Participants:
| Scene Title | I Could |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Helena and Peter share what might be one of their last quiet moments together. |
| Date | September 16, 2008 |
Condemned Tenement: Abandoned Apartment
This apartment looks to have been left untended for years. It's a modest sized studio apartment, opening up from the doorway to both sides, painted a faded canary-yellow color, most of the paint peeling away in large spots. An old, ratty couch rests just across from the door, patched up with pieces of denim over the worn and faded fabric. The cushions look to have seen much abuse, and though they're repaired to some extend by re-stiching, they are still unevenly stuffed. In front of the couch, between it and the far wall is a lopsided coffee table. It's frame is metal, likely was once glass-topped as well, but the entire top of the table has been replaced by a sheet of particle-board with a plastic tarp thrown over it and held in place by heavy-duty staples. The four windows that line the wall opposite of the doorway are all busted out, two of them are boarded up, and all but one is covered with clear plastic that is stapled to the window frame.
Not far from the entrance, a small kitchenette rests in disrepair. The stove doesn't look to have been used in a long time, and with a portion of the ceiling having collapsed down onto it, for good reason. While the debris is neatly stacked — pieces of plaster, wood and sheet-rock stacked a foot high — it clearly seems to be hastily done. The L-shaped counter adjacent to the stove features a mini-fridge that isn't plugged in, and water-stains on the faux-marble countertop.
Beyond the kitchenette is what was likely the apartment's bedroom. A pair of matresses have been laid on the floor, with a folding screen placed between that area and the kitchenette. The screen looks newer and in better condition than the room, though portions of it are scuffed and torn. The bed is made with not only sheets, but also a heavy brick-red quilt that looks to have been hand-made. A small, uncomfortable looking pillow crowns off the arrangement. From the looks of it, no one spends too much time here.
Leaving his door partly open to allow light from the hallway into his room, there's a frustrated sound coming from inside. Within, Peter sits at a small and lopsided desk that has been shoved up against the far wall. Balancing on it is a large and oval mirror with a crack running through it, a triangle of glass at the edge missing. Peter is trying to peer into the mirror, holding up a pair of scissors near his brow, a look of tired concentration on his face.
A snip sound, then a hissing exclamation of profanity as he throws the scissors down in a frustrated venting of anger, "Damnit," He shakes his other hand, looking down at the fingertip as a long cut on his index finger slowly seals shut. "God damnit." He sits down in the chair, raking his hair back away from his face. It… looks like he was trying to cut his own hair, but was having a remarkably difficult not cutting himself in the process. On the table, there is also a straight razor, a small bowl, and a slightly dented can of shaving cream. It seems he didn't even try to go that far yet.
"Peter?" As ever, Helena doesn't seem to believe in doors. She's got a glass of water and two pills, and she doesn't pause at the threshold. "Did I interrupt your manscaping?" she teases lightly. She doesn't make a fuss of her offering, simply sets it in front of him within reach as she takes in the shaving gear and the scissors. With a little chuckle, she takes the scissors. "You know, if I can hedge a garden, I can probably trim your hair with minimal damage." She laces her fingers into them and does a little snip-snip. "Do you trust me," she asks with a widening grin, before adding, "Rock?"
In this lighting, Peter looks like a wreck. The angle of the light hitting his face makes the dark circles under his eyes look even more pronounced, "Oh, hey." He offers Helena a warm smile, trying his best not to seem weary despite the fact. His eyes drift over to the asprins, and he laughs, shaking his head with a smile. "I totally forgot…" No small surprise there, and as he looks back up to Helena, his eyes fall on the scissors. "I ah, the regeneration thing…" He pulls down on lock of his hair from the swept back coif, "I have to concentrate, really hard, to try and keep things from growing back. Haircuts…" He laughs, "It's too much for me to do at the same time, espescially when — " He cuts himself off, just smiling amiably before scooping up the two small pills, popping them in his mouth. "Please?" He asks with a slight distortion to his voice from trying to keep the pills on his tongue, picking up the glass of water to down them as his eyes fall on the scissors again."
Helena isn't a pro, and to be honest, has never done this before. But what she is, is uber-careful, and for every two snips or so, checks the mirror to make sure she hasn't done something horrible. It makes the process slow. "So that's Cat." she says. "She's really something." A musician AND a lawyer AND a political scientist. Who attended an Ivy League School. She even had nice boobs! Life is so unfair. "And has a pet name for you." At least this she finds amusing. Snip, snip. Oh, there went his emo lock!
Trying to concentrate on now regrowing every single folacle of hair takes up most of Peter's activities as he sits in the chair, damp locks of dark hair falling on his bare shoulders, down his back and across his chest. He keeps his eyes closed, both from the worry of getting hair in his eyes, and to the relaxing feeling of Helena's fingers against his scalp. As he listens, Peter smiles, "That's Cat for ya." He says in a hushed tone of voice, thankfully all that concentration is going into not regenerating, and not listening to Helena's surface thoughts.
"She has a pet name for everyone, don't be surprised if she calls you Stormy." He cracks a wider smile, not even bothering to look in the mirror as she cuts, simply trusting her. "She seems to have taken a shine to you," He says quietly, "I think you'd both get along really well… contrasting points, right?" A soft sound rumbles in the back of his throat, "She's from high society, you're down to earth. It's a meeting somewhere in the middle… Plus she didn't give Alex or Dan her card." There's a teasing tone there.
"I suppose that's true." Helena concedes, apparently mollified. A few more snips, and she seems to think things are suited to order. Eyeing the shaving stuff, she reaches for the ball of water, dips her fingers in, and gently wets his face before reaching for the shaving cream, a glint in her eye. "Cameron hasn't spoken to me." she says. "Not really. Not since I know he's seen the paintings."
Peter makes a sound of acknowledgement, careful not to nod when he's focusing on not regenerating, and when Helena has a straight-razor, "He's probably scared… Scared of it being right, of making the wrong decision and making it come true…" He smiles, understandingly, "Scared of something happening to you. A lot of this is resting on his shoulders, our lives, his choices. That's the kinds of decisions a leader has to make, and I see in Cameron — sometimes — a fear about that." He tilts his chin up at the touch of her hand, giving the girl easier access to his all-too-grown in beard. "He's doing a hard task that no one wants, and I don't envy him. But he's doing a good job, and that's what matters." Peter opens his eyes, looking at Helena's reflection in the mirror. "I don't want to lose you either…"
Helena sprays some of the shaving cream into her palm, and begins to apply it to his face. She's not haphazard, but her efforts might be a tad comically thick. Carefully, she tilts his head to the side and begins to slide the razor down his cheek. It really is like landscaping a garden. "You won't." she says. Oddly enough, her tone returns to that serene pitch she had when she was watering the plants up on the roof as she works.
Staying as still as he can, Peter stifles a smile in favor of good natured words, "Thanks, for doing this for me. I think if I had one more thing to do in a day, I'd…" He laughs, quietly, as to not disturb the surface she is gleaning with a razor. "I don't know how all of this is going to end. But, I'd like to think, that maybe once we've won the fight… there might be some time to breathe before we continue the war. Time for ourselves…"
"That would be nice." Deciding she doesn't have enough room to work (she's an artist, see.) she moves her tools closer and sits on his lap, straddling his legs and facing him. As she gently nudges his nose upward to get his lower lip she remarks, "You could take us anywhere. I mean, if you wanted to. When this is over." She works at his upper lip with careful diligence, and rinses the razor before moving to his chin and lower lip area.
Peter watches as Helena circles around, and when she swings one legs over him and sits down on his lap, there's a noticable rise in color to his face in that narrow shaft of light spilling through the partly open door. Notably, though, not a murmur of protest — he's such a willing subject. "I… I could," A faint falter in his voice, and he's struggling to restrain a smile. "A nice, sunny beach somewhere… White sands, water you can see to the bottom of." Peter's eyes close for just a moment, but the dream he envisions doesn't compel him more than the one sitting in front of him, and those tired eyes slowly drift back open. "We could sip fruity drinks out of glasses that have umbrellas in them…" He starts to smile, then stops as he feels the edge of the razor on his lip. "The whole world isn't as crazy as this right now… There's some places, people like us can be free."
"I could wear a bikini." she says in amusement. She waits for him to stop talking before applying the razor to his cheek. "Tahiti. Cabo. Bora Bora. Maybe Greece…" And then last but not least, she lifts his chin, and begins to careful shave his throat. The tip of her tongue sticks out a little with the intent of her concentration. She doesn't want to nick him.
Peter closes his eyes as she tilts his chin up, smiling broadly now, and once he feels the razor clear the last of that stubble from his neck, his hands move up to rest on either side of Helena's hips, thumbs sliding through the belt-loops of her jeans, "You could." He finally says wit a smile, looking to her with a more relaxed and less strained expression than he's had most of the day, "You could…" He gently pulls forward on the belt hoops, leaning forward with a crooked smile, a dot of shaving cream on the tip of his nose however makes his expression somewhat more silly than seductive.
Helena lets out a giggle, and finishing the job, rinses the razor by shaking it in the water. She slides her finger along his cheek announcing, "It'll do." before she flicks away the dab of of cream on his nose. Her nose brushes against his in an eskimo kiss, promptly followed by a real one. "I could," she agrees softly, and to what may yet come apparent.
 September 16th: Plans Within Plans |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 September 17th: Baton Passed |