First You Pop Off Their Heads, Then You Suck


abby_icon.gif huruma_icon.gif

Scene Title First You Pop Off Their Heads, Then You Suck
Synopsis Huruma lurks, watching over Abby then takes her out for some home cooking. No, not THAT kind of home cooking.
Date March 23, 2009

New York City

Columbia University, then a Cajun restaurant.

First class. Overwhelmed. It's just an english class, but still. For someone who was homeschooled for the majority of her educational and formative years and only in posession of a GED, it's a dauting thing. Tack on everything that's happened, the blonde coming out of one of the main doors of one of the university buildings is looking a wee bit stressed. There's much for her to try and catch up on and her messenger bag bogged down with folders and with work, a binder in hand, the healer is looking about, paranoid. Beneath a chemically induced calm are the ever present fear, worry, terror, even guilt.

These feelings in Abigail- they're not the same ones that Huruma has come to be used to, and changes in another person are things that she will always be wary of. To one side of the walk in front of the English Department's building, there is a bench. And on that bench, is someone that sticks out like a sore thumb among the gaggles of college age students. A familiar figure, sitting upright with one long arm slung out over the edge of the back.

The usual clothing is absent today; boots are replaced by white sandals, and bare legs meet a knee-length, floral skirt of brown, cream, and blue. A torso notorious for tight leather is instead covered in a white knit top, low cut, with a string of bone-colored beads around her neck. On her face is a pair of large brown sunglasses, glinting off of the reflection of a late March sun. It's hard to miss her, and there is only one person Huruma is here for. Columbia, Abigail? Nice work.

Yeah, her co-worker sticks out like a sore thumb. So much so that Abigail in her paranoia easily zeroes in the african woman. When Huruma appears, it's not by accident, it's with purpose, so Abigail in her nowhere near to par clothing, jeans, boots, sweater and jacket, shuffles over to the other woman. She's ready for any change or shift in her emotions, courtesy of Huruma despite the woman promising she wouldn't. "Huruma" She's not even going to ask how the woman knew she was here. nope, she's smarter than that.

At least a few people have looked over to watch the leggy woman on the bench, and though she knows the eyes rest on her for seconds at a time, nothing comes of it. Huruma's lips curl up into a smile as Abby nears, one set of long fingers moving to smooth the black hair plastered expertly against brown skin. "Abigail."

No changes come to her mind, or her heart. They remain still even as she gets up close and personal. "How are you?" Huruma already knows the answer, technically, but is it good to ask? Probably.

It's socially appropriate to ask is more like it. "I'm surviving. You?" Down beside Huruma the blonde levers herself, resting her bag on top of the bench and leaning back so she can check out Huruma's view.

It's a rather good view of much of the walkways around this portion of the campus. Prime locale for people watching. Targeting? "Similarly." Huruma purrs, shading her eyes behind the sunglasses. "I am glad." Which is somewhat of a good thing- if Huruma stays contented, she is far less likely to pursue avenues of showing discontentment.

"I've heard you've been in an'out with the police. Any luck?" Any luck doing this the legal way?

"None" Anger. Unadulterated anger and abandonment. "Agent Ivanov is going to try it with the FBI point of view. Trafficking of humans. He says they won't be able to get them for what they did to me exactly, but they can get them, with my help, for human trafficking" her hands tighten on the strap of her bag, crossing her ankles one over the other. "If that won't work… well, he promised he'd deal with him in less than legal means"

"Legality is overrated." In other words, she's with this Ivanov guy. Though not so much on the 'exhaust all means'. "He will get his, don't you worry." And coming from Huruma, that is practically a promise. The woman shifts the arm over her lap to span across her waist and curl fingers into the other side of her shirt hem. But, onto bigger and better things:

"Are you hungry, Abigail?"

"Not in the least. But I have to eat. So where are we going?" That's why Huruma came. "Elisabeth brought cake and shepards pie, my new neighbour brought over chocolate cake and all the girls when i'm at work, keep stuffing food in my face. So, you'll be no different and maybe by the end of the week i'll be back to what I should be" Her curls waver and shift with ever nod of her head that accompanies her words.

"I remember, once- there was a time tha'I refused t'eat. Not that I was entirely able. I was almost …six feet, an'jus'over one-hundred and ten pounds." Can you imagine? "M'bones ached, m'insides gnawed, an'm'muscles bore every sinew in sight." There's an inevitable lesson here. "Tha'is why I want you t'eat, Abigail. We've gone through similar things-" Here, Huruma's prior mention of Abby not being alone may make more sense. "-an'even I know you are undeserving."

"There is a Cajun place I've not visited, if you would like to."

"Been a long time since I had Cajun" Abby answers. 'I'm be amenable" She's not answering the whole not hungry thing, though she spares a glance to Huruma. "Skin and bones then"

"Skin an'bones. I was lucky t'get out of Nigeria alive, at that point. Certainly not th'most desirable time of m'life." As if to drive in a point that she is no longer unhealthy nor in danger, Huruma swings her calves swing out to purposefully meet the ground, and the tall woman rises to her feet off of the bench.

Abigail follows, uncrossing ankles, snatching up binder, and rising from the bench just as easily. "I think it's the pills. Or I'm just.. not back to normal yet, whatever normal is. Do you eat at the Cajun place often?" Huruma's speaking the most that the woman ever really has in the time that she's known her.

"Listen better. I've not been there yet. But I've heard nothing bu'praise for it…" Huruma's hand lingers in the air behind them both as Abby steps up from the bench, a silent gesture of herding. "Medication. Fffah." The older woman is tempted to spit on the ground for even saying it. "I was a girl when they firs'tried that with me- younger than you. I cut off m'Grammar teacher's finger." Well, there was that whole 'voices in her head' thing too, but to Huruma, it was what they tried to treat it with that made it worse.

"It helps me. It does. Takes less time for Brian to calm me and I was able to do another hour yesterday. Less needing to go in the back room" ut off her grammar teachers… finger.. Thaat get Huruma a look. "Things weren't good back home?"

"Home, back then- was nineteen-eighties Shagamu. It was not good. Especially not f'me." She will not say it, but she is lucky to be such a rogue now. Huruma's hand lingers in the air as she takes some steps forward, intending for Abby to follow. "Th'bitch deserved it, though, I assure you."

Abby follow, by Huruma's side, she doesn't need the ushering, and though she knows that there's a hand behind her, hovering, she's ignoring it for now in favor of listening to the woman. "Not good for you, or for a woman, or for an evolved?"

"All of them." Which Huruma is obviously a part of, in some manner or another. Her hand settles back at her side, tempted to scrape along her own thigh from memories causing irritation, though it never comes. "I was always different, but being a woman made it harder… being able t'feel people- made it tha'much worse."

It is probably a mystery as to why Abigail gets this talkative Huruma; but every person should find at least one ear that will not judge them. For her, it seems to have become Abby, on purpose or not. The healer always strikes a chord of core familiarity, and it is simply easier to speak frankly.

'How'd you come to here, from there?" Simple questions, they could divide into more serious ones, or they might not, but it's nice to talk to someone about them, instead of that ever present 'how are you feeling' one. So beside Huruma, the disparity in heights and coloring evident, towards the Cajun restaurant they go.

"How? However I could. I stayed on th'continent f'some years, went t'Europe, Asia, South America… eventually I found myself here." Huruma's stride is placid, unhurried. "I am… well-traveled."

"Louisiana, and then here" Another polar opposite. "You have family?" It's a natural enough development in the line of questioning. Everyone has family, HAD family at some point.

All of a sudden, Huruma has clamped her mouth shut. Behind those sunglasses, her eyes are rigidly still. Underneath, her nostrils flare enough to signal that something within that totally innocuous question Was Not Right.

After a few extra, silent steps, she does answer, albeit slowly and what might be painfully. "…I do not know. I might. Last I knew, most of them were alive."

The look on her face almost makes Abby wish she hadn't asked that question. Unhappy subject. "Well, lets talk about something else. uhh.." The blonde looks around, keeping an eye out for unsavory individuals despite the almost 100 percent assured protection offered by Huruma. 'What do you like to do when your not the bouncer at Old Lucy's?"

If Huruma was weird on a regular basis, now might be the best timing ever to turn around and make Hannibal Lecter noises. But, she does have some semblance of class. "Many things." Good and Bad things. She begins, hesitant to get into much further explanation. "That is a broad sort of question, Abigail." But, at least the topic getting off of family is a welcome moment. The last thing that Huruma would be keen on explaining- is family in detail.

"I'm not meaning it to be. though I realize now, perhaps it is, and not the best.. question to ask" The woman did come with the others to take care of her after all. Abigail falls silent again, still looking around as she goes, that chemical equilibrium still in place. "I don't rightly know what to converse with you about, so…"

"Nobody ever does." Huruma sends Abby a hit of a smile, stopping only when the two reach a crossing at a street, waiting for the light. "I like t'be alone. Where there are not many buildings, most of all. Does that help your question?"

"With only the trees around you, the sky above with it's stars and the moon, and not a hint of a city to blank out the sky. Just a fire, and the light from it. A shotgun and a rabbit skinned and roasting over the fire" Abby likes that too, being alone. Not so much at the moment. At the though, all that fear and anger, loathing is overshadowed by something good and there's a smile on her face as they wait for the walk signal. "I miss home. I miss a forest with true tree and not a forest of steel"

If she were one of her targets, Huruma would not need to calm herself one tiny bit. The progression from bringing up family to this has gotten her back to a place of relaxation. "Exactly." But, just maybe- not quite a rabbit. "Th'greenbelt is the closest to th'city. Beyond that, th'Catskills, th'Adirondack Reserve, th'Pocono Mountains. I go out to each a lot." The woman's voice trails off into a slight drawl, picking up again as the light clicks on the opposite sidewalk. "Would you like to come with me someday?"

"Last I did that, was with Niki, and we went out to the greenbelt, but.. If your going sometime and I'm not occupied, then, I can bring out my tent and such." That's a really good subject, little by little she's relaxing, the tightness in shoulders starting to melt away. There's the little white lighted man, dictating that now people can walk and Abby strides forward with Huruma, no need for ushering still. "I'd like that greatly Huruma"

Just don't give her any reason to try and sneak a bite in, and we'll all be fantastic. Huruma's lips seem to stay curled in a smirk. "With spring coming, I am sure that it would be good for you. T'get out." Getting out in the city doesn't always mean the park, or just moving around- sometimes you need to actually leave in order to get that fresh air.

"Can't hurt to try, if I find time" Weekends are enough time, if things are arranged. "Though winter camping is just as adventurous, but, little harder when you don't have the right equipment" Camping, she knows it. She's good at camping. You don't grow up where she grew up and not know how to get by a few nights in the woods of Louisiana and the bogs/bayou with just a knife.

Compare and contrast Huruma, age twelve, stuck in the wilderness of Uganda with a sharpened stick. Camping? Cakewalk. "I'll let you know when I get something clear, okay?" This time, the woman's smooth voice and smile turns directly down to Abby, a flicker of sharp white teeth against Huruma's dark face.

She should be afraid, and on some level, deep down, it's there. You don't get this close to Huruma without some knowledge that there's something dark and sinister within the woman. But there's also something else, that Abby sense. That comes out when the two are near. "If you want, for dinner, you can.. do your thing. So that we can have a normal conversation without me… looking everywhere"

Huruma tilts her head slightly, peering over the curve of her own shoulder. "My… thing, Abigail?" This was a normal conversation. Her voice is even, and white eyes behind the lenses target on the blonde. "Pardon?"

"that.. thing, that he could do, only, without touching" Normal, well, maybe it was a normal conversation. "Ignore me Huruma. I'm not feeling all that normal lately. Where is this place?" Because a touch of near home cooking might help too. The blonde keeps an eye out for any tell tale signs, with a glance down to Huruma's feet "aren't you cold?"

"Mmm." Oh. That thing. "I can, if you would like that." Glancing down after Abby does, Huruma purses her lips and lifts her chin. "I can deal wit'cold as long as I move… I jus'hate snow with a fiery passion." Her pronunciation of 'fiery' even contains what might be a growl. "I am, but it is a small price."

"I think, i'd like that. Just for the meal. Be nice to be me, for even an hour" Sandals, in the winter, it's still winter. Wow. She doens't have that fortitude, not at all, but then, it's once again, Huruma. "SO what… at this restaurant, do you like to eat? What's yoru favourite meal?"

"When it comes t'Cajun, I seem t'be partial to catfish. Alligator, if I am lucky." It seems to fit, that she'd not hesitate to eat a predator like that. "The only seafood that sticks is always Cajun. Otherwise, I tend to skip it." Talking about food is making Huruma hungry, all of a sudden. Though she probably does have some sort of bizarre 'delicacy' wherever she lives, she was the one to come fetch Abby. "You?" It's been long enough that far down the street they turn onto, is the telltale front of the restaurant. Soon. Soon Abby will not need to worry about a hungry person leaning over to try and take a bite. It would be so easy- but also on a busy street, alas.

"Gumbo. A big bowl of gumbo. Sitting heavy in my stomach, and the sausage hot enough to burn the roof of your mouth. Add some crayfish to that. you know, just pop the heads off and suck it all out" she mime the action, the twist and pull of the small crustacean's head and then the meat inside. "Spicy food"

Way to make Huruma feel like drooling. The taller woman might be picking up her pace just a little. "Mmmmhmmhm." Her throat carries a low laugh. "I enjoy that too. Never'ad anyone else t'really… enjoy it with." You know what else you can suck out? Brains. Fingers. Bones. Maybe that is why she never had anyone to enjoy it with. They were the ones being enjoyed.

"No one up here knows how to eat crayfish proper. It's all in the head" Abby's smiling at that, without Huruma's help at all. Food has always been a source of comfort for the blonde, and because she burns so much, she has no issue with it.

Nearing the door to the restaurant, there's already an aura of smells floating around the entrance. Huruma links her hand around the handle, opening the way for Abby. Much warmer, and welcoming, inside. Oh, the head. You have no idea. "Then perhaps you should teach them."

In through the front door Abigail snuffles, head first, pun intended, into the smells that permeate the air around the building and twice as strong inside. "Maybe. I didn't exactly have the time, nor the money in the last few years to eat out much, much less brings friends with me. Izzy paid better than the Nite Owl"

It's funny- the only job that Abby knows Huruma to have is at the bar, yet she seems to constantly have bills tucked away somewhere on her person. A mystery yet to be properly solved. "Then perhaps if this works out …maybe we can pursue a regular thing, hmm?" The edges of her brows lift upward in question, signaling a two to the hostess, who runs her pen down the book to write something on the paper.

"Maybe" There's a pause as she looks up to the other woman, a nearly full fledged smile on her face as she spills her next words out. "depends how well you can pop a head off and suck" With those words though, the pair are off, shown to a table to enjoy come familiar food.

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