Cook's Fault


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Scene Title Cook's Fault
Synopsis Faith and Cook run into each other, and find out that the date they went on last weekend didn't really include one of them…
Date 06/12/09

Middle of New York, somewhere.

It's Friday evening and "quitting time" for most businesses. Not that the editors, reporters and photographers at a newspaper have normal hours, of course. Still, Faith had an early morning gig followed by a few easy shots throughout the day, and so she gets to escape with the "Nine to Fivers" — the advertising department, the secretaries, the receptionists. Hope isn't so lucky; the reporter is stuck writing a story frantically trying to make deadline within the next hour or so. Faith fairly skips out of the revolving door of the building, looking forward to a free Friday night for the first time in a few weeks.

Cook is sitting across the street on a bus bench, hands in his jacket pockets, gnawing on something. He seems to be waiting for the bus. He's in his usual beat-up slacks and sweater, with the Converse sneakers. At least his fashion sense is consistant.

The blonde sees the Irishman and tilts her head. "James?" she asks, stepping closer to see his face. "You just happen to be here, or were you looking for me?" she asks, leaning against the fire hydrant across from the bus stop bench. Today she's dressed for summer in a sundress, despite the gloomy weather, though she has enough sense to wear a white denim jacket over the dress. A pair of dressier shoes peeks out of her shoulder tote but she wears flip flops for the commute, like so many New Yorkers do.

Cook glances over and perks his brows. "HEY!" He looks around. "I'm waitin' for the bus." He stands up and walks over, and then he… leans in to kiss her cheek? What?

Faith raises those brows, looking a bit surprised at the kiss on the cheek. Well, he's European… maybe that explains it. "Well, it's nice to see you, too," she quips a moment later. "What have you been up to?" Awkward small talk time!

"Oy, workin' an' all, you know." He shrugs his shoulders and glances at her, up and down, before grinning. "Now that've got you, tho', you ever wanna repeat last weekend?" … what.

"Repeat last weekend?" she asks, her brow furrowing a bit as she tries to remember last weekend. Last weekend was spent in Staten Island and developing pictures and then sending them off to various magazines, hoping to get a big payoff. "You mean two weeks ago at the bar…?" she says. The middle-aged lady next to Cook gives the two an annoyed glance. Apparently she's not in the mood to be privy to other people's love lives.

Cook doesn't give a crap about the old lady. She could be tofu for all Cook cares. "Nuuuuh. I mean last weekend, when we went dancin'." He /must/ be shroomin'.

Faith tilts her head and her eyes narrow. "Which twin do you think I am?" she asks carefully. If he thinks she's Hope, someone's in big trouble. If he thinks she's Faith, then someone's in even bigger trouble.

"Faith," Cook says. "I called you last weekend and we went dancing." Cook furrows his brow. And then he proceeds to describe how she was dressed; which includes the sweater Faith provided Hope with. Mid-description, it dawns on Cook what must've happened, and he starts to cackle.

"I am going to kill Hope," Faith says in a dangerously low voice, her eyes narrowing and her cheeks flushing so she no longer looks as sweet and innocent and carefree as she did just moments ago. "And you…" she pushes a finger into his chest, "You had a good time, want to do it again, blah blah blah, but don't even think to call? Or did she tell you not to?" Her hands go to her hips as she glowers at him.

Cook is still laughing. He glances at her poking finger and cackles some more. "I was waitin' the mandatory week!" He pleads, still laughing. What is he supposed to say? None of it is his fault.

"A week? You don't go out and wait a week. What rulebook are you reading, anyway? How to be an aloof bad boy?" she says, pulling her bag up over her shoulder and shaking her head. She pulls out her cell phone and begins to walk away, away from the bus stop, away from the building.

"Oy! I'm not lookin' fer a wife!" Cook follows her. "Just had a good time. What are you so mad at /me/ for? I'm not the one that impersonated you."

"I'm not looking to be a wife," she says, turning around to face him as he follows, but she keeps walking. "I'm mad at both of you." She hasn't hit "dial" yet on the phone, but it's out and ready. "So you had a good time with my sister pretending to be me? What all did you do?"

Cook widens his mouth indignantly, and then says: "How am I AT FAULT? I've seen you all three times, countin' today! Maybe you shouldn't've given her your clothes! She was dressed like you!" Cook tosses his hands up. "we danced. Drank. Made out!"

"Fine, it's not your fault. But if you'd called sooner after the date I wouldn't just be finding this out now, would I? So now that you've spent time with both of us, which do you like better? Number 1 or Number 2? Probably 1, since she made out with you and all. I'm so going to kill her. For the record? We might share clothes, but I don't share men," Faith says coolly, arms crossing defensively.

"Well s'not like I really know what y'are like on th'dance floor now, s'it? Plus, she lied t'me." Cook shrugs. "No reason to, but she lied anyways. Tha' kills most'a her chances." Cook goes shifty-eyed, and then steps up close to her. "Could find out which'a you's better, tho', if you like." Dog.

"Uh. No. Not til I talk to Hope and find out what the hell went on," Faith says, putting a hand on his chest to keep him from closing in completely. "She won't lie to me, even if she lied to you and pretended to be me. I know that sounds all twisted and fucked up, but it's true. She probably meant to check you out, see if you were good enough for me, or something like that." Never mind Hope lied that night, about having a story to go to. "We play pranks on each other, sometimes… I'm assuming she didn't go too far." The last sentence lilts up into a question.

"Aaaaaaw." Cook pouts a little. "You sure you wanna have your sister's actions dictatin' what you do an' don't do, there?" He backs off, though, smirking. "Didn't get far. She had to go." He snorts.

"If you want to know how I 'stack up' to Hope, you'll have to ask me on a proper date and make sure it's me you're talking to," Faith says, her arms crossing her chest once more. "We can have a password or something. If it's really me, I'll slip it into the conversation within the first minute or so. If I don't… then chances are it's the conniving bitch." Ah, such affection amongst twins. "What do you think?"

"Uh." Cook tips his head a little and shrugs. "Okay. What's the password?" He scratches the back of his heaad a bit and grabs a pen from his back pocket. It's a mid-afternoon snack. He uncaps it and sets it against his forearm. "I forget shit."

"Um. Something you won't forget then…" she says with a shrug. "Any ideas? Maybe a middle name, or your mother's name or the town you grew up in back home or something?" she says. "Unless you just don't want to call me and have a proper date. It's up to you."

"Don't be passive aggressive," Cook says with a frown. "Just… oi." He takes her arm and writes down a telephone number. "There. Now just don't give the number to your sister."

"I'm passive aggressive now, am I?" Faith says. She takes the number and gives a shrug. "You think it's hilarious that my sister pretended to be me… guess it doesn't matter as long as you get macked on which twin. I guess I should be happy that you two get along. No need to worry about my family approving, right?" she tosses out. "And me calling you isn't you asking for a proper date, though, is it? Or do you not do proper dates?" Despite the words she's unwinding a bit, her arms finally uncrossed as she stands on the sidewalk facing off with him. Passers by look amused at the stand off. "You tell 'em girl!" one man says while walking by.

"Ah shaddap you gay fart!" Cook tosses out at the man. He looks over at Faith. "Look: s'not my fault your sister screwed with us. I'm not 'bout t'be offended. It's not worth the headache. You take the number, and you call me when you want to go out. Proper date, booty call," Cook shrugs. "I'm asking you, /and/ giving you the chance to decide when and where. Okay?" And then he leans over and grabs her by the jaws and kisses her. Smack on the lips. MWAH.

Faith's eyes fly open as he goes in for the kiss, startling her. She stands still for a moment, then tilts her head to accommodate the embrace a bit better, her hand moving around his waist as he leans in. A few people applaud, causing her to shake her head and step back, laughing. "Fine. I agree, it's not your fault." A bus drives up, stopping at the bench he was seated at moments ago. "There's your bus, you better run," she points out. "I'm going to go yell at my sister," she adds, nodding to the building where her sister is still working.

Cook grins and bows for people, grabbing on to the handlebar at the door of the bus. He waves at Faith. "Spank'er for me! CALL ME!" As the bus drives away, with him hanging there.

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