Participants:
| Scene Title | I Ordered A Cheeseburger! |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Peyton doesn't believe she's underweight. |
| Date | January 22, 2010 |
In a time that seems long ago, Greenwich Village was known for its bohemian vibe and culture, the supposed origin of the Beat movement, filled with apartment buildings, corner stores, pathways and even trees. There was a mix of upper class and lower, commercialism meeting a rich culture, and practically speaking, it was largely residential.
Now, it's a pale imitation of what it used to be. There is a sense of territory and foreboding, as if the streets aren't entirely safe to walk. It isn't taken care of, trash from past times and present littering the streets, cars that had been caught in the explosion lie like broken shells on the streets nearest the ground zero. Similarly, the buildings that took the brunt of the explosion are left in varying degrees of disarray. Some are entirely unusable, some have missing walls and partial roofs, and all of the abandoned complexes have been looted, home to squatters and poorer refugees.
As one walks through the Village, the damage becomes less and less obvious. There are stores and bars in service, and apartment buildings legitimately owned and run by landlords. People walk the streets a little freer, but like many places in this scarred city… anything can happen. Some of the damage done to buildings aren't all caused by the explosion from the past - bullet holes and bomb debris can be seen in some surfaces, and there is the distinct impression that Greenwich Village runs itself… whether people like it that way or not.
Friday morning. Almost Friday afternoon. Just barely late enough for Peyton Whitney to be awake and clad in something other than sleepwear. She's been invited for lunch in this part of town, by Cat, and is expected soon. The person who did this inviting is just getting back to the area near the Verb. Her car is parked some distance away for safety, but it takes just a few minutes to reach the Rock Cellar. In one gloved hand is a copy of the New York Times. The other is clutching the strap of a guitar case across her left shoulder. A backpack is supported by the other.
She unlocks the door and makes her way inside, having told Peyton it'll be open.
Peyton doesn't drive, but arrives by taxi a few moments later. She has been to the Rock Cellar a couple of times in the past, back when she was a club-hopping socialite, but now of course she's heading there for associations of a quite different matters. She's no longer in a cast, but instead matching boots for the first time in more than a month, and the snow no longer is such a challenge for the clairvoyant.
She reaches the open door, tugging it open and pokes her head inside, since it's really too early for the Cellar to be open, to make sure Cat is about. "Hey, Cat," she greets the other woman as she steps into the club.
A comfortable place, located in the basement of 14 East 4th Street. The red brick walls are covered with memorabilia from various icons of rock and places in rock history, creating a feel similar to that of a Hard Rock Cafe.
The left wall has two bars separated by swinging doors which lead to and from the kitchen. Directly across from the entrance is a two foot high stage with all the equipment needed for acts to perform there. The right wall has three doors marked as restrooms: two for use by women and one by men.
Thirty square feet of open space for dancing and standing room is kept between the stage and the comfortable seating placed around tables which fill the remainder of the Cellar.
The lighting here is often kept dim for purposes of ambience, and when performers are onstage the place is loud enough to make conversation difficult. Just inside the door is a podium where location staff check IDs and stamp the hands of those under twenty-one with a substance visible under UV lights at the two bars and by devices the servers carry. On the podium's front is a sign with big black letters that just about explain it all: If You Don't Like Rock 'N' Roll, You're Too Late Now!
Some people are bold enough to come into the Cellar straight away, without much in the way of checking. Others are crazy enough that they plant a Glock by the back exit, in case they have to run out the door in a big hurry. The paranoids tend to come in two varieties: the ones who mutter about how Mark Chapman was framed by the Trilateral Commission, and the ones who are too pragmatic to do anything but look normal.
Luc, the documents guy, belongs to this second group of paranoids. He's seated at the counter, sure, but his eyes are watching a nearby pane of glass — and using the reflections there to watch the rest of the room.
It's fairly empty at this hour, with staff people setting up for the day's business. The cook is here and at work, there's food to be had, and music plays on the sound system. Rock music, that is. Cat will allow nothing else in this place. When Peyton enters, she finds Cat setting down her gear at a table known as her favorite. Middle of the room, by a wall, shadowed but with a good view of the entire place even when packed. The workers seem to know her, but aren't clear just what her thing is. She's just this mysterious woman who likes to come in early sometimes.
Eyes settle on the man at one of the bars, she nods to convey greeting and gestures with a hand, inviting him over.
Shifts at the Cellar run quite short or very long- Delilah tends to take the shorter ones, and perhaps a long one on the weekend days. Friday is so-so in that department. Delilah enters through the employee door behind one of the bars, already trying to tie the strings of the black hostess' apron around her waist. For some reason she seems to be having great difficulty in doing this, and when she does turn the other direction her hands are visible as having a few fabric bandages on the fingers. After a moment of milling at the bar, she does catch sight of Cat and Peyton. Cat, who she has seen but once since the woman returned, but Lilah has suspected that Cat needed a bit of space anyway and hasn't seen her since that one time. Delilah offers a small wave to them as she exchanges a couple words with the man nearby out of the corner of her mouth.
"Haven't had you as a guest here yet, when the place is quiet," Cat replies. "Thanks for coming." Her eyes settle on Dee, and a head gesture invites her approach to the table. Followed by a hand gesture which invites taking a seat. "I think I might make my link to this place public," she muses. "Pick up playing before audiences again."
On the table are two menus, one before Peyton. "Food's great here. Order something."
The clairvoyant picks up the menu and begins to read it, nodding her thanks to the other, then looking up to offer a smile to Delilah when Cat waves at her. "That'd be great. You should do what you really want to do, you know?" Peyton says. Having saved the world entitles the woman to that much, right? "I'll come see you play. You got a name for your band or you just go by your own name and play solo?" Peyton asks curiously, tilting her head at the other. "And what's the best thing? You tell me." She taps the menu.
Seems like the Boss' Boss has her somewhere else, so her getting things ready is happily put on hold as Delilah makes her way over to the table where the young women sit. Cat's gestures put her in the seat opposite them, triangulating this meeting a little more. "Cat playing again? I'll have to see that. Magnes has been looking for you, by the way- he told me he had your number, but if its wrong I figured I'd give you a warning in case he comes landing in your open window." The redheaded girl mentions this as if it happens everyday. It really does. Her bandaged fingers link on the tabletop, and Peyton gets a smile.
"Burger's a staple- we've got those super crunchy sandwich pickles." To Dee, that is apparently The Game Changer!
"I want to chase the coward Petrelli out of the Oval Office and expose him as a flying man," Cat replies with a chuckle, "thereby taking a big step toward restoring the Constitution. But such things don't happen overnight. I also want to be a famous rock star. A band might happen, depends on what talent I find. I've played solo before, can again."
"And the food is all good, Peyton. I'm partial to stout and steak, myself." Eyes shift to Delilah. She nods. "What's Magnes after? Hopefully Flint Deckard turns up soon." So she can ask him to heal missing eyes and broken legs and such.
"A burger with crispy pickles sounds good, as long as they're dill and not sweet," Peyton says with a grin. "And a Diet Coke will be fine. Too early for stout, I think. I only woke up an hour ago," she adds. "Magnes? He's okay, then? I forgot to ask about him, but Ta — someone said they'd all be fine, all the people I asked her about." There's a furrow of her brow at that statement and she glances down, trying to catch the upswell of emotion before it shows. Everyone but Cardinal.
"Just advice, I guess. He's wanting to go bring Deckard back, but I think the only reason he hasn't is because Abby might kick his ass- and he doesn't know where they are. I don't know much about it either." Delilah pauses a moment, deciding upon something else and treating the next bit as conversation between all of them. "He did mention something about wanting to play piano again, if you could use a keyboardist. He's doing alright so far. Still settling into things, but I have the feeling he and some of the other guys will be able to find something to spend energy on."
"We'll find each other," Cat replies regarding Mr. Varlane. And she looks puzzled. "Abby and Flint took off together?" Clueless, yes. Doctor Chesterfield still sees Abby as the Eternal Virgin. Her head shakes, she dismisses the thought from mind.
It briefly occurs to her that she might mention the Nightmare Man, having heard both women with her encountered the entity, but she opts not to bring down the mood at this gathering.
Peyton gives a quiet nod at Delilah's words. "I'm glad he's okay." She doesn't know he lost an eye, though. She tilts her head at Cat's words. She knows Abby and knows of Deckard, but nothing of the two. "He's a nice boy. He offered me life time pizza when I got home from…" there's a wave of her hand. When she got home from being kidnapped. "It's pretty good pizza. Gillian was happy to have the leftovers I had in my fridge when she showed up."
"I think he mentioned trying that for a while again. Delivery boy. That pizza was pretty delicious. And he still lives above Panucci's. I think he considers that guy an uncle, something of that sort." No telling when he actually said any of this to Dee, though. "And I just know she chased Flint somewhere. That's about all. Cat, do you want something? I'll tell the kitchen about Pey's." The girl stands up, but lingers with her hands on the edge of the table.
"Have a seat, Delilah," Cat offers. She lifts a hand to signal another person over to take orders instead. Apparently Dee gets to loaf and chat for a time while still being paid. "Pizza delivery," she muses next. Doctor Chesterfield avoids commenting on having Magnes around as much as a band member might be, but she does think he could have a venue to play and be hooked up with others if nothing else.
"I need to get that recording studio into regular use also," she states thoughtfully.
"You're a Renaissance Woman," Peyton says with a laugh. Lawyer, rockstar, club owner, studio manager? "I guess that at least makes putting out your own records easy, right? What kind of music do you want to play?" she asks Cat, then nods to Delilah. "You play or sing or anything?" She's surrounded by more would-be rock stars then she knew, besides living with one.
Delilah sits right back down again at that, making herself comfortable again. "What would you record? -Me? Oh, no, not really. I do magic tricks and I can sing like a normal person might- I know how to dance and perform- but nothing like in a band." She picks at the frayed side of a bandaid, watching her hands for a moment or two. "No rocking out for me. I'm more of a lullaby or shower person."
"Whoever I can find to put on disc," Cat replies. "The Village was once a hotbed of music, and can be again. That's why the Verb has it's name. Village Renaissance." A server approaches, bringing Cat a stout. Peyton gets a diet coke, and Dee is given whatever she seems to imbibe most. The drink choice has Cat lifting brows and scoffing.
"Diet? Please. If you lost ten pounds, woman, you'd blow away."
"I just like the taste better," Peyton says with a laugh. "I ordered a cheeseburger! I'm hardly going to starve. I already have Aaron nagging me about what I eat." She sticks her tongue out at Cat playfully. It's a sign she's feeling more comfortable with the other woman who once scared her away with all her stories of gloom and doom. Which of course turned out to be true for the most part. "What'd you do to your hand, Dee?" she asks the other server, nodding to the bandaids.
Delilah usually just gets a Sprite or something in the daytime, and that is what travels over now. She is quick to sip at it, which signals having been parched. "Hm? Oh- um." The girl is practically hosing the drink down, but pauses to flex her slender fingers. "Been- hm. I can't lie. I've been trying to get my stuff to come out of my hands instead of all over. If it happens I have to walk around in sloshy drugged up mucky clothes, it's just such an awful mess if I squirt all over. Like being little when you piss yourself in public." Well, it is.
Her head tilts, but she doesn't comment on the not so pleasant imagery of wet children. "You'll get there," Cat encourages. Her stout is lifted again, while her head shakes a bit at Peyton. Diet indeed, like the taste. Insanity!
Peyton doesn't know what Delilah does so she just tilts her head curiously. "Get your stuff to come out your hands?" she asks, curiously, then glances over at Cat with arched brows. "What comes out of you?"
"Poison. That's the easiest word for it. Used to come out whenever my emotions dipped low, but thankfully I handled that so far. Still happens sometimes, but only if its super bad." Like with the nightmare. Dee almost shrinks at that, but she seems to shake it off quick. "There aren't really many applications I can use it for, so I'm stuck looking for little things like this. And it works after it comes off, so I guess people could like …smoke it and shit…but…" That's weird.
It's Delilah's story to tell, about her ability and the substance she makes. Cat remains quiet while it's discussed, leaving them to converse as they will and enjoy her stout. Food will come soon, and be enjoyed by the trio at her favored table in the shadows.
And after lunch Cat gets up. Her guitar is slung over her neck, she takes the stage and plugs in, then spends an hour or so prowling it like a panther while she plays. Classic rock mostly, in keeping with her tastes. Metallica, Heart, Joan Jett, Benatar, Zeppelin, Van Halen, AC/DC, Nirvana… But she does work in some fairly recent pieces which meet her standards.