Gotta Have Faith


cook_icon.gif faith_icon.gif hope_icon.gif

Scene Title Gotta Have Faith
Synopsis Faith has been holding out on her sister, so Hope gets even by going on a date: as Faith. Poor Cook.
Date June 7, 2009

Kelly Apartment

It's a lazy Sunday and all is well on the home front. With their stories already put in for tomorrow's paper, the twins are enjoying their nice quiet day. Well, at least Hope is. Faith has been out to Staten Island again taking more photos and is expected back at any time. The TV is on, but Hope is not really watching this sappy Lifetime movie that happens to be on at the moment. She has her laptop in her lap and she's doing one last spell check for her Monday article on Nursing Home Romance.

She thought that she'd graduate to better stories after the Soup Van story, but the editor really seems to have it in for the twins — making them work their way up in the world. The world of reporting. She finally hits send, then pulls up the local news on other sites to see what's being reported.

The door opens and Faith enters the little studio apartment. They've doctored up "walls" by having curtains that separate the living spaces — Faith's room from Hope's room. Double-sided book cases help create divisions between other parts of the large room. "Hey," Faith says, tossing her bag onto the closest piece of furniture, a lime green satellite chair. "Man, I'm spent. And all dirty. Staten Island is really, really dirty." She kicks off her tennis shoes as she always does upon entering the apartment. Faith can't stand to have her feet enclosed if she can help it. Flip flops are her shoe of choice. "I'm taking a shower." She drops her keys and cell phone on the table beside the chair and doesn't wait for much of a response from her twin before disappearing into the bathroom.

If you've ever seen a guy calling a girl for the first time, you might imagine the sweaty palms, slow dialing, and worrying lip. Cook? Not so much like that. He's sitting on the bar of Balor's Pissin' Eye, swinging his feet off it and thumping his heels on its side. It's just before opening hours, and he's dialing Faith's number, keeping the phone to his ear with a cocky grin. He pops a bottle cap into his mouth and yawns before chewing on it slowly. Crunch. Crunch.

The girl's have nearly identical phones — which was almost coincidental — hitting up one of those by 'Buy One Get One' deals to save a little money since they are not drowning in it. The only way they really tell their phones apart is the ring-tone.

And when Faith's phone rings, at first Hope just sits there. But the thought of perhaps another job coming along for them strikes her as she sets the laptop down and walks over and picks up the phone. She glances at the unrecognized number. Weird. She answers it, clicking on the green button.

"Faith Kelly."

Close enough, right?

"Hallo, luv," comes the rough Irish brogue from the other end of the line. "Told y'I'd call, didn't I?" Hope might not recognize the voice immediately, or she might, if Faith told her anything about the other night. Either way, Cook goes on to say, "I t'ought I'd call an' ask if ye want'd t'go out f'drinks an' some dancing'r summat, one of these days." He sniffs a bit, wiping his nose and looking around. He's alone, so he grabs one of the metal ashtrays and bites into it, the sound reminiscent to a squealing mechanical pig.

Hope squints at the phone as she holds it out a bit, peering down at the number. This voice sounds familiar, but why does he have her sister's number. She puts the phone back against her ear as she scowls towards the bathroom door, closed with the sound of running water behind it.

"Who's calling?" she asks. She isn't going to let her sister get all caught up in shit. They don't have time for this. "Beck? or Sam? Wait! This is George, right?"

Cook rolls his eyes. "Nah, not Beck or Sam or George. S'Cook!" If naming a bunch of guys was supposed to turn him off, it's clearly not working. Maybe Cook's one of those types that likes competition! He munches on the ashtray with a smile. "S'come on, lass. Date'r not? Had a good time at the pub, din't'cha?"

Narrowing her eyes towards the door that clearly would not behoove her sister at this point in time. The tramp went off to the pub with out her and didn't even bother to mention it. Last time? What the..?

Hope smiles at the phone as if that would increase her charm level. "Of course! I was just teasing you anyway. Sounds like a.." God. ".. pleasant evening. What did you have in mind?"

"Hell, lass, I don't know; we can go dance and have some drinks an' maybe get into some mischief. Don't you Americans have spontaneity?" Cook grabs a knife and slices off a piece of the counter's varnished wood top. He sticks it in his mouth.

Who is this guy? Hope hmms. "Well, you make an interesting proposition. When and where?"

Hope figures she can slip out for a bit and see what sort of mischief this 'Cook' is interested in. It would serve her sister right for holding out on her.

Of course, she could just set the thing up and no-show, thus making her sister look badly. But — Hope has been rather bored lately. Choices, choices.

"S'a trance club near Maine and Ruyard, in Brooklyn. I mean, less you wanna try an' hit one of the swankier places. I don't much mind, but I'd rather not spend all my night wid' you waiting in line t'get into a club." Cook grins, and his smile can be heard in his voice.

Hope glances over at the clock and tilts her head. "Give me two hours to get ready and grab a cab. Is that alright?" It's still early yet, so that's probably right as far as clubs go.

As long as they're not going cow tipping or something, she might even have fun. She's already digging through her sister's things for her ID.

"Works for me, lass. See you there in two hours." Cook grins a bit and adds, "Bring comfortable shoes." Cook hangs up.

The phone is clicked off and Hope moves to her 'closet' which is really a portable thing that you can hang things from. "What is appropriate for a club?" she asks herself as she hears the water shutting off from inside the bathroom. Better hurry. She starts to undress — tugging on a more club-appropriate dress.

Faith comes out of the bathroom in her blue chenille robe, adorned with stars and moons and clouds. Her hair is up in a towel-turban. "Where are you going?" she asks as she sees her sister changing into clothes to go out in. "Got a date or something?" she asks, eyebrows rising in surprise. Steam billows out from her too-hot shower, the scent of her jasmine shower gel wafting out of the tiny bathroom.

"Can you plug in the curling iron for me?" Hope asks Faith.

"Yeah, well — business thing. Maybe an interview if I play my cards right." she comments as she drops down and looks under her bed for an appropriate pair of footwear for tonight.

"How was Staten?"

Faith heads back into the bathroom and plugs in the curling iron, then comes out to lean against the desk watching her sister. "Yeah? Staten was all right. I got some awesome photos, really. I don't think anything for the paper. I might see if something bigger, more national wants them. A really cute guy helped show me around, too, but you know. He thought I was some rich bitch just getting my jollies. I paid him to make sure I didn't get mugged or something." She goes to her own closet and pulls out a pair of shoes that go well with the outfit Hope has on. "Try these."

"Hey thanks!" Is that a slight twinge of regret in Hope's voice for shanghai'ing her sister's potential date? Nah! Must be imagining things.

She slips on the shoes and steps into the bathroom and begins to curl her hair. "How much are we out for the bodyguard? You probably didn't get a receipt either!"

Well, they could've gotten reimbursed.

"Not out much. Earlier in the morning, I went back to the department store with the receipt for all the shower curtains and said it must have rung up three extra times on accident. Why in the world would I buy four shower curtains of the exact same color?" Faith says with a grin, pointing to the curtains that divide up the living space. "They totally believed me. So that was $100 we didn't have this morning. That's all it cost me." She doesn't tell her she threw in an extra $25 because he was kind of hot. Besides, it was her money that got spent, not Hope's. "Besides, those photos? They're worth way more than that, I promise."

A little dab of make up and Hope is looking golden tonight. She pulls out Faith's phone and dials up a cab, asking to be picked up. Of course, she'll leave her own phone just in case. I mean, they have accidentally taken each other's phones before.

Hope leans over to give her sister a peck on the cheek. "Okay. Don't wait up. That movie you wanted to watch was DVR'd for you!" Hope barely waits for a response as she slips out of the apartment.

The cab arrives, picks up and drops her off at the determined location given by Cook on the phone. Hope slips out of the cab and peers at the club. She drops some money into the cabbie's hand and can already hear the pounding bass of the trance music that comes from inside the joint.

It's something nobody could have foretold in a million years: Cook cleans up nice. Real nice. He's got on a pair of clean, beige slacks, some dancing shoes like he's Fred Astaire without the taps, and a black, Mandarin-collared, long-sleeved button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, untucked. He's leaning against a streetlight, smoking a cigarette and whistlin' dixie.

"Smoking is bad for you." Hope (as Faith) says as she walks up to him. "And it sort of ruins the whole dapper image you're going for there." she gives him a wink. "Come to this place much?" she asks as she glances up at the club. Honestly, she'd never have taken him for the whole 'trance club' kind of guy.

"Smoking can't ruin any image, lass, it's as universal as hats." Cook drops his cigarette on the ground and stomps it out, taking a step over towards her, sidling in. "Not really. I usually don't go to clubs, but I figur'd if I was gonna take you out, I'd take you somewhere."

Hope chuckles softly as she bumps her hip against his and steps up towards the club. "I guess you just didn't plan on getting kissed tonight then." she continues to tease him. She can be a ruthless teaser as it is.

"If you'd taken me no place, it would definitely had been a short date." she winks. She young enough to be carded, so she flashes her sister's ID to the attendant, as she waits to be escorted into the building.

Cook flashes his ID as well. He's 21. He can be here! "I've got mints!" he protests to her with a grin. And then he slides his hand around her waist and tugs her along, past the bouncers and into the club proper without so much as a this-way-watch-your-step. He bounces into the dance floor, and asks with a wide, manic grin on his face. "You want a drink, luv? S'your poison?"

Getting tugged against Cook's side, Hope leans against him before righting herself. "I can walk, you know?" she smirks in his direction. "Doesn't matter too much to me. Whatever you're going to get is fine with me. Nothing too strong — it is a Sunday night and I do have work in the morning."

"But then we're going to dance." she grins as she watches those on the dance floor. She follows him over as he goes to get drinks. "So, Cook. How goes tending bar?"

"Goes like it al'ays goes, luv. Slow an' borin', 'cept when someone specially en'ertainin' shows up." He grins at her. "Haven't run into our tablemate as of late, but I don't think he'll be having any problems, really." Brooklyn's a nice neighborhood after the fourth or fifth fight you're in. "Stay here." He heads for the bar to get their drinks.

Hope has no clue what 'tablemate' he's referring to. But she goes right along with the flow. "Well, good." She responds anyway. Granted her sister and she don't share everything with each other, and they are always playing these little games back and forth so this will have an interesting ending to be sure.

She waits while he goes to get drinks and watches the dancing. Several guys walk up and ask her to dance, and she turns them down as she's already with someone she mentions and they walk off without incident.

It's too bad they do walk away without incident. Cook likes to get into fights at clubs with loud music and flashing lights. He comes back over to his date, whichever she is, and holds out a drink for her with a smile. He's got himself a beer, she has a frou-frou drink; a daiquiri, the type that's loaded with booze. Hard liquor, the way Ernest Hemingway wouldda wanted it. "Here you go, lass. Your type'a drink." He grins at her and takes a long drink of his beer.

Hope rather has that idea of him. A fighter. So, she's not going to give him a reason to get started tonight. She's out to enjoy her night and would like to get home in one piece. At least her dress should come back with her without any additional markings on it.

She takes the drink that sips at it. Yikes! Strong. She continues to just sip. No sense in downing this and being incapable the rest of the night. "So, do you dance, Cook? I am assuming you brought me to a dance club so you can dance?" Her black dress is actually pretty decent for dancing. Not too tight, but shows off her curves rather nicely.

Cook watches her for a long moment, and then just shrugs, taking another long drink of his beer. "Whadda you think?" He grins and steps back a few steps into the dance floor, making a 'come on over' gesture with his hand, stretching it out for her to take. The music is pretty upbeat and fast, so the dancing has to be thrash-like and frantic. That's fine for Cook, who is often frantic and manic anyway.

She takes his head as he leads her to the dance floor. The music is rather manic and thus she can't help but smile as he dances like that. She, however, finds herself a nice slow groove to dance along to, just to be a little more suave about it.
Hope finds him somewhat cute, at least, so she's having a good time. The dancing, the drink, everything seems to be falling into place rather nicely. She /almost/ feels badly for her sister who misses out on the fun. But, what are siblings for? Trickery!

Night moves on. Cook gets some more drinks. God only knows where he puts them all because he drinks like he's Bender from Futurama, unable to function without alcohol. Guzzling an entire bottle, he wipes his mouth and bounces back towards her. A little closer, hand against her hip, around her waist. He drops his manic movements to match her slightly slower groove and smiles a cocky little grin before pushing his forehead against hers, a little yen for more physical contact than there's been so far.

More dancing. A little more drinking on her part. Not enough to buzz her, but she warms up considerably, as the night moves on and she leans back against his forehead as they dance the night away. Hope places her hand on his hip as she swings her own hips back and forth.

He's actually not a bad dancer, if not just a little bit freaky. Kind of charming, in an odd sort of way. Huh. She's having a far better time than she thought she would — which could be topped off by a homicide when her sister finds out.

What kind of Irishman invites a girl dancing when he can't dance? Cook grins and when she seems pliable to dancing closer, he pushes a bit further, getting even closer to "Faith". His forehead against hers and his smile, cocky as ever, close to hers, too. He's got both hands free, since he's not drinking, so he slides his other hand up along her shoulder, around her neck, and threads his fingers in her hair before he dives in for what might be a really, really hot kiss.

If he can resist biting her.

Hope, as Faith of course, returns the kiss. Very willingly indeed. The kiss lingers on longer than respectably necessary — of course, the twins are far from respectable. If they were, it'd be Faith here instead of Hope. Right?

Breaking slowly from the kiss, letting her lips linger on as long as possible, she grins. "I do have work in the morning. I should be heading home soon." she murmurs as loudly as she possibly can to be heard above the pounding music.

It's easy to understand why Cook would be pouting at this news. He nods slowly, and grins a little, leaning in for another quick — no, wait, long — kiss. "I unnerstan', luv. Maybe we can do this again, you an' me, yeah?" He keeps his hands around her waist while he asks, moving just a little to the music.

"I suppose something can be arranged." She breaks away from him and gives him a wink, turning to head for the door — the night for her is just about done.

Hope gives a wiggling finger wave towards him as she slips from the club and flags down a cab, heading for home.

Cook kind of stands there, and then shrugs. Well. That went okay. He looks around, picks up a random beer cup on the floor, and stuffs it in his mouth, munching. Yum.

Meanwhile, back at the Kelly apartment:

Faith was actually happy to have her sister out because it means she can work in peace. The one actual closet in the little apartment has been turned into her dark room (which is why they have the rolling wardrobes) so she's got the stereo blasting The Killers as she pins up the prints of her day on Staten. The work is good; the shots are artistic in composition, yet do nothing to hide the grim reality of the island's horrors. Faith is dressed in the just boxers and a t-shirt, moving around on bare feet as she works. The door to the closet is open, as the dark work is done. The scent of chemicals permeates the apartment but candles have been lit to counter the acrid scent.

In from the outside as Hope unlocks the door and slips inside, letting it swing shut behind her. "I'm home!" The Killers is quite the difference from the music she'd been hearing all night. In fact, there's a nice little ringing still left in her ears as she's home now.

She walks over to her side of the room and begins to undress, tossing on an old t-shirt from some sporting event that she stole from an old boyfriend. Some sort of superbowl thing that seems to be all the rage once a year. Go figure. She walks over to see what her sister is working on.

"Hm, you smell like smoke," Faith says, glancing over her shoulder where she pins up a picture of a prostitute leaning out of a window. "What do you think?" she says, stepping back to look at the pictures pinned on the clothesline, to air out after their chemical baths. "And how was the meeting? Story there or not?" she asks, curiously.

Oh, there's a story there alright. "Lemme grab a shower.." Hope starts, ".. and I'll tell you all about it." Okay, maybe not everything.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License