Fainting Spells


quinn_icon.gif sable_icon.gif

Scene Title Fainting Spells
Synopsis Quinn and Sable journey to a more unusual location in order to continue their songwriting work, but some unforeseen events steer things in another direction.
Date June 10, 2010

Gun Hill, Sable Apartment

There are things on the upper floors of Gun Hill that Sable knows maybe Quinn, being uninitiated, shouldn't see. Things, really, being people. Refugees from government persecution, people who need to disappear in order to not disappear. So, if Sable is going to have her way (and she tries always to have her way), they are going to need another way to get to the roof.

Sable's acoustic guitar is slung over her shoulder by its strap, and she's peering out the kitchen window at the light drizzle that dapples the glass, gathering before running down in refractive rivers. Outside is the ever-more slippery black painted metal of the fire stairs, bolted into the brick of the building. A fresh coat of white paint on the window frame has made the lock stuck something fierce, and Sable jiggles it rapidly, trying to break it free. "Fuckin' fire hazard, this shit right here…" she mutters, mutinously. She calls over her shoulder at her bandmate and co-writer. "We're practicin' on the goddamn roof, rain or shine. I ain't gonna let… aaarr!" Sable stops her foot in temper, before turning towards the living room, "Gimme a hand here, hon?"

She hadn’t anticipated the rain when she left her flat, but she’d already been late both to pick up her paycheck, and to get to Sable, so the thing dress and her impromptu hoodie, which had happened to have been stuffed away her scooter from the previous night. “Tapped, that’s what you are.” She teases, but she’s not sure how she feels about journeying out to room in this weather. Her own guitar is held in hand, her smaller violin case sitting down on a table next to her. Sighing, she sets back down her own instrument and hops over, scowling as she attempts to aid Sable in her efforts – and after a moment the pair are successful, though the momentum of their success and the strain put into it almost sends Quinn toppling over.

And once again, Sable displays uncanny reaction speed, regaining her balance and still being able to dart over and catch Quinn in her arms, preventing any potential toppling. "Gotcha," she says, stating the obvious and grinning up at Quinn, "Y'alright?" She releases Quinn gently and glances to the window. "Think that may have done it. Thanks, hon. Lookit that, huh? Quite the fuckin' team." She slips her guitar a little more firmly onto her shoulder, and steps forward to lever open the window. She looks back at Quinn, "I'll go first. If I fall 'n' dash my fuckin' brains out, tell Magnes I'm sorry I didn't pay 'im back f'r those drinks." And, with those cheerful words, she clambers out onto the fire escape.

“I’m fine, thanks.” A grin crosses Quinn’s face as she returns to a proper upright stature. “I’m not tellin’ Magnes anythin’, so let that be your motivation not to fall.” As Sable climbs out the window, Quinn sticks her own head out, wincing as the drops of rain make contact with her head. “If I break somethin’, you’re flitin’ the bill. Just so you know.” Grabbing her violin in one hand, she reaches out with the other and drops down her guitar case on the fire escape with a thud. She groans, a number of noises emanating as she contorts her taller body out the window and on to the slippery metal.

Sable takes step by careful step, scaling the stairs one by careful one, though she's smiling at the risk rather than frowning. "If y' have such a loose grip on yer things, it ain't my fault," she says, taking the rail in one hand. The black paint cracks at her touch, and she lifts her hand, shaking the flakes off. The water thuds against the wood of her acoustic, making a hollow intermittent patter.

Quinn’s hands move to her hips, letting out a huffing sound. “Who said it’s m’ things I’m worried about!” It’s mock indignation, but anyone else might be hard pressed to tell between her tone and narrowed green eyes. She raises the hand holding the violin case and waggles a finger chastisingly. “Where would you be if I fell an’ broke an arm or somethin’? The whole band’d go all to pot!” She laughs, though a hint of nervousness shows that it’s a somewhat genuine worry.

Sable lets her guitar swing down from her shoulder, her hand taking it by the neck, one finger protruding to point at Quinn. "Don't fuckin' joke about that," she says, "Bad enough we have a bassist that makes a fuckin' point of gettin' the shit kicked outta him, a crazy goddamn lead guitarist 'n' no drummer. A one armed keyboardist ain't what we need."

Sable reaches the top of one flight of the stairs, and leans out over the side, her guitar balanced on the edge of the railing, but held securely in both hands. She cranes her neck, checking to see how far they have left to go. "Jesus," she says, as the rain makes tear streaks on her cheeks, "Fuckin' New Y-"

Her words stop, and her eyelids fall heavy, her whole body going limp as she drops out of consciousness. The guitar slips from her grip, and falls over the edge, its strap fluttering serenely in the air as it free falls.

“Tch. If they can make it work for a drummer, it should be fine for a keyboardist, what with programin’ and all.” She flashes a grin, running a hand through her hair as she looks in the opposite direction of Sable, down to the street below. She’s unable to finish the motion, however, before her whole body suddenly becomes dead weight, consciousness fleeting as her knees buckle and her head makes beginnings of a new found relationship with the grated metal at her feet, violin and guitar cases each falling with a clatter unheard to either girl.

Sable's chin strikes the railing as she crumples, driving her pointed canines into a limp tongue as her knees buckle and she slumps to one side. There's no stirring, no twitching - she's just meat for the moment, her brain firing wildly as she experiences something not here, and not now.

The acoustic guitar continues on its descent, graceful as it slowly turns, until it meets the street below. The strings give a final discordant cry, an inarticulate last chord, as the instrument breaks apart, splintering on the wet asphalt.

The next sensation Quinn experiences is the pitter-patter of rain on the back of her head and neck – groggy doesn’t really begin to define the state of mind. It’s more like a gold brick and lemon induced hangover. “W-What…” The words are hushed and her vision a bit blurry, a bizarre and fleeting feeling of lingering pain quickly fading from her right arm. “Christ, did I slip like some soddin’ moron?” A groan, and slowly she begins to pull herself up from her resting place. Her head was throbbing, killing her. Jesus.

"Y'mean yer fuckin' hou-ooooow!" Sable first mumbles, the mewls, as she comes to, "M' fuggin' mowf!" The girl rubs her sore jaw, shifting it, and then wincing. Her eyes find Quinn, and she blinks. "Whassah?" she mumbles, her tongue throbbing from the point where her teeth pierced it, "Didju jush, lyg, go dow' too?" And that's when the headache hits her, with just a little delay. Her eyes screw shut and she groans in pain. "Fuuuuuuuug meeeee…" she moans, heel of one hand rising to press against her forehead.

It takes a moment for Quinn to move again, but this time it’s much more sudden. As recollection of her “dream” returns to the forefront of her mind, the older girl scrambles, finding herself in a series a quick moments with her back to the brick wall of Gun Hill. Her right arm lifts and extends, as if she’s testing it’s mobility. “Christ, the hell…” As she hears Sable, she finally registers that the younger girl had also fallen, as if by some bizarre sense of providence. “Sable! Y-You alright?” Slowly, Quinn rises to her feet. “ You slip too?”

Sable grips the railing that most certainly saved her life or at least her livelihood. She struggles to her own feet, brain still fizzling after whatever the hell just happened to. "'m fine, 'm fine. Just bit m' fuggin' tongue…" her vision clears enough to examine Quinn properly, and to catch the blood streaming from her temple. "Oh! Hon! Yer head!" Sable weaves over to Quinn, reaching up to take the other girl's face in her her hands, gently turning her head and reaching to brush aside red hair, "We godda clean this, ged yer preddy self fixed up. Y'feel okay?"

Quinn gives a quizzical look to Sable, even as the other girl takes her face and begins to inspect. “Clean what?” Reaching up to rub where Sable was looking, the bright line of crimson that greet her as she pulled it back answered that question. “Ugh. That’d explain why m’ head feels like I do after a Car Bomb…” The drink, of course. But even as she reaches over and wipes her hand off on the wall, even as her dream permeates in her mind and causes her to scowl, even as she looks around the ledge of teh fire escape, there’s a much more relevant question that pops into her mind.

“Sable, where’s your guitar?”

To her shame, Sable wasn't thinking about it. She was a little busy figuring out what had just happened. And what the hell she saw during. But now… Sable pats herself down, looking down at herself, looking for some sign of her instrument. "I dunno…" she says. Where does she last remem- oh no.

Sable wheels around and bounds to the railing she just left. When she looks down, she can't at first quite believe it. What she sees down there, it only somewhat resembles her beloved acoustic. It has parts that resemble it, but nothing's in the right place, nothing has quite the right shape or configuration. Sable's mouth hangs open, not wide and comic, but just a little. Total shock.

Quinn doesn’t quite raise to her feet yet, she was fairly confident if she did she’d just tumble back to her knees in a lightheaded mess. Holding the sleeve of her hoodie to her head, she watches Sable, though, her expression stoic only because it kinda hurt to move at the moment. But when she sees Sable reach the rail and her gaze move downwards, Quinn’s able to follow it, finally spotting the broken catastrophe down on the street below, a frown crossing her face.

“Oh no, Sable. I’m so sorry…” She didn’t know what it was like to lose one’s prized instrument, but she could certainly imagine what was going through Sable’s mind right now. Well, besides a string of unvoiced curses and vulgarities. Her eyes immediately move to her own instrument cases, both thankfully still flat where they had fallen when she had done to the same. There’s a twinge of sadness, making her feel even worse for Sable.

Finally, though, she is able to rise to her feet, not without some wobblyness, and steps over to the speechless, first placing a hand on her shoulder, and then moving it down and wrapping it around her midsection in as nonawkward a manner as she can manner. “Sable?”

Sable is shaking within Quinn's embrace. It's a shake that, at first, might be taken for fury, because there is no sound of weeping. It's raining, so it's only the redness in her eyes that betrays the source of the water streaking her cheeks. She's quiet, her small body tense under Quinn's touch, for a long while. And then…

"F- f- fuggin' bidge," Sable groans, stammering and low at first, but her next words are loud, furious, "You fuggin' bidge! You breag my heard twice! Twice! FUG YOU!" She's shouting down at the wreckage of the guitar. And that's when she breaks into sobs, sinking onto her haunches. A warmer, healthier person would turn into Quinn's arms and return the hug. Sable's not so good at handing her pain that way. For her, suffering is a lonely thing, almost by definition. In the choice between sadness and rage, Sable's not making any commitments either way.

Between having a bit of trouble of trouble understanding her, and not wanting to get between Sable and another outburst, Quinn merely backs away a bit, moving behind Sable. A moment to reach up and whip some fo the blood still coming from her temple away, and she pauses a moment, looking around as there seems to the sounds of ruckus coming from everywhere now.

“What the bleedin’ hell’s going on around here?” It’s a question posed to empty air, not expecting a response from the sobbing girl in front of her. A particularly sharp sob from Sable catches Quinn’s attention, and feeling bad for the younger girl tentatively reaches down, placing a hand on each shoulder. She doesn’t say anything, she just waits.

Sable bumps her head against the bars of the railing, once, twice, three times, but with each impact, her sobs ebb. Finally, she gives a great big sniffle, rubbing at her nose with the back of her wrist, and pulls herself to her feet. Her mouth is turned down at the corners, and her expression is tight, her attempt to fix it in place. Better this than simple dissolving. The sounds of growing chaos rise up around them, but Sable doesn't really spare it much of her attention. She turns towards Quinn, and pulls her into a hug.

"Le's ged you inside, hon," Sable mumbles, looking up at Quinn. She feels better taking care than being cared for. When she speaks, a sorrow stuffed nose and a wounded tongue make her difficult to follow. "Fixz thad nasdy cud you god there. I'll…" another sniff, after which she's more intelligable "I'll go get 'er lader on. Godda tend f'r the still livin'." She gets up on tiptoes and places a kiss on Quinn's cheek, grateful. The comfort she gave, while not acknowledged at the time, did not go unnoticed. "Yer awful sweet. Thanks. Honest."

Quinn gives a soft smile, which gradually gives way to a smirk. “It’s nothin’. I’m more worried about gettin’ some ice for your tongue. You sound like you’re a right bit mangled.” Looking down past Sable’s shoulder at the ruins below, she shakes her head – an unfortunate mess. Maybe she could see what she could do about that.

The hug lingers for a moment more before Quinn steps away, motioning with a hand for Sable to gon on ahead of her. “Be careful gettin’ back in. The last thing we need is you fallin’ and a whole ‘nother series a’ faintin’ spells.” She rubs her temples, closing her eyes and attempting to will the headache away before she follows after Sable. Her efforts are unsuccessful.

“I’m gonna feel this in th’ morn. Never blacked out like that before just from hittin m’ head.”

"Never dreamed so mudge in so liddle a time, neither," Sable remarks. The look in her eyes, the strain there, shows how much she's currently keeping down. But her voice, her posture, it all suggests she's mostly back to normal. This is, of course, considering that they both blacked out at the same time, suddenly and without known cause. "Real fuggin' vivid too. 'bout some blonde gal wid a hound dog."

Quinn, on the other hand, hadn’t put together that they had both passed out. Her curiosity piqued, she pauses and looks dead at Sable with a quirked eyebrow. “That’s… a right bit weird.” Her posture shifts, one arm on her hip while the other hangs. “I had some kinda dream too. ‘bout bein’ in a fire. Almost lost my violin, but some woman helped me.” She grimaces, rubbing her right arm. “Think I broke m’ arm in it too.” The irony was not lost on her.

Sable scowls, arms folding across her chest, "Arrighd," she says, grimly, "Some shid's goin' down." Which is a statement of the extremely fucking obvious, as the sound of sirens scream along the streets, and smoke billows up from place to place along the skyline. Down below, a dirt bike revs into life and a dark haired girl jets away without word or explanation. Sable catches sight of her and frowns, "What the fug is she off t'do?" she says, craning her neck to follow the bike before it disappears, "'t's Colette," Sable uses the girl's name as an occasion to try and reclaim her t's, which venture earns her a stab of pain.

Quinn’s expression is distinctly nonplussed as she makes gently lowers her instruments back into the apartment, exhaling sharply. She didn’t know what to make of Sable’s comment. “Somethin’, I dunno. I just know my head really feckin’ hurts.” She’s already making her way towards Sable’s freezer, responding to the question with a chuckle. “Maybe she’s dream ridin’.”

Sable eases through the window as well. Are there ice cubes in the fridge? If so, only because Magnes noticed she didn't bother herself. Sable's… never really had an apartment before. She's not sure how all this shit works. She skitters off to the bathroom, returning with the first aid kit she got issued by the Ferry folk - this sort of thing sees much too much work in that crowd. She sets it on the counter and flips its lid open, rooting around until she finds cotton swabs and peroxide. "Come 'ere," she says, "Lemme tend," ow, "t'" ow, "yer fuggin pains."

Much to Quinn’s dismay, she opens the freezer to discover that, no, there isn’t any ice within. She grumbles, letting the cool air wash over for a moment as she holds it open and drums her fingers on the door before closing it in a bit of a huff. Nothing to put on her forehead or to shove in Sable’s mouth to help ease the pain. Nothing cold, at least. “Oh, right.” She turns and makes her way to a chair, sitting and leaning forward, waiting for Sable. “Quite a bit ‘a ruckus outside.” Something about this whole situation wasn’t sitting well with her.

Sable tends to Quinn with a furrowed brow, focusing on the problem of cleaning and binding her wound rather than take on the rather enormous set of problems blossoming up all over the city. This is within her power to effect, so effect she will. The peroxide stings, of course, but Sable is quick. "Aw, 's not," ow, "So bad. Jus' a liddle cut," ow. She extracts one of those round band aids and pulls the wax paper free, baring the adhesive and setting the bandage into place. She smoothes it with her thumb, then leans back, smiling. "Jus' say y' shoulda seen th' other guy."

Quinn laughs, shaking her head. “Like anyone would believe I was in a fight!” At the sting of the peroxide, Quinn instinctively swats at Sable’s hand. As Sable’s hand withdraws from her head, Quinn reaches up and takes it in hers, smiling. “My turn t’ thank you, then.” She leans forward, placing a kiss on Sable’s forehead. “Couldn’t find anythin’ cold, sorry.”

Sable wrinkles her nose, "'n' id ain'd the kinda thing y' c'n kiss 'n' make bedder, either," she says, "Bud yer doin' a fine job at tryin' hon. Thanks." She opens her mouth, revealing her tongue, a bloody point on top and bottom of one edge. Unsurprising, considering how pointy those canines of hers are. She closes her mouth again, "Nod so bad, izzid?" She shrugs, "Waid it oud. Heals quick." She tips her head in the rough direction of the door. "Le's go get 'er, huh? Don' wanna jus' leave 'er oud there in th' rain."

“Pssh. Whatever. I’d be wincin’ everytime I spoke if that was me.” She smiles. Rising to her feet, she places a hand again on Sable’s shoulder. “Sure thing. Wouldn’t be right to leave it- er, her down there an’ all.” In all her years, Quinn wasn’t particularly used to naming her instruments. Maybe she’d have to take up the practice. “Maybe while were down there, we can find out somethin’ about what’s goin’ on out there.” She steps forward, furtively extending her hand just a bit.

Sable takes Quinn's hand and tugs at her arm, affecting an impatient child, even as she flashes a quick smile. Let it last, until she has to pick up those pieces down there. "Arrighd, then. We gonna, le's go!"

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