Participants:
| Scene Title | Half-Sibling All-Truths |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Sometimes it's easy to be honest with someone you're supposed to trust, even if they're someone you barely know. |
| Date | November 8, 2010 |
Dorchester Towers — Russo's Apartment
knock knock knock
It's not really a decent hour for anyone to be awake but when Jaiden got up and left, assuming Delia was still asleep, she waited for a few minutes before doing the same.
knock knock knock
"Mister Russo…" she hisses through the door. This would be so much easier if she was asleep, but she doesn't know more than a small handful of people who live in this building and none of them would likely welcome her in. They're strangers. "Mister Russo wake up… it's Delia…" A little bit louder this time.
knock knock knock
"I don't know what I did to deserve this?" the island Brad finds himself is picturesque, complete with palm trees, a sun that's been up all day long, and a red-headed mermaid perched on a rock— a very FAMILIAR red-headed mermaid; his own Karolina… as a mermaid.
"Oh Bradley~" she calls musically.
He pushes himself off the ground and steps towards her, leaning in for a very slow sultry kiss — "Mister Russo" the mermaid interrupts. His lips part to object, but the island-scape fades too quickly, the knocking interrupts any peace he'd found within it. With a start, Russo pushes himself upwards.
THUD
He groans as his head hits the table above him. A single hand is raised to his head as rather stupidly, he begins to realize where he is.
In his drunken stupor, he fell asleep on the floor… under the table… in yesterday's suit. Awesome. A hand is run over his face, feeling out the stubble before actually realizing someone is at the door.
He slides around the table and pushes himself to his feet. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" he croaks. Each of the deadbolts is removed and the door is open. Still rubbing his head he greets with a strained still-sleepy, rather hungover smile, "Delia." Pause. "Call me Brad…" he backs up to allow her inside.
At the first sound of movement behind the door, Delia stopped knocking and shoved both of her hands into the pockets of her shearling coat. She looks like she hasn't slept all night, which isn't too far from the truth. Jaiden needs his sleep, he's a vital part of any sort of fighting. Delia, all she can do is run.
The blueish circles under her eyes make for a haunting sight, but she gives him a weak, apologetic smile and lowers her eyes to his feet. It mustn't be a good morning to catch him either. Her luck seems to run a little short these days. "Hi.. uhm… yeah.. I.. I wanted to tell you some things before everything starts today."
Brad squints to bring her into focus; his eyes are puffy and red thanks to how much he drank the night before; the smell of liquor even wafts from him. "C'mon Kid, no reason to stay in the hall." He winks as traces of his generally easy smile edges his lips. Leaving the entrance to her, he retreats back into the apartment towards the kitchen, "I need an Advil. Hit my head when I woke up and it's pounding now." Yes Brad, that's why it's pounding.
"What can I do for you, Carrots?" The nickname actually gives him uncomfortable pause. "Sorry… I shouldn't have…" Shrugging he fills a glass with water and downs two pills. "So. What's going on today?" The weight of her appearance isn't lost on him, but in general jovial Brad-fashion, he tries to joke, but the good humour gets stuck in his throat, coming out as little more than a joked croak, "Running away from home to join the circus?"
Though it gives him an uncomfortable pause, the nickname seems to brighten Delia's disposition and widen her smile. Even with the other questions that follow, she steps into his apartment and tries to keep that brave face on. She doesn't take off her coat, or remove her hat or scarf. The mittens were enough and she's not quite sure how long she's staying.
"The riots and stuff are going to start today. I would have tried coming in a safer way to tell you… but I can't reach this far away." Whatever she means, she doesn't explain. What she does is look up at him and takes a deep breath, she can't fault him for drinking. She did it last night. "I just wanted to tell you not to worry if you don't hear from dad or me for a little while… I mean… not that you'd be worried… but just in case…. I mean… I would be worried." She can't help the babbling, life is hard.
Russo's eyes fix on Delia. His confusion and perplexion read over his face. "Riots and stuff?" Leaving the glass on the counter, he slides out of the kitchen around her and rubs his eyes. "What riots? Are you planning a protest," he pauses again before trying the nickname on again, "Carrots?" His lips tug into a pseudo-mischievous smile, "I don't recommend protests. I really don't— unless you're burning bras. That always gets people's attention, and a few arrests. You know though, I don't mind bailing you out." Quieter he quips, "Nothing I haven't done before."
He quirks an eyebrow at her, an unspoken question that he won't actually ask. Instead, he finds his manners, "Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Soda? Juice?"
"Not these kind of riots… I'm not planning on taking part, but…" She glances around the sparse living room and heaves a giant sigh. The nickname still has causes a twitch to her lips, before she sobers again.
"Juice please," she murmurs absently. It's possibly the most filling of all the options and she'll need so much energy today. She eyes the sofa for a split second before turning back to Russo, "Can I sit? I don't want to be long or anything… or waste your time… I need to see another person too before I get back to the shelter."
"Of course. Please. Sit," Russo manages a quirk of a smile, but it's reassuring rather than joyous. He disappears into the kitchen again only to reappear with a glass of pineapple juice, "Sorry I don't have anything more… normal. I'm not an orange juice fan. I like tropical juices better." He shrugs again.
He sits on the couch next to her and turns to face her expectantly, but his lips press together, thinning out the smile in a state of discomfort. "You're disappearing? And there's going to be rioting?" His eyebrows knit together tightly, "What's going on? If I can help, I will… but I can only help if I know what's happening…"
The redhead takes a sip of the juice and gives him a smile at the taste of it. "No, this is great… I haven't had pineapple juice in months." She takes another few large gulps of it before resting the cup in one palm with the fingers of her opposite hand curled around the stem of the glass. She stares at the yellowish liquid before looking up at him again.
"The visions are going to come true today. It's November 8th…" As if he doesn't remember, the anniversary of both their mothers' death and his fiance. Gulping, she takes a deep breath inward. That intake of oxygen is enough to give her the courage to continue. "I might be going away for a while, I won't have my cell phone. I'll try to write or something… but the mail system won't be so great. Just… uhm… can I ask a personal question?"
Russo's eyes narrow at the notion of the visions coming true; he'd discounted most of that, but after his time traveling escapade the impossible seems more and more possible. With the slightest frown he lets the idea of the riots roll over in his mind. "I know the date," he replies flatly, like it's a fact he's trying to forget. "You can't just disappear, there has to be a way I can reach you, isn't there? Something? I — " he clears his throat, " — You may have noticed but I don't exactly have … never mind." He forces a smile. "Point is you can't disappear."
The question earns a nonchalant shrug, "Of course."
His protests about her disappearance aren't acknowledged further than a sad smile and a shakes her her head as she grips the glass a little tighter. "It'll just be for a little while… Just a little bit before I can come back and … maybe everything will go back to normal. Maybe things will change to back the way they were before." Though, all of her life, things have never been the definition of normal that she's looking for.
She chews on her lip for a second or two before grimacing and looking up into his eyes. "Are you evolved? I just.. I am. Lulu is… Dad's not. I don't know if Keira is or not…" He hasn't met the other two women yet, Delia's torn on the issue of whether or not to subject him to either of them. Sometimes it feels like Lucille is more suited to being Keira's sister than hers, just because of how volatile both of them are.
The question actually gives Russo pause as he pushes off the couch and pads towards the window. A hand is run through his hair before he turns to face Delia again, it's his secret, the one thing he's told no one. "I can't do anything extraordinary." His jaw tightens, he hasn't lied, but it's enough to make him feel at least a little guilty and so he tacks on another word, "Yet." He smiles bitterly as he eyes her, "When everyone was going to have to register I had good sense enough to get tested." Beat. "And then registered as non-evolved."
He bites his bottom lip, "It's entirely possible it'll never happen. I'm not exactly young anymore." Not that he considers himself old, "hard to teach an old dog new tricks anyways, right?" His lips purse before he shakes his head, "You can't tell anyone. My career would be over. Forever. I hate to say it, but there isn't exactly a pro-evo vibe in my industry."
He leans against the window, "So what can you do?"
"I won't… Promise." The answer comes in a dull tone, while it's sort of the answer she was hoping for, the delivery of the answer just puts an expression of shame on her features. The two of them are more alike than they could possibly ever know, at least in the aspect of denying themselves.
Her ability? "Nothing special… it's not really great or anything. Maybe someday." It's wonderful for fostering her imagination and she's capable of becoming — "I'm sort of like a muse… I guess. I give people ideas." Not a truly accurate way of describing it, but it's poetic. In her mind.
"Thanks. I'm meant to do more than be a glorified news host, I think. I don't know. Maybe." And keeping his skeletons in the closet is key to realizing any of these dreams. He shuffles back towards her while shoving his hands into his pockets.
"That sounds… vague," his lips quirk into a merry half-smile complete with a dimple. "It's neat though. You could inspire someone to paint or something. I always wanted to paint, no talent in that direction though. Always been more of a gardener. Or cook! I do cook." This whole getting to know your sibling thing is difficult, but kind of good.
"Anyways. These riots today — is there anything I can be doing? I get… I get November 8th off every year. I'm pretty sure K just doesn't want to see me or deal with my pathetic state."
Delia could pass along warnings to him, don't listen to the radio, don't watch television but they're warnings that she hasn't even received herself. "Uhm… just… don't get hurt. Stay out of the way of the military and the police." Glancing around his apartment, the redhead flicks him the briefest of smiles. "Keep my pictures safe… the ones you have."
She's since put a new one in her little wallet, a photocopy of one of Mary's pictures. Just a little thing to keep her safe while she's either hiding, running, or both. "If… if you need to… There's going to be boats. Don't tell anyone, this is just for you. It's where I'm going." Pause. "Boats in Red Hook tonight, while Queens is burning."
"I put the pictures in my safe — just seemed like the best place to keep them," especially if he goes on one of his binges. Russo continues, "It's fireproof. No one will be able to get to them." The comment about not getting hurt earns her a small smile, "I've been pretty beat up before," sometimes by choice, "I can actually look out for myself." His gaze lowers, "You, on the other hand — look, you need…" His smile fails, his blue-grey eyes seek out hers, and he frowns. "Do you have pepper spray, a taser, or something to defend yourself? I'm not suggesting you carry around a gun necessarily," giving guns to people who don't use them is a surefire way to get them killed, "but you need something."
"As for the boats — I can't just disappear. But thank you. You're a good kid, don't let anyone tell you otherwise, okay?" he winks.
Tipping her glass to her lips, Delia guzzles down the juice until there's nothing left. The offensive coffee table that had hurt Brad before suddenly finds itself being used as a piece of furniture. Standing, she shakes her head and places her hands back in her pockets. "No… I don't know if you know this about me or anything… but I'm kind of a klutz? So I try not to carry anything that I can hurt myself with." There's a shudder from the young woman as visions of what she could do with a taser or pepper spray dance through her head; A Christmas Story, it is not.
"I should get going…" she concludes, "I know you say you can't just disappear.. but… if you need to. Red Hook, okay?"
