Good For You


deckard3_icon.gif eve_icon.gif

Scene Title Good For You
Synopsis Someone poked a hole in Eve and Deckard makes the relevant repairs over incoherent conversation.
Date September 19, 2009

Ferry Safehouse

It's a typical night for Eve. As of late. She's in bed and eating some fruit. A apple and a banana are on the table next to her. The Ferrymen safe house is quiet. Eve hums to herself and moves a strand of hair out of her eyes.

The singer sings the words to a song. Her words leaving the room and traveling out of the window.

To say this is a typical night for Deckard would probably be a lie, but with the way his life has been lately, there may not be such a thing as a 'typical night' to worry about anyway. He's worn down to the bone, thin around the face and tired when he bumps his shoulder in through the half-open door to Eve's room. The dusky brown of his buttondown shirt has one sleeve rolled, lending weight to the somewhat shambled asymmetry about him — but it's the patch of leather fixed black over the socket of his left eye that really sort've brings out the half-dead pallor to his skin and the grey grizzled in through short-buzzed hair and a few days worth of grit shadowed in around his jaw.

"Hey," greeted at a coarse mutter, he looks first to the open window, one remaining eye clear blue in low light on its way to flickering back over to Eve and her fruit. "They said you're hurt."

"Yeah, got shot. It suc-." Eve looks at Deckard and tilts her head. "Drunk.." she says softly and sits up more in the bed. "Have we met?" she asked, her dark hair falls back into her eyes.

She winces at the movement and looks down at her stomach. "Are you here to help me or something?"

"I dunno," is Deckard's initial answer. It's also a lie, marked easily enough by the way his brows hood flat after the word 'drunk,' and all associated implications. As they relate to him.

And they definitely do.

There's even a faint whiskey stink to him when he gives up on lingering near the door and winds around to sink himself down onto the side of the bed, stale booze acrid under warmer shades of coffee and maybe toast. Rather than reach for her, he frowns blandly, vacantly at the open window and eventually leans for the banana.

"Oh." Eve smiles softly. She just nods her head and waves towards the banana. "Those are good for you." She says to the older man and takes another bite out of her apple. "You eat fruit a lot?" she asks, candidly.

Her gaze goes to the window. "Haven't really gotten fresh air in a while." She nods at him. "Eve." Offering her name.

"Not as often as Teo."

Matter-of-fact, Deckard glances over at her sideways as he sets to peeling it down halfway, bristled head turned a few extra degrees by cyclopean necessity. He clips off the end while he eyes her, teeth white for all the rest of him looks like it might've been dragged through the gutter on its way over here.

"Flint," offered once he's (mostly) finished chewing, the intro is followed up with his left hand being turned over to hover near her ear.

"Nice to meet you." She says, when Teo is brought up. "I haven't seen him in a while.. next time you see him? Tell him I say hello?" she asks and with a raised eyebrow she eats her apple.

When the hand is put over her ear. She nuzzles it and smiles up at Deckard, "Thank you for visiting me. I hope your back wasn't hurting too bad after I knocked you down." She says as if that was what they were discussing.

The dark haired woman holds the apple, out. Her light grey eyes on Deckard. "Apple?"

When his offered hand is met with a nuzzle in place of, say, another hand, Deckard tilts his brows into something not quite a — weird look per se, but close enough to be less than flattering. Doesn't stop him from rolling with it. The back of his hand works as well as the front, and contact with her near cheek is touch enough to initiate the transition of creeping, buzzy warmth from his person to hers.

It floods her system like one tequila too many, a little too heated to be entirely comfortable even if it never approaches an outright burn. And slowly, slowly as he sinks through another piece of fluffy banana flesh, the hole in her starts to mend itself. "Don't worry about it." A distant shake of his head is enough to dismiss the offer of the apple. He is apparently happy with his banana.

Evie blinks as she feels the healing take place. "Just like Abby.." she says softly and as she gets better. Her smile grows wider. "Nifty gift you have there." She flexes her arms and takes another bite of her apple.

The feeling of the healing floods her with color.

"Just like Abby," confirmed on the heels of a long drawn breath, Deckard sits and heals and holds his banana, taciturn and distracted and maybe not 100% sober. Nothing new there. He's not as quick as Abby. At least, not tonight, worn out as he is with not enough meat to balance out the poke of his bones. There's no pain in the sensation, but it is odd, and it does take its sweet time.

"That feels great. Skin knitting back together" Eve says with a smile. Her eyes close. "How long you've been healing?" she asks with one eye open. "And what happened to your eye?"

"Great," echoed without enthusiasm, Flint catches himself when his head starts to dip down past the sturdier brace of his shoulders; lifts his eyeline back level with the black rectangle of the window and whatever warm air sees fit to curl in at the whim of the weather. If he specializes in anything aside from drinking and screwing things up, it's probably long, awkward silences. Which is only worth noting because he enforces one after the question about his eye, either while he thinks about it or while he flat declines to answer. Only, eventually: he does.

"Boating accident."

Eve lets there be another incredibly long and awkward pause. Then: "Have to be careful of those boats. Stayed off them?" she asks softly and throws the apple into the trash. "I have a snake, a cat and two huskies." Said randomly.

"No." No, he hasn't stayed off them. Them slash it. Immune to long and awkward pauses himself, he only turns back to look at her in full once the warmth of his touch wanes and fizzles and fades. Ring and middle fingers hooked down to draw the sheets back enough for him to glance vaguely down after his handiwork, he grunts as he pushes away and up onto his feet, banana in tow. "I have a cat."

"Mine's name is Tiger." She says and runs a hand over her stomach. "Nice work." Eve looks at Deckard. "Come bring your cat to my place, they'll have a playdate." Eve really does think of her pets as her children.

The woman stands up from bed as well and looks down at herself. "Much to do. Time to get back to it."

"Sure." Sure it is nice work, sure he'll bring his cat to her place, sure she should get back to whatever it is she does when she's not laid up in bed with apples and bullet wounds. Deckard doesn't clarify.

He paces for the door instead, boots treading slow over carpet all the way to him slipping sideways out into the gloomy Ferry hallway beyond.

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