Participants:
| Scene Title | Futures Sought |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Colette and Sable both apologize for their prior behavior, and in that apology Colette tasks Sable with an important job. |
| Date | June 22, 2010 |
Colette Nichols should be in her apartment by now, not standing outside of an apartment one floor up and one door down from her own. Leaning against where wallpaper peels away from sheetrock, Colette's arms are crossed over her chest, head bowed down and brows furrowed. The door she leans next to isn't her own and the noises coming from inside aren't her responsibility, but the emotional state of the person that rests on the other side of that door is partly her responsibility, partly her fault.
She's been standing out here for fifteen minutes now after having dropped her duffelbag off in her apartment, came up here still smelling like dust, stagnant water and sweat. It's not an entirely attractive smell and Juniper's probably not awake to make it go away. Her own urban stink isn't what's keeping Colette from knocking on that door though, it's the memory of her wn harsh last words to someone who was — in retrospect — entirely right.
With a heaved sigh, Colette leans away from the wall and sidesteps in front of the apartment door, rapping her knuckles repeatedly on the wood. "Sable," she calls out to the door, "it's… me." Losing some of her enthusiasm right there and then, Colette closes her eyes and slouches forward, letitng her forehead hit the door with a soft thunk on the wood.
"Can we talk?" sounds like pleading, but in Colette's tone of voice it also sounds like the beginning of an apology.
She's left to wait for almost two minutes, and at first it might seem as if she's being given the cold shoulder. Sable's occasionally vicious turns of mood wouldn't necessarily preclude it. But in the next moment, the door swings open. Sable looks a bit tousled, with the beginnings of sleep around her eyes, and her clothes are in the disarray of the hastily donned. "Sorry, hon," she says, "Had t' make m'self fuckin' decent. Come on in." She steps aside, holding the door open, ushering Colette in with a sweep of her arm.
"Door shut 'r closed?" Sable asks, eyes tracking Colette with the faintest hint of wariness leaking through.
Bobbing her head into a nod as she slips thorugh the door, Colette offers a side-long look to Sable, her smile restrained as if she's not sure she has any right to laugh about the decent comment. "Shut," Colette decides, looking back briefly at the door before taking those first few awkward and tentative steps ito Sable's apartment, eyes drifting around from the door and hands folding behind her back. That Colette looks dressed for business likely implies why she smells like she just got done with some. Those skinny, black jeans are smudged with dirt and tucked into her mid-calf high boots.
When she twists to look back at Sable, the fabric of her black tanktop pinches and creases, tucked into her jeans, and only the silver ring worn around one finger shows sign of being clean. Wherever she was, it was dusty and dirty and damp. "I'm… really sorry," is getting to sound repetitive coming from her, and judging from the rueful expression she tries to hide when looking away, she knows it.
Sable doesn't keep much of a house. There is nothing besides a bed and an amp in her room. Her clothes are piled in a spare guitar case, and scattered around in a puddle of white tank tops and dark cargo pants, with scattered 'cute' underwear defaced by black fabric marker. It's spartan. It'd be messy if there was anything around to clutter the space, but it's mostly bare walls and bare floor.
The door swings shut, but Sable slows it and gently shuts it with her foot, reducing all sound. A sign of discretion. She's squinty, having been woken from dozing, so it's hard to read how serious her expression really is. She slips her hands down the bands of her sweatpants, for lack of pockets, and sets her feet a bit wide, peering at Colette.
"What for?" is her question. It doesn't sound impudent, or cruel. She sounds like she's just asking for information.
"Being me?" is a wry answer that comes with a smirk, defensive in the way that Colette's anxious to show off her actual emotions. "I— I dunno, it…" wavering her head from side to side, Colette closes her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest, looking lost, like she's not sure if she's really welcome or even what to do with herself in the space she's given. "I… really snapped at you the other day and— I— I was upset about other things, not… really mad at you. Especially because— I mean— you're mostly right about what you said."
Turning slowly, Colette furrows her brows and shakes her head, then looks down at her feet. "I don't know what I want, I… I don't know. I'm trying to figure it out I just…" she sighs, blowing an errant lock of hair from her face in the process. "I'm really sorry for snapping at you, you didn't deserve it and I shouldn't treat a friend who was just tryin' t'look out for me so fuckin' bad."
Lifting up a hand to rub at the back of her neck, Colette sheepishly averts her eyes to the floor, then back up to Sable. "Sorry if— I came too late too I… it didn't seem that late." Nearly eleven o'clock at night is kind've late.
"Aw, it ain't late," Sable explains, "But I'm tryin' to get into th' swing of, like, a workin' person's sleepin' habits."
There's a pause, a held breath even, and then: "Bein' right don't justify savagin' a gal who's once-love is in a bad way," Sable says, hands leaving her bottom, arms crossing in front of her, "That was a shitty, selfish fuckin' thing t' do, 'n' when I said it, I meant you harm. That ain't no way t' behave. So we're both bastards," she shrugs, cracks a smile, "That's why we got what we got between us, whatever it might be fuckin' called."
Sable's eyes dip up and down Colette, though they look more at the dirt than at the girl, and likely on purpose. It's a restraint in line with the amount of personal space she gives Colette - a rarity previously. "Didja get yerself all mucked up just t' seem more fuckin' lost and forlorn, so that I'd have no choice but t' forgive y'?" comes Sable's tease, her smile cracking into a grin.
Tension slides out of Colette with the apology from Sable, though her arms stay crossed as if in some sort've defensive posture. Turning as she paces across the floor, stepping over discarded patches of laundry with the deftness of someone who does the same thing at home, Colette offers a look up towards Sable with brows furrowed and lips pursed together.
"I… I really wanna' be your friend, Sable. I do," her mismatched eyes avert to the floor, "but after what happened to Tamara, I… I know I can't— do more than that. I don't know what I'm doing anymore, Sable." There's a worried crinkle of Colette's brows as she looks up to the brunette. "Tamara moved in with Tasha and I and… I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know how I'm supposed to feel, I…"
Lifting up a hand and rubbing it over her forehead, Colette winces and shakes her head. "God this is probably the last thing you want to be hearing…" she chides, and when she looks up, there's that rueful expression plastered across Colette's face again, right up until she grimaces and realizes she dodged a question that would make a great segue away from relationship talk.
"I was with Quinn," is a bit demure of an answer, but Colette recovers quickly by adding, "in— Midtown. Training, I mean… I was teaching her how to better use her ability. M'kinda' new at it, but— I had a good teacher, so— if I emulate him…"
Sable's brow raises, and it raises high. There's one thing she focuses on in what Colette says, and everything else gets pushed to the back burner. "Y' fuckin' have her livin' with you?" she says, "Hon, I…" she pauses, and from the looks of it, she's literally biting her tongue as she shakes her head. She lets go, and has taken a different angle on the same topic. "Let 'er move in with me," she says, "I don't have a roommate 'r nothin', 'n' I like her. She makes some fuckin' sense t' me."
This is no joke, she says it with a force that keeps it only barely on the side of suggestion, rather than imperative.
Biting down on her lower lip, Colette shakes her head slowly, brows screwed up and eyes down on the floor. "She wants to live there…" sounds conflicted, "and… she's so happy. When I came home tonight, Tamara was asleep on one of the folding chairs we have for furniture, curled up with her puppy and just— she looked so peaceful. I took a look in her room and… I think she and Tasha must've painted it together while I was out."
There's a look up to Sable, brows creased together and guilt corssing her features. "Is it wrong that… I don't want to have to choose?" Swallowing visible with a knot working up and down in her throat, Colette shuffles to the side and seems to be circling to try and find a place to sit, like an anxious housecat. "I… I love them both so much, Tamara— I've never seen her this happy before, in spite of everything I…"
She stabbed me. Those words Colette snapped out never seemed harder to imagine.
"They're both happy…" When Colette looks up to Sable again, there's conflict visible in her eyes and she doesn't know what to do despite herself. "This weekend, we were just… spending time together, the three've us… it— I don't know." Perhaps most importantly, Colette smiles when she explains, "I was happy."
Sable's squint is now a squint by choice, rather than a sleep squint. She looks only barely pacified. Her jaw's a little tight, another sign of self restraint. She starts to pace back and forth with nervous energy, shaking her head. "I ain't never one t' say that less love is better," she says, and it's an argument that sounds more directed at herself then at Colette, "'n' I'd never claim love is only true 'n' possible with one, nor that it mightn't be two at the same time." She halts, turns, fixes Colette with a look.
"But this ain't love, hon," Sable says, dead serious, "It's yer appetite 'n' yer nature. It's yer fuckin' passion 'n' yer hunger, cuz yer a wolf," she doesn't say this with spite, or even with denigration - it's may be a compliment, considering the tone she uses, "'n' you want it all, always."
Sable dips her head, looking 'up' at Colette, "Y' know what y' always say t' me? 'I can't'. Recall sayin' that on a number of memorable fuckin' occasions?"
Sliding her teeth over her bottom lip, Colette looks down and away from Sable, then to the laundry piled up on the floor, her brows creasing together. "The only wolf in here's the one with the yellow eyes," Colette teasingly comments, looking back up to Sable with a nervous expression, breaking from her pacing as she makes that eye contact. "I'm a big enough girl that I can make my own mistakes, but— I— appreciate you wantin' to look out for me…"
Lifting a hand to thread a dark lock of hair behind one ear, Colette slides her tongue over her lower lip. "I am sorry about snapping at you, I… Even if you were tryin' t'get a rise out've me, you didn't deserve that. You've been there for me a lot and— I don't think I've ever told you how much I appreciate it. I mean you basically saved my life, so…"
Colette smiles, awkwardly, dipping her head down and looking at the toes of her boots.
Sable clicks her tongue, finally closing distance between them. She halts just a foot away, and drops into a crouch so she can catch Colette's gaze despite its angle of inclination. She's smiling, but she's still at something - there's a intentness in her eyes.
"Naw, see, that's just th' fuckin' problem, hon," Sable says, "Yer a wolf but y've convinced y'rself otherwise. But it don't do you or no one else no service, y'see? Because y' can't change yer nature. It's this goddamn 'I can't', hon. Y' can, hon. Y' know y' can. Even now y' likely still could, if y' wanted to enough. What you need to say is that you won't, and then turn around and say you will love them both equally, or forsake out of shame f'r yer betrayal. It's a promise y' make with y'rself. That's love, hon. Wolves will it. Right now, hon, y' want it all ways."
The yellow eyed girl grins, a glint of mischief sparking up out of the seriousness of her assertion, "Cuz if y've got room for two, hon, what the hell's stoppin' you from takin' a third?" She can't be serious. This must be her way of making a point.
For the barest of moments it looked like Colette was losing patience with Sable. Brows furrowed and lips pressed tightly together, she seems just about to be offended before she realizes the point Sable's making. Her attention shifts over to the side, brows crease, and her head dips down enough that her bangs shadow her eyes and tongue slides across her lips. Shoulders rise and fall with her breathing and Colette unfodls her arms, just touch to reach down and twirl a lock of Sable's hair around one finger.
Colette's eyes close as she drops into a crouch as well, rests her hands on Sable's shoulders and leans in, lightly pressing her nose into the brunette's hair and lips to her forehead. "I won't," is hushed, apologetic but at the same time thankful. Her hands slide around Sable's shoulders to her back, so that Colette can draw her into a hug as she takes one knee, moving her head to the side and ducking downt o press her nose to Sable's bare shoulder.
"In some paralell universe out there," Colette offers quietly with a tightness in her voice, "we're totally together…" her head nose, nose touching Sable's shoulder gently. "But— I kind've like knowing that I have a friend who'll be this fuckin' honest with me." Her embrace is tighter, hands meet between Sable's shoulderblades.
"We burned pretty bright that one time though," Colette softly offers, warmth in her cheeks radiating to Sable. "Pretty darn bright."
Sable has never quite gotten used to her. Sable's made it her business to gauge moments, anticipating, guiding interactions - she's not half bad, which is how she's kept her head above water when you're a brash and as reckless as she is. But still, she's never gotten used to Colette. She always freezes up for a moment, like she can't fully believe what's happening is happening. And not in a bad way.
But she eases into the hug, arms scooping around Colette's middle, one hand looping around her wrist, holding fast to the other girl. "Nor will I," she says, sounding genuinely grateful. And there's quiet for a while. Until she adds, "Though that bit with m' hair? 'n' yer sweet little nose 'gainst m' shoulder? You know that's the wolf in you. Right there." She grins, giving Colette a squeeze - it doesn't linger, but it's there, "The world had best beware in yer alternate reality."
Snorting out a laugh, Colette shakes her head and smiles against the shoulder she's leaning on. "What'd you see…" is quietly asked against the shoulder before Colette unwinds from Sable's embrace, reaching up to run a hand through her own hair before gently extricating herself from the brunette's arms, pushing up to her feet and smoothing out the wrinkles in her dark tanktop futily. "You… you said you saw somethin' but— I— I forget what it was." Running a tongue over her lips, Colette's attention has never been so solely focused on Sable before, at least not for this reason.
"I— You mentioned Tamara." Green and white eyes cast aside, look away from the young woman she's questioning. "I'm tryin' t'put everything together, figure out… figure out what I saw, I just— " her eyes drift back over to Sable, trying not to seem like she's begging for scraps of the future. "You don't have to tell me."
Sable lets Colette go without so much as hesitation. Her restraint isn't even noticeable in and of itself. She seems… at ease. She remains in her crouch, seeming to enjoy the stance, even though it makes her shorter than ever. "Naw, it's arright," she says, "That pale angel 'f yers gives me her fuckin' dog. And I figure I take it, cuz I ain't made 'f stone, and anythin' a gal that pretty 'n' odd asks of me, I'm liable t' fuckin' do."
Her humor ebbs, though, shortly after her statement. Her gaze turns serious. She knows what Colette saw. Nothing so light hearted. "I hope that feels some comfort. But I dunno if anythin' will really fuckin' comfort you, t' tell the truth, seein' what you saw."
All it does is confuse Colette, from the looks of things. Teeth press into the brunette's lower lip, arms wrap around her midsection and Colette takes a few nervous strides away from Sable, her head shaking slowly, one stray lock of black hair crossing her face awkwardly, soon pushed back into line behind one small ear.
"She loves Misty…" Colette opines about Tamara's relationship to the puppy, looking back over to Sable. "Did— did she say anything, even if it seems super stupid hard to understand. Especially if the tenses seemed weird," she notes with another nervous nibble to her bottom lip.
"It's important," and then as she looks away from Sable, Colette closes her eyes and tilts her head forward, tongue sliding across her teeth. She's a knotted ball of stress and frustration, and no amount of answer she gets from Sable will actually make her happier.
Sable wrinkles her nose, "She ain't that hard t' understand. Each time y' talk t' her, she's come back from living out the future, 'n' she remembers it all. Only sometimes, it's hazier cuz it's been a while back f'r her, forward f'r us, just like a long past memory'll be hazy, eh? So it's all 'it was' when we think of it as 'it will be', eh?"
But this doesn't answer the actual question - what was said? Still, Sable seems pleased as punch about her sense of Tamara's speech. And there's a weird sense of fondness in her words, which must be directed at Tamara, even though they've spoken but once. "She said I needed t' keep the dog. That, like, I was keepin' it, I think maybe for that and the next, until you 'r Tasha came."
Breathing a heavy sigh through her nose, Colette just shakes her head again. None of that makes any sense with what she saw in hers, but there's no telling how far apart they all are. "Yeah…" is a non-comittal answer if ever there was one, but it's about all she can surmise as a response. There's a weight on her shoulders, probably things still left unsaid about what she saw too, but when Colette settles her attention back on Sable, it's not quite the old topic that she's bringing up.
"Sable," and Colette doesn't rarely address someone by name unless its important, "if I— asked you to do something that might be a huge pain in the ass, would you?" Brows furrow together and Colette turns to look at the crouching wolf of a girl, shifting weight to one foot more so than the other as she looks expectantly down at her. "If you knew it was really important?"
Sable quirks her lips to the side, her brows both lifting. "I ain't far from takin' that question as a fuckin' insult, gal. What the fuck d' y' think, eh?"
Smiling affectionately, Colette shakes her head and breathes in deeply, then exhales a tired sigh, running her fingers thorugh her hair and drawing her bangs away from her face. "I need you to go thorugh the Ferry, and talk to everyone who had a vision, and record what they had happen. I've got a video camera and some memory cards that should hold enough. If people don't want their faces to show up, then try'n write it down in a notebook… I just…" It's a Herculean task, to be certain, and Colette seems to realize that. "I don't want that future to happen, and I happen to know a guy who told me that his job's murdering futures, so…" Colette's eyes shift askance. "Gotta' know what we're killin'."
Looking back up to the crouching brunette, Colette takes a step towards Sable with her hands on her hips and thumbs hooked thorugh the belt loops of her jeans. "I— I know it ain't gonna' be easy, and some people just aren't gonna' want to tell you, but… but I think it's important, an' we need t'start figurin' it all out. You got a way of squeezin' what you want outta' people too…" that much is said with a lopsided smile.
Sable doesn't look totally 100 about all this. Herculean indeed, and the notion of writing something that isn't lyrics is maybe just a bit daunting to her. But she's mentioned herself that pretty girls asking tend to skew her response. And that's hardly the whole of what would influence her in this particular case. At Colette's last observation, Sable gives a snort. "Like y' ain't doin' just th' same t' me just now as we speak, eh?" she says, "It's those little fuckin' gestures you make, hon. Playin' it off like yer not really after somethin'. Sly, gal, sly." Again, what might from another seem like a criticism is offered as a compliment.
She gets to her feet, rolling her shoulders, a couple times, like she's loosening up to run out and do as she's asked right this instant. Despite the fact it's past 11 now and wasn't she trying to adopt a normal sleep schedule? But now she's all stirred up. "Days past, I'd be anglin' t' get somethin' in return f'r this," she says, "Not that I'd ask or expect, but I'd sure as fuck tease y' over it. But so ends th' age of our innocence, huh? Sure, sure, I'll do it if you gimme what I need to. But seein' as yer in fact just as canny an operator as me, 'n' actually likely better suited f'r this particular task bein' more 'f the feckless charmer 'n' me more of the strong arm sort, I'm just left wonderin' why you don't do this yerself?"
Colette's smile is a bit embarrassed at Sable's quirkily laid compliment. There's a tug at her bottom lip with her teeth as hands fold behind her back and she leans towards the yellow-eyed girl with one brow raised. "I've got too much t'do. I mean like, I can't do everything all at once, an' I gotta recognize my limits, right?" Glancing down briefly to her feet, Colette searches for the proper explanation of things. "Between helping run this place, trainign Quinn, and doing my courier work for the Ferry it's… I've been going non-stop since seven this morning," she explains with a wrinkle of her nose.
"I gotta' realize I can't do everythin' on my own, and… you know, try'n trust people with responsibilities. Even— you know— when my totally control-freak ways might make me want to try'n do it all myself." Rolling her eyes at her own stubbornness, Colette flashes a smile to Sable and creases her brows, then looks down to the floor again. "I think you can do it, and I think it'd be a great way t'get to know everyone in the Ferry too…"
Sable shakes her head, "No need t' sell it t' me, hon. I was doomed t' do as y' ask from our first goddamn meetin', though neither of us knew it. You take what rest y' can. Gimme the list and I'll do it while I still don't have a job t' get in the way. 'course, unnerstand I've got a gig comin' up this Friday, 'n' a band with no fuckin' drummer so… it mayn't happen all at once. Music's my first fuckin' duty, 'n' t' give into temptation and bow most anythin' t' that would be a betrayal 'n' betrayal I can't abide, least 'f all in m'self."
"'n' fuckin' look at me," Sable scolds, though not without good temper, "I keep wantin' t' lift that chin 'f yers, but that's th' first step down a road that'll stumble me too damn quick."
Smirking, Colette offers an askance look to Sable and shakes her head, snorting out a laugh as she regards the yellow-eyed girl. The smirk turns into a warm smile as Colette's eyes close and she crosses her arms over her chest, bowing her head in both understanding and acceptance. "Start here at Gun Hill, an' I'll get you a list of other safe houses. Then all you have to do is go around and play amateur film maker." There's a crooked smile that creeps up on Colette's lips as she says that, trying to not be entirely dismissive about the music comes first comment.
"Thanks… Sable," and Colette's hesitant tone there has so much more weight behind it than just thanks for this project, thanks for things more personally important. "I— I really need to get into my bed and get some sleep," and that much comes with a smirk that she specified which bed. "You should too, normal person schedule an' all that…" There's a crooked smile offered, and Colette looks to the apartment door, thoughtfully.
"I'll bring by the recorder and some notebooks tomorrow morning…" Colette explains tiredly, then settles her eyes on Sable again. "Do I get a hug before I go?"
Sable rolls her eyes like, again with the near-insulting question. Her arms spread. "Come th' fuck here," she says, though she doesn't wait for Colette to cross the distance. She steps forward and wraps her arms about the taller girl, giving her a big, warm hug, heedless of the grit and the smell. Grit and smell, certainly, is a blackness that a kettle such as she can't quibble over, considering her previous lifestyle.
Of course, it's not like she can quite leave it at that. Grinning just over Colette's shoulder, Sable fires back with her own question, "Do I get a grope b'fore y' go?"
"Saaaaable." Colette laughingly grouses out through clenched teeth in the embrace.
Can't blame a girl for trying.