Participants:
| Scene Title | Favors and Debts |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Diogenes stops at Isis's apartment for another of his impromptu visits, and asks for a few more … substantial favors. |
| Date | June 30, 2009 |
Small Cafe in the Bronx
It has been nearly a month since Isis has heard last of Diogenes. And only a single day on the calendar would keep one from erasing the 'nearly' from the previous sentence. No promised text messages, no notes slipped under her door while she is out, and even no amibiguous phone calls with muffled breathing on the line. Today, however, is when Thomas finally shows up, making sure that it's not a full month since his last appearance. Instead of ringing the doorbell, Isis would receive a curt text message, saying simply: "Knock knock". And should she travel to the door to see who it is, she would notice him. "Sorry, I found out I have time travelling powers, too. Took a while to get used to", he would say if she comes to open the door.
The text message is given a glare which is only then turned upon the door. With a sigh she unfolds from her place at her computer, turning down the volume on her music - 'Hey Jude'. She peeks out a small crack in the door before swinging it open, instantly bracing her shoulder to the frame and crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, look who is here." She rolls back her shoulders, looking quite ready to unleash a fun string of cusses… only to glance back over her shoulder as if suddenly remembering something. She stanches her glove from a chair beside the door and steps forward, pushing into Thomas and pulling the door shut behind her. "Where have you been?" She hisses once they are out in the hall.
It isn't surprising, or at least it shouldn't be too surprising that Diogenes is wearing the same clothes he wore twenty nine days ago. Save for the shirt. The shirt's changed. But his snug dark jacket and his grimly grey pants were still a part of his attire. He steps back; he is suddenly thrown off balance when he hears the song. And suddenly, his smug demeanour slips off of him. Even when the door is closed behind the redhead, the muffled melody and the dull words that are unfortunately impossible to make out are enough to affect him. He sighs, looking down at the ground. "I don't know", he answers, and looks up, but to the side. "I tried to figure some things out. These weren't the best days for me. I'm sorry. But I did come back, right?" His gaze finds her deep eyes. A faint smirk appears on his lips. "Knew I should have brought flowers or something."
The little redhead glance back towards the door wedge firmly in its frame, searching for the source of whatever has Thomas shedding his usual mask of a demeanor. She doesn't allow her attention to drift for long, couldn't even if she had sought to - her gaze turns to meet Thomas's own. The line of her sight falters slightly, falling to the man's lips before venturing back towards his eyes. "Flowers aren't my thing," she replies quietly, a slow smile sneaking up along the bow of her pale lips. "Come on. Tea - my treat." She nudges her head down the hall, pulling on her gloves as she turns on a heel. "In exchange for an proper explanation, of course."
"I'm afraid there is no proper explanation", he admits, stepping forth to stand at the woman's side. Judging by the tone, it's not something that he finds easy to confess. "I know that the role of a man when he disappoints a woman is comprised of him coming up with an elaborate and good enough lie to please his female compatriot, but - if you remember - I have never been one who follows traditions. Especially the social one", he explains, instead touching upon the lack of a good excuse, instead of giving one or several. "The past week, though… There's an explanation regarding that. I ran into a telepath, I think. Or just some sort of memory-manipulator. Don't worry, I still remember that weird kiss we exchanged."
Isis's steps falter just before the stairwell, the little woman turning around sharply. She lifts a hand, pointing a finger at the man, and shoves herself up to her tiptoes. "No lies. Ever. Ever. I don't care if the truth is something wild, hurtful, dangerous, what have you… No lies." She steals a deep breath to steady her nerves, belatedly absorbing the rest of the man's statement as she leads him down the stairwell and out into the afternoon sun. "Memory manipulator?" Isis frowns and tilts her head to the side, looking up to her companion from beneath a few untamed curls. "I don't like the sound of that, but I don't think I understand completely, either."
Diogenes leans backwards, and for a moment it seems as if he is genuinely intimidated by that delicate digit. But in reality, he was teasing the sudden change in the redhead's demeanour. "Sure. As often as I lie, I actually am not addicted to lying and can switch channels", he notes, stepping aside just to draw distance between him and Isis. In truth, he wasn't a fan of pointy fingers. Casually, he strolls after Isis, walking down the stairwell. When both exit into the 'great outdoors', Diogenes frowns and sneer, the bright sun blinding him somewhat. "Why aren't we in your apartment, again?..", he asks, shifting his gaze to the shorter of the two.
No lies. It works in both directions. "I have company," she replies. She glances up, offering an expression seeking that Thomas does not ask her to explain further. "Tell me what's going on. What happend?" she continues, her gaze lingering a moment longer before she directs her attention to the path of the sidewalk before them. The wind steals up a few locks her hair, dancing them across her serious expression in a brief caress.
Diogenes narrows his eyes, and with a quick shake of his head, turns to fully face Isis. "Let's see how good you are at not lying… or how bad you are doing it. So, why don't you want me in your apartment?" Her other question, which he recognised as an attempt to deflect and change the course of their conversation, is left unanswered and ignored. And when she begins to walk, he almost grabs her by her upper arm to stop her, when he remembers that that particular idea was an ill-constructed one. As an alternative, he quickens his pace so that he would end up standing in front of Isis.
Isis's heavy boots falter, scuffling across the concrete as she halts. She flips her hair back with a quick nudge of her chin, clearing her vision to fix those dark eyes up upon Thomas's features. "Why are you prying?" The question bears no ill tone, instead favoring a true, probing curiosity. After a moment she lifts her shoulders in a subtle shrug. "I don't think he's up for having guests. He's… secretive."
"To see if I can trust you", he answers, simply enough. Diogenes notes further, showing just how blunt and brusque he can be: "I can't talk to you if you keep secrets from me. I don't care if you're sleeping with him. If you don't want him to mistake me for your boyfriend, then just say so. I'm not the competitive type. I'm not the skirt-chasing type. I wouldn't care if you were sleeping with half of New York, as long as you are who you were when I first met you." Clearly irked, he steps away from Isis, and this time, he takes the lead. "Apparently, comic books and films were wrong", he says all of a sudden, "Telepaths don't just read your thoughts. They can influence them, and erase your memories. I don't know why Person X decided to do that to me. Just 'cause I ticked him or her off? That's a bit overkill. I don't care. I just want to tell them that fucking with me equals consequences."
"Just stop for a second." Isis demands. She reaches out, gloved hands allowing her to forgo the hesitation that had stopped Thomas's same action. She takes a grip on his forearm and pulls herself around in front of him. "Just stop. Listen - Yeah, him and I are kind of dating." She shrugs with a certain rigid awkwardness. "I'm being honest, though. He's secretive. I don't know how he'd react to having you there and it's been a while… Can't I just have you to myself for a bit? I think you owe me that much. Consider it payback for the favor and waiting around to hear from you?" She cants her head to the side, flashing a half-smile. She steps out of the line of Thomas's path then, taking up a smooth, casual pace at his side. "How're you going to find the telepath?"
Diogenes looked back at Isis, having allowed her to stop him. It was only fair, for she didn't object to being stopped by him, after all. Physical contact, however, even if it doesn't initiate a rearrangement of minds, is frowned down upon. He looks down at her hand, and then slowly his gaze crawls back up to rest on Isis's visage, constrained by a tense facial expression, which is attempted to be lit up by a quick hint of a smile. "Whoever the telepath is, is sloppy", he replies after a sigh, continuing to walk at a similarly casual pace at the woman's side, "They didn't erase the memories that lead to him… or her. There are two suspects. One of them is fairly easy to find, and I plan on going there, first. Staten Island."
Isis's gloved hand retreat from Thomas's forearm one finger at a time, falling away to tuck back into the pockets at the front of her jeans. "Staten Island?" She looks up with a note of concern, quickly shaking her head. "What're you getting yourself into? You can't just go down there and start…" She grunts and waves her hands in a wild display that is obviously meant to mean something or other. With a heavy sigh she turns the door into a little café. "What do you plan to do anyway?" She asks, fixing Thomas with a lofted brow as she holds open the door to let him pass inside.
"Sure, I can", he protests, "I can do anything. So can you. We just have to be ready for the costs and consequences of our actions." He steps inside the café, looking behind him as if to check if Isis actually follows. His eyes would scan the indoors to look for the most remote table, and when he finds one, he instantly wanders over to it to sit down, once again shooting a glance behind him, this time wordlessly telling Isis to follow. Once both would be at the table, Tom would gesture to a seat in front of him. "I don't really want to get myself into anything. But I think I might… inadvertently… do just that. I don't want random telepaths messing with my mind. I'm just going to put the fear of God - me - in them", he says. Interestingly, his tone carries serious venom, rather than playful mischief.
Isis's coppery-garnet mane is likely to catch attention most anywhere. She can be seen opening the door for another man, dipping into a café just down the street from her apartment. She follows, offering Thomas a quick, childish display of sticking out her tongue when he looks back at her. "I'm coming. I'm coming." She slips into the seat across from the discrete table he has chosen. She watches her companion for a long moment, leaning forward to brace her elbows upon the table in a way that hunches her bare shoulders up in a serious posture. "I don't like you this way…" She remarks in a rather caustically blunt tone. She sighs and sits back, tipping back her chin in that way that allows her to watch the man down the bridge of her tiny nose. "You can't just let it be?"
Diogenes tips his head to the side, regarding Isis thoughtfully. He appears rather solemn and serious, perhaps even too much for his own good. And then, out of nowhere, comes a chuckle and his facial features brighten. "Don't like me what way?", he asks, leaning forward, "The way I am around everyone else?.." He looks aside, if only for a moment, to note the crowd conveniently further away from the pair. "Do you even know what you like… what you want?"
"Everyone else…" she muses, Isis's brows knitting nearer to one another in a subtle degree that marks her curious thoughts. "So I get special treatment, then?" she asks, but leaves no time in which for her companion to respond, turning instead to the probing query of what she wants. "Sometimes," she admits honestly. "Do you?"
Thomas straightens out, his palms sliding along the surface of the surface of the table until his hands drop down on his lap. Now reclining against his chair, he is looking at Isis with a glimmer of an amused smirk on his lips. Although taken aback and even somewhat perplexed by the deflection and the turn of the tables, he was also charmed by it. But, just as he spread his lips and took a deep breath to reply, he is interrupted by the redhead who only further fixates the spotlight on him. "Just at certain given moments. I don't know what I want in the long-term", he says, "but I know what I want now. And right now I want your help."
"Another favor?" Isis lofts a brow and lifts a small hand, revealing one finger to halt the man there. "I'm going to need a cup of coffee for this." She slides from the seat and steps away towards the counter, exchanging a few quick words and bills with the barista before returning. One cup for herself, she slides another oversized mug towards Thomas. "Vanilla chai," she explains before reclaiming her seat, stealing a deep sigh to try and ease the nerves rung under the morning's tension. "What do you need?" The question is softly worded, as if to make clear that despite her teasing she finds no burden in at least hearing out her companion's words, and perhaps even the prospect of helping him.
Diogenes tilts his head to the side in a ponderous fashion, looking over the seemingly colossal mug offered to him. He pushes himself forth just so he could see what's in the large cup. The unique scent that reaches hise wrinkled nose isn't something he is fond of, it seems. He lifts his eyes to regard the woman in front of him. "Chai? Vanilla chai?", he echoes her words that referred to the drink's name. "Is it Indian for 'vanilla poison'?" Despite that tiny jibe, the man extends his hand and pulls the mug closer, so that he could better take in that peculiar scent. Still, the sip itself would be delayed. Quite so. "I need to find the telepath. Nothing in particular, just you helping me find her. But before we do, I need a more trivial favour. The phone works on and off, and I need to visit the guy I bought it from. It was from a pawn shop… in Staten. Yeah, I know, don't give me shit."
The scrutiny given to the drink is observed with a growing smirk. The aroma would smell as sacharrine as the contents would taste - should the man ever dare to sip from it. "Do they not have phrases about gift horses and their mouths where you're from?" Isis asks with a smile. "It's good. Very sweet." She lifts her own mug in bothe gloved hands, tipping it up towards her lips as the man continues and ultimately completes his little speech. Blink blink. "The pawn shop in Staten…" She suddenly realized she'd forgotten her sidearm at home. "I've… been there, actually. You want me to go with you?" Apparently she's honing most of her attention on what seems to be the easier 'favor' at hand. Finally, however, curiosity overrules, edging her forward in her seat to rest her elbows on the table between them. "How am I supposed to help you with your 'telepath problems'?"
"I cannot tell you that", he announces with what sounded like pride; he sounded like a child who had a great secret with which he enjoyed to tease others. "Not until we deal with this matter, first." Thomas glances down at his mug. No, that will have to wait. He wasn't particularly thirsty, either way. "This is a delicate matter, and you are going to have to trust me. It's one those Hollywood 'take my hand' things", he explains reluctantly - it seemed he himself wasn't quite entirely sure how things would work out… or if they would. "First off, you can help me with getting into Staten. I'm certainly not willing to part with money to bribe the idiotic captains of ships to get across to Staten. You hold an ability which potentially can be a powerful bargaining force." Needless to say, the further he spoke of this favour, the quieter his tone became.
Both brows shoot up towards Isis's hairline, a hand lifting hurriedly to brush a few errant curls from her vision as if the woman that that her obstructed gaze might have muddled her hearing as well. "Trust… is not something I give out easily," she remarks with a deeper tone than their usually volleying quips and teases carry. "Lucky for you, though, I'm curious." And, out to show the world that she's not as cute and frail as the damn sour-luck of her bred appearances would lead one to believe. And, crazy. She shrugs and takes another deep sip of her drink before pushing it away, taking a greater interest in this completely strange morning conversation. "How do you expect me to help you get to Staten? Are you asking me for money?"
Diogenes grips the mug and lifts it to his lips to take a moderate sip. And a sip that brief is enough to make him cringe and set the mug back down. "No, I am not asking you for money. I seldom ask for money, and only when in dire situations", he explains before continuing: "No, I need to help me… persuade one of the ships' captains to get us across to Staten. From there, I'd like you to take me to that pawn shop, because… I still haven't gotten used to the streets of New York." Although he didn't seem to like the drink, he does take another sip and doesn't contort his grimace as much as he did earlier. "There, I want you to play along with everything I say, and ultimately touch the guy who owns the place. That's as much as you need to know", he states, setting the mug back down.
"You don't just want me to touch him…" Isis says dully. Well, there's a way to state the obvious. She frowns and looks down as the wood markings of the scuffed tabletop. "You're asking for a lot - to expose myself, to but my body at risk of being stolen or damaged, not to mention just the simple danger of being in Staten… And all on your trust." A heavy moment of silence lingers on as the calculations are tallied up in Isis's mind. Ultimately she looks up, dark gaze drawn to Thomas's features from beneath the soft shadow of her ebon lashes. "You're going to owe me big time," she mumbles flatly, only to find a slow smirk tickling up one corner of her pale lips.
Thomas reclines in his seat again, a single hand back on his lap, and the other hugging the pleasantly warm mug of vanilla chai. He would remain silent as Isis recounts all the things he asked of her, and when she finally grows silent - before she voices her agreement with doing this favour for him - he cants his head and slowly lifts a single brow, patiently and coldly anticipating the redhead's answer. And when he hears the answer he wants to hear, he mirrors her smirk, and takes another sip before speaking up: "This chai thing isn't that bad, after all. As long as I imagine I'm drinking something else entirely."
Isis snorts, the sound giving way to an amused chuckle. "Glad you like it," she quips back easily enough. She finally reclaims her own drink, drawing it back to her lips. After a moment she lowers the nearly emptied mug and presses it away, glancing back over her shoulder towards the door. "So, we have a deal then - I'll be claiming that favor from you at some point." She suddenly looks back sharply, a flustered expression over coming her as she lifts her hands. "I actually didn't mean that perversely," she mumbles quickly, only to break into a smile and rise from her seat. "I should head back. Come get me when you're ready to head out to Staten." She gives a simple nod and turns away, making for the door and calling back over her shoulder. "Stay out of trouble, Diogenes." The door chimes, offering its own farewell as the redhead slips away.
Diogenes cocks his head to the other side, as if a curious bird on a high branch. "It's a pity you didn't mean it perversely", he remarks before taking another sip from his mug; he actually had quite a bit of his drink left, and would stay in the place, instead of departing along with Isis, albeit apparently to pursue his own path, whatever it may be. "Yeah, go back, your boyfriend might have woken up and need his slippers, pipe and breakfast in bed, otherwise he might be cranky", he says in a tone that was just barely playful. It looks like Tom was somewhat butthurt about this new revelation, but it wasn't enough to actually be fully irritated. "I will", he says, and his gaze turns to regard the world outside through the window.