chucks, landing in front of her with his hands in his pockets. "If this is about Elaine, Quinn already more or less ripped my heart out and crushed that completely."

Sable's eyes track Magnes on his descent, brows lifting as he gets right to it. She gives a wry smirk and taps the cigarette pack against her palm, sliding free two of the remaining smokes. "Jesus boy, y'all ever heard 'f foreplay?" she sticks one of the cigarettes between the corner of her lips, letting it dangle as she offers the second one up to Magnes, "fuckin' have a smoke with me. We're gonna take a walk. Lookin' f'r somethin'. Hopin' it's meant t' be found."

She pulls a lighter out of her other pocket, thumb ready on the spark wheel. "We c'n get t' all that shit in due time. No fuckin' rush, eh? Fuckin' bummer type topic."

"Since when do you smoke cigarettes? That's bad for your voice. Pot is one thing, but…" Magnes shakes his head and holds a hand up to deny the offer. "What are we looking for? Is this another future thing, like the knife?" he asks while walking along with her, looking around.

"I don't," Sable says. Smoke cigarettes, she means. "Jus' fuckin' take it. One ain't gonna hook y' 'r kill y'. This is a goddamn American tradition. Sharin' a smoke. Fuckin' peace pipe, Indians did it. So go on," she pokes her offering hand around his aborting hand, "take it 'n' lemme give y' a light.

"'N' everythin's a goddamn future thing, if yer doin' it right."

Magnes sighs and finally gives in, taking the cigarette and slipping it inbetween his lips, then leans in for the light. "This is peer pressure, you know." That said, he has to add, "So, I'm probably going to be working for that French woman soon, Remi. You saw her at the Rock Cellar."

"Yah," Sable says, flicking the wheel and lighting the end of Magnes' cigarette, waiting for him to draw and get a coal going before drawing the flame, shielded in her other hand, to her own and taking a drag. She doesn't breath into her lungs, instead letting the smoke fill her mouth and then exhaling it through her nostrils. Adding some smoke and sulfur to the changeling eyes. "She's pretty fuckin' hot. You jus' don' come on too strong, you let 'er do th' work, y' hear? Best way t' handle it. Fuckin' Europeans," she taps her cigarette, ashing the first little bit, "not meanin' th' Brits, 'course."

She rolls her shoulder and starts to sidle down the sidewalk. "Le's go."

"I barely know her, I mean, not that she isn't attractive… and I did fall for a trick where I agreed to have sex with her against a wall, but she was just ordering a dirty drink." Magnes seems perplexed, then coughs after a puff of the cigarette.

"Them titillatin' type drink names 'r cocktease horseshit, mostly," Sable says, with a crooked smile that sets her cigarette at an odd angle, words just slightly slurred by the presence of the filter, "but sometimes it turns out arright. I mean, whatever gives y' 'n' angle, eh?" she dips her head, "but that's jus' yer problem. Y' shoulda played it, man, not jumped on it. Say somethin' like, 'Oh, 'n' here I took y' f'r a sex on th' beach gal'. Flirt a little. Do th' dance. Swear t' God, yer game'll improve."

Sable glances down the first intersection they reach, then points to the left, "got more cars 'n' shit that way," she looks sidelong at Magnes, "we're lookin' f'r a van. I won't say jus' what kind, don' wanna jinx it, but we're lookin' f'r a, like, fucked up, abandoned type van."

"Why do we need a van? And I might have been able to jump on it, if I knew she was ordering a drink. Instead I heard a French woman with a thick French accent saying she wants to be screwed against a wall." Magnes looks over at her, then holds his hands up helplessly, cigarette inbetween two fingers. "I don't know how it works for girls, but a guy can only handle so much verbal stimulation before his mind goes insane. And by the way, I heard a term on the internet that I think sounds like you. Girls who don't usually identify as girls or guys, but are totally into girls, it's called, like, genderqueer."

"I s'pposed I understand yer situation," Sable says, giving a nod, "but if a gal's puttin' it that far out there, y' gotta wonder if there's a hook in that bait, know what I mean?" She gives a sniff, and takes another puff on her cigarette before clasping it between her fingers and gesturing with it. Using it as a prop, theatrically minded as she is, "'n' y'all jus' gotta learn t' control that bullheaded bullshit 'f yers. Y' got a lot goin' f'r y'. Yer good hearted, decent, honest, 'n' probably easy t' boss 'round, which some chicks like," she gives him a slightly mean smirk - giving shit is just part of her 'dude' ting - "but y' need to slow play that shit. They don't see nothin' but yer wantin' after 'em, no matter what kindess y' do 'em, after y' betray that wantin's what yer doin'."

A brow is arched at the mention of genderqueerness. "Son," she says, "I dunno 'bout all that. I know there's straights 'n' dykes 'n' faggots, 'n' there's fence jumpers, 'n' there's, like… trannies 'n' shit. But all these new type names… sure, why not? But I ain't gonna pretend t' fuckin' understand it."

"So I have to make sure that a woman doesn't know I want her? I guess I could try that, just be confident and cool and see what happens…" Magnes stops at the cars, flinging things lightly behind them to see if there's anything interesting buried while they walk. "I don't really understand the terms a lot myself, but I think genderqueer is supposed to be, like, ambiguous, like rejecting the other labels. Saying you are what you are, even if people don't understand, you know? Queer originally means weird, so it's kind of a play on words too."

"I ain't gonna say 'be natural'," Sable says, giving a huff that's almost a laugh, "but y' gotta seem natural. But yeah, y' gotta take yer fuckin' time, feel shit out, get some chemistry goin'. Ask questions, boy, that's the easiest thing t' do. Ask questions 'n' be impressed 'n' interested. Let 'er tell y' stories 'n' anecdotes 'n' shit. That's all it takes, oftentimes. Shit, you got it easier th'n me in that fuckin' regard. I gotta make it known what I'm after, 'r else it might get missed entirely."

"You could always buy a shirt with a woman eating a bowl of cereal, and the box next to the bowl says 'Carpet'." Magnes helpfully suggests, randomly nudging his foot against the back of a car they pass by. "I'm really not pursuing this French woman though, I mean, she's nice, and I'd definitely be interested, but I don't want to get all tied up in lots of different women at the same time. I might be spending Valentine's Day with a woman who was my biology tutor when I was a teenager, Doctor Blite." He reaches into his pocket for his droid, then flicks through pictures until he finds one of Yana wearing some fancy dress, holding it up. "She's kind of high society, but she's interesting."

Sable gives a pretty good snicker at Magnes' shirt suggestion, biting her lip to keep back a proper laugh. She flicks ash in his direction. "Boy, d' y' honestly think I'd need th' help? I think I send a pretty fuckin' clear signal, 't least t' those who got anythin' like a proper receiver." She cranes her neck to give the picture a look that pretty quickly becomes an ogle. Sable gives a low whistle. "Good fuckin' luck," she says, "but I think she's outta both our leagues. Valentine's Day? Aw shiiit…" she gives a wince, "fuckin' always f'rget 'bout fuckn' V-Day," said like she's talking about storming the beaches of Normandy, "what th' hell can y' do ain't fuckin' typical on V-Day? Shit…"

"I don't have to worry about Doctor Blite, she does what's 'proper', all I have to do is follow the rules, and if I don't embarass her, she considers it a success." Magnes explains what he apparently considers to be a good deal, then knocks on the back of a random van, stopping to see what Sable thinks.

"Sounds fuckin' square as anythin'," Sable admits, "but whatever, you hit that first chance you get. Rich chicks like that are int' freaky shit, I bet. Always that's how it is with rich people. Fuckin' sex parties 'n' ritual circle jerks 'n' shit," okay, this sounds like flagrant speculation. She wheels on her heel and gives the van a look. It doesn't seem like she's falling in love with it. "Too new," she says, even though the thing looks like it was made in the eighties, as bland and white and rapey as can be, "'n' too fuckin' shady. Shit…" she wrinkles her nose, "I jus'…"

She gives Magnes a solid look. "Arright, so, like, I wanna do somethin' with you. I wanna, like, fix up a van. Like, a sweet one. A VW minibus, dig? I want it t' be, like, y' know… a dude thing," she tips her head like, you know, he knows what she means, right? "But, like, I gotta know where we stand, 'n', like, if shit's still cool between us."

"'Hit that' might be an understatement, if I got a chance with Doctor Blite." Magnes leans against the white van when she starts explaining her plan, nodding at every few words. "Of course, everything's fine between us. And um, by 'dude thing', are you saying that you want to bond with me?"

Sable gives Magnes and incredulous look. "Jus'… jus' whatall do you fuckin' know, boy?" she questions, "'cause I'm awful eager t' know things are cool, but I won't take ignorance as guidance through a fuckin' mine field. Whatall did Quinn tell y'? Jus'… th' gist, not th' full-on Quinn thunder 'n' lightnin'."

"Before I spoke to Quinn, right before I slept with Elaine the other day, she told me about you two, and then Quinn told me again, before she told me to leave Elaine alone. So…" Magnes shrugs, rapidly shaking his hand as the cigarette seems to have burned down to his fingers. Then he reaches out to place a hand on her head. "We're fine, stop worrying."

Sable's mouth sets, and her brow furrows. "Honest, I worry 'bout her," she glances at Magnes, "Elaine, I mean. I do think y' should keep yer distance. I know I'm doin' my best t' keep enough 'f my own. Only way t' heal is t' stop gettin' hammered, y' know? But I worry, shit. She already was broke bad…" she shakes her head, "I've faith in Quinn, though."

Sable flicks her still burning butt down onto the road and crushes it with the toe of her shoe. Her eyes cut up to the arm that's suddenly extended over the upper field of her vision. She scowls. "I'm gonna hold y' t' that," she informs him. He's not allowed to change his mind and become upset later. "'N' yeah, I mean fuckin' bondin'. But hey- I gotta know… how do things stand with th' band? Shit's got messy, 'n' I know you 'n' Quinn don't always see eye t' eye."

"I was going to leave the band, but now I don't think that's the best idea. I can't let you and Adel down like that." Magnes doesn't comment on Elaine, it doesn't seem like a topic he wants to stay on for very long.

"Lemme me be real clear, boy," Sable says, giving Magnes a glowering eye, "duty alone can't make music. Duty's got t' be put t' it, 'cause duty ain't bad, jus' often put t' bad use. But without passion, duty's dull grey. So I ask you, are y' stickin' with us 'cause y' must make music? Or because y' feel y've got t' do yer duty, t', like, us?"

"You know I'm a musician, I love the band, I just don't want to ruin it because of something that's going to blow over in time." Magnes reaches out to wrap his arms around her, shaking his head. "You're my inspiration to follow my dreams and yours."

The hug sort of takes Sable by surprise, and she awkwardly pats Magnes' back after a moment's delay. "Arright, arright, yeah, yeah, I fuckin' get it. Jesus is love," she gives a huff and rolls her shoulder, like his embrace might have pulled something. "Right now my dream is gettin' t' roll in a bitchin' '68 VW, with all my gear in back. Y'all wanna start zippin' 'round, seein' what y' c'n spot?"

"I'm gonna need a moment…" After Magnes releases her, he reaches into his pocket for the Droid again, then starts typing things as he searches Google images, keeping it in plain sight of Sable. He types in 68 VW, and there's a bunch of Love Bug type cars. "Um, this looks more like Herbie than a van."

Sable reaches up to give Magnes a light thwack on the back of the head, nothing that would actually hurt, just a little dopeslap. "VW bus, dipshit. Y'll see what I mean. Christ, y'all fixed up that nice classic car 'f yers, but y' don't know 'bout the VW bus? What sorta fuckin' motorhead are y'?"

"I didn't do it alone, a woman helped me. I haven't heard from her in a long time though. Raith says that everything is different, so fixing up a van might be different than fixing up my car." Magnes wraps an arm around her waist, then starts floating into the air so they can have four eyes van spotting. "We'll figure it out though."

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