Participants:
| Scene Title | Honey, I'm Home |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | When someone knocks on the door that early, maybe just don't answer it… |
| Date | April 1, 2019 |
Bay Ridge: Dirk's Apartment
It’s early morning, ass-crack-of if you will, when there’s a thud outside Dirk’s apartment door.
”Sorry. ‘Scuse me.”
Mummble mummble.
”What? No, this isn’t all garbage.” A pause. ”Well, maybe some. But who asked you?”
Several minutes of quiet go by lending itself to a false sense of security before there are three subsequent thunks and bumps at the base of Dirk’s door. Ominous music ought to be playing in the few seconds of tentious silence that follow, only to be cut short when there’s a sharp, rapid knock on the door.
snerf
Overnight, a puddle of drool has formed on Dirk's pillow, stretching to a wide circle from somewhere under his cheek. His mouth is dry and the few smacks of the lips that he manages upon waking don't to much to wet it.
scratch scratch
Slowly, his eyes open, too bleary to see anything clearly. It's much too early in the morning to be awake but he can't quite understand what jolted him out of that deep, peaceful slumber. By the time the second series of pounding comes along, he's sitting on the side of his bed pondering life. Because that's what people do when it's too early in the morning to be awake.
It's a good ten minutes before the door is cracked open, the thin chain keeping whatever hoodlum on the other side away from Dirk and his silky floral bathrobe. It's a valuable item for those with appreciation for the finer things in life, of which Dirk is a member. Whoever is knocking doesn't get the courtesy of a proper greeting, just the visual of Dirk sleeping while standing. At least the robe is closed.
”Goooood morning.”
When, in fact, what lies on the other side of the door is a recipe for anything but. Isis (or Tiffany Taylor) stands in the middle of three large, black, plastic garbage bags. Her old nineties bell bottom jeans are worn out and split at the knees and a black-and-white striped sweater hangs off her right shoulder in a way she thinks is fashionable, but in all likelihood just adds to the homeless chic twist she’s got going on.
She dips her head forward and tilts it to the side, considering Dirk with a plastered, cheesy smile. Slooowwwly, two styrofoam mugs of coffee are raised up in front of her face. “I bring offerings,” her honey-sweet, alto voice comes from behind the containers, quickly followed by a sing-songy “Extra-extra cream and extra-extra sugar.”
Rather than move then, Isis swings her head out from behind the cups, curls following a half second later, still stylized and shining, as she raises her pale brows high.
That's a voice he hasn't heard in a hot minute, sounding nothing like what it did last time they spoke. Dirk opens his eyes to slivers to see the coffee and before unlatching the chain, he reaches for one of the cups and pulls it inside, closing the door behind it.
If Isis were the impatient sort, she might leave before the chain can be heard sliding away from its prison to hang free. But the coffee has had a sip or two taken out by the time it gets to that point and when the door opens again, Dirk is wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He doesn't know exactly what Isis had been doing to his body while she had it either, but he's not taking any chances right now.
"Thanks for the coffee, that was sweet," his voice is chipper and genuine at least. Then his eyes drop to the trash bags at his door, then they lift to see what she's wearing, and they close again in a tight pinch. "What exactly have you done to my work of art?"
No invitation in, not yet, but he is standing enough to the side that she'd be able to slip past if she wanted.
“Eh…” Her practiced smile disappears. POOF! But, the door is already closed. The way Isis fidgets reveals she is definitely an impatient sort, but the look given to the few plastic garbage bags suggests she’s also the sort without many options left.
The redhead is bent over, ear pressed fruitlessly to the door, when it is swung open anew. She straightens up quickly and brushes her fingers, in a newly habitual way, threw her silky and voluminous locks. “Oh! Don’t worry, it’s still here.” Coffee and free hand are gestured downward and out to the bags on the floor. Now she takes up one of the bags and starts to scoot inside.
“It’s just…Mmmmm.” There’s a higher pitched hum of uncertain contemplation, her face scrunched up in a look that is both lost and pleading. “You made it looks so easy and, well…”
Her voice deadpans, ”It’s not.” Isis turns and the bag hits the floor, now on the inside of the threshold. Two bags still remain on the other side of the door. There’s still time!
That exasperation, it’s probably what gives Dirk a bit of a pause. With a small sigh, he reaches down to grad one of the other bags and bring it in as well. “You know the layout, make yourself at home.” With one room newly free, he can’t say that the surprise is altogether unwelcome.
Making his way to the kitchen, he passes by a tray of candy apples that look like they might have taken a fair bit of work to complete. The caramel shells are partially coated in two layers of chocolate, white and then dark, making them look as though they’re wearing little tuxedos. Some have been rolled in candy and others in pretzel pieces or nuts, all of them look delicious. Dirk doesn’t take one, probably too early in the morning for him. Instead, he settles at the table with his coffee and just stares at the wood. Trying to wake up.
It takes a minute for Isis’s eyes to shrink back to normal size after she watches Dirk not only accept her position, but help toss another garbage bag over the threshold. The redhead goes back for the last bag and shuts the door, turning back with a smile that is obscenely proud. She stands a little taller as she surveys the new domicile from her eyes, but just as quickly her attention and her feet follow after zombie Dirk.
She lingers at the threshold to the kitchen, coffee in hand, as she tips her head. She eyes Dirk not unlike a rubix cube and briefly shoots a glance back over her shoulder, the way one does when they expect someone else to help the drowning victim. “How you holding up now that your chicky is gone?” Her words are playfully selected to offset a careful tone of sincerity, another dash of casual added for good measure - the redhead crosses into the dreaded dangers of the kinchen region and plucks up one of the stick-speared apples. She turns it up for a quick once over, seems to consider the treat a bit longer than she should, and takes a hearty bite.
The sound of the apple peeling away from the wax paper itches at Dirk's senses. Not quite ready to face the day, his head twitches slightly and the coffe cup is lifted to his lips. Sip. Swallow. Eyes widen and as if the world happens in slow motion, his head turns just in time to see the redhead take a bite from the apple.
"Noooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!"
He leaps from his chair, the coffee tips and explodes against the linoleum flooring. His arms windmill through the air as he grapples for the apple — which isn't an apple — but a lovely decorated onion. "What are you doing?!? You don't just take someone else's joke food!! That's for Cooper!!!"
First habanero and now onions?! It’s like their jokes are tuned in specifically to the redhead’s kryptonite! As the aromatic, bite of onion fill her mouth, Isis’s lurches and her jaw juts in an obvious gag. Wide eyes fixed on Dirk, she slowly opens her mouth and pushes her tongue forward.
Plop. Plop.
Chucks of onion flop out of her mouth and down to the floor as Isis shudders. “What have I done?” she mumbles, considering several life choices - all related to Dirk. There’s a groan and all the slow dramatics are dropped. Isis rushes to the sink and starts cupping water in a hand to splash on the flat of her tongue before trying to scrape the unpleasant flavor off with her nails.
“What-” Gargle. “-is wrong-” Gag. Rinse. “- with you people!?”
Now the exasperation is coursing through Dirk. Firmly grabbing the young woman by the shoulders, he guides her into the bathroom and leaves her there with the parting words, "Toothpaste, honey."
Then he's back to the kitchen to try to salvage what is left of his surprise for Cooper. Thankfully she only took one of the apples, now splattered all over the floor in a sticky mess. He'd been so careful last night too, keeping the kitchen destruction to a minimum while he coated the vegetables in caramel, then chocolate, then rolled them through paper plates filled with different add ons.
"Look, I don't mind you moving in," he yells to the other side of the apartment, "but you have to respect the rules. Yummy looking stuff is probably dangerous!"
It might be the reason why Robyn drank.
Isis makes for an easy puppet and is ultimately busy with a fingerful of toothpaste reaching for every nook and cranny where the foul onion bits might be hiding. There's the sound of more vigorous gargling before her voice calls back across the loft. "We need a better system!" Because, the thought that Isis should simply show some self-restraint hasn't crossed her mind. Maybe living with Dirk will cure her of her unerring curiosity, but it's simply more likely she'll just have to start buying toothpaste in bulk.
The redhead returns to the threshold of the kitchen, this time a good half pace away from crossing into the evil mastermind's lair. A small face towel is brought up to dab around her face, gentle regardless of the absence of makeup. "Cooper - that's the Donut Desecrator? Hey, if I make a glitter bomb card - think you can deliver it?" She lowers the towel to reveal a mischievous smile that illuminates her eyes with devious twinkle. She can’t cook and clearly doesn’t approve of the unnatural experiments the two conduct on perfectly delicious goodies, but revenge pranks clearly aren’t outside her capacity.