Participants:
| Scene Title | I've Never… |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | While rooting through Sable's private possessions for information pertinent to the Ferry, the teen is confronted by Sable herself, and the two share an interesting conversation that reveals a great deal about each other. |
| Date | April 16, 2010 |
It's not entirely the rudest thing Colette Nichols has ever done, but it's quite likely close to the top of the list. Sliding out a wooden drawer, the dark-haired teen leans forward and slides her hand beneath a pile of socks, pushing them to the side of the drawer in the dark of an unlit bedroom, brows furrowed and hands fishing for anything hidden beneath them that would be undesirable— drugs, guns, and things she can't imagine.
Putting the socks back she slides the drawer closed, then rocks back and forth on socked toes and heels, one hand up to tap fingers at her bottom lip, turning towards where the light of a neighboring building filters through the bedroom's drawn blinds. Were this her bedroom somewhere, it might not be so demeaning that she's searching for something, but the way Colette saunters over the the closer and slides it open quietly is as if she doesn't want anyone else to know she's rifling through things.
Maybe the fact that this is Sable's bedroom is a good give-away. The Ferrymen can't say Colette isn't thorough though as she pulls hung clothes aside, leans in and peers down at the bottom of the closet, her sight in the dark better than an ordinary person's. Crouching down, she rests her forearms over denim clad knees, pulling at the shoulder strap of a padded guitar case, checking the weight to see if it feels like that's what's inside.
Colette didn't have the ulterior motive of searching Sable's bedroom when she was offered the space a few hours ago, but perhaps in that small measure of time between when Magnes finally floated off to bed and when she feigned needing to call it a night, the idea dawned on her. Better safe than sorry, after all.
Sable's possessions are few, consisting, cost-wise, almost entirely of things Magnes has bought her, which items Sable tends to accept with a gratitude qualified by some remark about how, if he's trying to get her to put out, he should know it's not going to happen. Her clothes are simple to the nth degree, consisting of a series of monochromatic tank tops, all dark, neutral colors, save for the white ones which are… well… white. Cargo pants, sweat pants, a single pair of blue jeans… and nothing even remotely illicit, nothing so much as a small weed stash or a knife, is evidenced.
The guitar case /feels/ like it just contains a guitar, and if the theme of the search so far is carried to its inclusion, no weapon is likely stored, Prohibition-era style, within its black plastic confines. It's just one of two cases, actually, the second of which is more like a bag and less like a case, and has dimensions suggesting that it contains an acoustic guitar rather than an electric one. The wear and tear suggest this second case is the senior one, and rightly so.
So it would appear that Sable, who at this moment lightly knocks upon her own bedroom door from the dark of the living room, is as pure as the driven snow.
Colette of course jumps at the knock, which in turn causes her to whack her head against the rod upon which Sable's clothing is hung, sending the rod up and off of its rubber feet and clattering down in a god-awful racket of clanging metal and clattering plastic as shirts and coats come tumbling out onto the floor and bury the fallen guitar case. Dropping down onto her backside from the impact, Colette's hand has reflexively covered the top of her head, eyes wrenched shut and breath hissed through her teeth.
"Just— a minute." Green eyes flick over to the pile of fallen clothing, and she wobbles up onto her feet, bracing herself against the foot of Sable's bed to get up, shuffling with scuffing footfalls across the hardwood floor over to the door. "S— Sorry one— one second." Turning to look back at the mess, Colette grimaces and turns the knob, gently pulling the door open just enough to stare at Sable with a sheepish grin.
"I— uh— I was— " Colette turns to look back over her shoulder then back to Sable. "Borrow a shirt?" There's an awkward pause. "To— sleep in. I auh— it— stuff fell over."
She's a little more than embarrassed, but Colette isn't well-read enough to know the word mortified.
Sable's smile, what can be seen of it in the dark, seems genuine and appreciative. "Help yourself," she says, keeping her voice low, "And I feel the whole," she lifts her hands to form airquotes, "'Klutz' thing. New digs, man, new rooms. Always takes a while to get your bearings. Stuff is just gonna get knocked over. Fact of life."
She glances over her shoulder, in the direction of Magnes' door. "Mind if I… step in real quick? Assuming you're decent and all. I… well," she thumbs in the same direction in which she looked moments before, "I don' wanna wake him up. Boy works hard enough as it is."
"Wh— " Colette's brows furrow, head turning to view Sable askance when she doesn't so much as look cross about the mess and the mild invasion of privacy. That, in turn, makes Colette feel even worse about second guessing the young woman. Sheepishly tilting her head down and offering an awkward smile, she just steps back away from the door and snorts out a laugh, beckoning Sable in with a wave of one hand. "Yeah sure I uh— yeah." The delay there was due to her trying to think of something charming and witty to say, but Colette just isn't quick on her feet, verbally, in these situations.
On her way back from the door, Colette bumps one of the dreawers she had forgotten to close with her hip, then keep padding thorugh the room on her toes, turning to look over her hsoulder at Sable before settling down to sit on a corner of the bed, hands folded in her lap and head quirked to the side.
"'Figured you mighta' had like, questions or somethin' after everything I kind've talked about tonight…" Teeth toying with her lower lip, there's a pensive look on her face. Though Sable only sees part of it, with long strips of pale yellow light coming horizontally across her body, filtered in through the partially open blinds. Really, the room's just too dark and Colette fails to notice by merit of genetic imperative.
To be fair, Sable didn't yet take in the extent of Colette's ostensible quest for a shirt. The disarray she finds her room in is greater even than the natural disarray she tends to produce, and she looks around with skeptical eyes as she scans the room.
"Real picky about the shirts you sleep in, huh?" she comments, with every indication that she suspects there is something rather else going on beneath the thin veneer of that excuse. She doesn't press the matter, however, nor does she bother to try and tidy anything. What she does do is move over to the closet, pushing aside the fallen rod to examine her instruments. These are evidently precious, and she smooths her hand over each with a marked tenderness. Satisfied in their safety, she moves over to Colette, taking a seat right in front of her, legs crossed, looking up at the other girl.
"Yeah, I sort of do. Though maybe," Sable's smile is crooked, "Not quite the ones someone with their priorities all straight would ask."
Eyes wide and looking a little bit like the cat that ate the canary from Sable's inspection of the closet, Colette's breathing in deeply and exhaling an awkwardly nervous laugh. "Yeah well— you know— comfort's important…" she dismissively notes with a wave of one hand before squinting down at Sable and considering the lighting in the room. Ducking her head in silent apology, Colette's pupils dilate as the ambient light in the room raises just a smidge more, all she can muster from the minimal light already gathered, giving it the additional illumination a couple candles might have, without the direct concentration of a flame anywhere; coincidentally the light also flickers with her concentration, in a similar analogue to the aforementioned light source.
"So… um," Curling her fingers into the fabric of the comforter at the corner of the mattress, one of Colette's knees bounces up and down with a jitter of her foot, "shirts aside, what ah— " green eyes divert up to the glow of a digital clock on the night stand by the bed, then back to Sable, "what's up?"
Sable smiles and looks around as the light level in the room swells. That delight, that enthusiasm from before, similarly swells. "Oh man, you're doing it, aren't you?" she says, eyes sweeping over the walls and the ceiling, as if there might be something to see beyond being able to see more. Her gaze returns to Colette, and she leans back, setting her hands behind and to either side, propping herself up.
"Okay… okay. Um… normally I wouldn't do this. I'd play it /way/ cooler," Sable flashes a grin, "Like, /way/ way cooler. I'd be suave, swear to God, I'm capable of it, honest. But things being, like, a certain way, I figure… better shit be out in the open." There is the faintest gleam in her eyes, a slightly wicked edge to her expression, as her eyes flick towards the open drawers, the open closet, back to Colette, "And it seems like openness is somethin' you appreciate, eh? Like comfort. So, like, with that in mind…" Sable takes a deep breath.
"You're extremely fuckin' cute, and I wouldn't mind at all gettin' to know you a little better, if you catch my meaning," she says, trying not to say it in too rushed a manner, but still speaking with the speed of a confession, outrunning her own inclination to remain silent, "'cept, I realize we just met so, when I say 'a little better' I really mean, like, getting to know you. Properly. But you should know, straight up, mine are not, like, totally honorable intentions. Like I said," another quick grin, "Normally I'd be suave."
Sable smiles and looks around as the light level in the room swells. That delight, that enthusiasm from before, similarly swells. "Oh man, you're doing it, aren't you?" she says, eyes sweeping over the walls and the ceiling, as if there might be something to see beyond being able to see more. Her gaze returns to Colette, and she leans back, setting her hands behind and to either side, propping herself up.
"Okay… okay. Um… normally I wouldn't do this. I'd play it /way/ cooler," Sable flashes a grin, "Like, /way/ way cooler. I'd be suave, swear to God, I'm capable of it, honest. But things being, like, a certain way, I figure… better shit be out in the open." There is the faintest gleam in her eyes, a slightly wicked edge to her expression, as her eyes flick towards the open drawers, the open closet, back to Colette, "And it seems like openness is somethin' you appreciate, eh? Like comfort. So, like, with that in mind…" Sable takes a deep breath.
"You're extremely fuckin' cute, and I wouldn't mind at all gettin' to know you a little better, if you catch my meaning," she says, trying not to say it in too rushed a manner, but still speaking with the speed of a confession, outrunning her own inclination to remain silent, "'cept, I realize we just met so, when I say 'a little better' I really mean, like, getting to know you. Properly. But you should know, straight up, mine are not, like, totally honorable intentions. Like I said," another quick grin, "Normally I'd be suave."
Red. It describes everything, Colette's face and then the entire room too. It happens with the same speed cold air rushes in from an open door in these temperatures as the color spectrum drops to a low frequency and everything is saturated a pinkish red color, very vermilion. Colette doesn't even realize she's doing it at first, wide eyes and mouth-open speechless. It makes it easier to see, marginally, due to the way human optics word and how the color red preserves night vision. But when she gets a control of a rapidly fluttering heart that she's sure must have exploded out of her chest by now, all the red begins to dither away like a dissolving puddle of rubbing alcohol exposed to the air, letting colors back in.
"I— I'm— " Colette's mouth opens several more times, trying to formulate a response, one hand covering her face embarrassedly as she stares down at her lap. "Um, it— I've— nnn— " green eyes divert to the clock beside the bed, then flick back to Sable. "I— have a girlfriend?" Dark brows lift up high on Colette's forehead, teeth tug at her lower lip and the teen immediately looks worrisome having said that.
"I— I mean you're— you're— " Both of Colette's hands frantically wave from side to side. "You're gorgeous I just— it— it's— " Planting her hands down on the corner of the bed, Colette breathes in deep and tries not to make an absolute ass of herself; not more so than already anyway.
"It's very complicated," Colette insists, green eyes wide and tongue running across her lips nervously. "Oh god please don't— I— " She's beyond flustered, thumb rolling that ring on her right hand around unconsciously. "You're joking r-right?"
Sable's head tilts visibly to the right, a birdish mannerism, coupled with a slight crease between her brows. Her eyes leave Colette only long enough to take in the sudden change in the room's color, a change that causes the corners of her lips to prick up almost imperceptibly. As Colette's explanation, such as it is, nears its end, Sable gathers her knees in the crooks of her elbows, linking her hands in front of her and leaning back, rocking just a bit on her rear.
"Complicated?" Sable replies, focusing in on just that word to start, "See, you're givin' me a sliver of hope when you go and say 'complicated'. Cuz if you've got someone, like you say, that seems pretty simple. But if things between you and that someone are /complicated/, well…" the yellow-eyed girl pauses in her rock, "Then part of me starts wondering just how much more complicated it could get if I, say, set about to make them so." She leaves her methods, for the moment, to the imagination.
Sable's hands unclasp, her legs sticking out in front of her, feet disappearing under the bed. "Thanks, by the way," for what? "You're a rare fuckin' beauty yourself." The compliment, right.
In the same motion when Sable's stretching her legs out, Colette is drawing hers up to fold beneath herself and sit cross-legged. Staring down at her lap, teeth tugging at her lower lip and shoulders hunched forward, Colette has pulled down the sleeves of her sweater to cover her hands, fingers curling into the dark fabric. "Um, th— thanks…" She doesn't seem accustomed to compliments, let alone someone actively hitting on her, there's tells people have when they're comfortable in their own skin and aware of their own appearance, Colette is decidedly not. "Ah, it— she's… she's really special. I— I don't really know if I could even explain it to you… I…" There's a weak noise in the back of Colette's throat as she looks up to Sable.
"She's like me… and, she sees the future. Like— all of it, all the time, it's— " Colette squints, then looks away, eyes wandering the room because it's easier than eye contact. "She forgets me sometimes…" That much sounds like it hurts, dark brows furrowed and teeth worrying at her lower lip. "She— she doesn't remember the past. She can't. So… so she doesn't remember what I do for her, or— or the things I say, or… or anything I do for her at all."
Jaw giving the barest tremble, Colette closes her eyes and is silent for just a second, then looks up to Sable with a smile that's hiding how badly she doesn't want to. "But she sees me in the future, all… all the good things I do for her, and she sees how much I still love her, so— so she knows we're supposed to be together but— but she can't remember why and— " the words she's never said she loves me don't quite leave Colette's lips.
"You— didn't need me to— I— I'm sorry." Shaking her head and covering her face with one hand, Colette hides the look that was dawning on her. "I'm… I'm not used to— I'm sorry. I'm— I'm— "
Sable lifts a single abortive hand, her eyes closing. "Gotcha," she says, "I gotcha. That shit is extremely goddamn complicated. That you could even fuckin' convey what you did in as few words as you did…" Her eyes open, her hand closes, falling back to the ground where it continues to prop her up, "I'm not gonna try and argue with a destined love. Jesus but I know that's beyond me, nor would I wanna try."
Yellow eyes cut over to the corner of the room, looking at it, which is to say: looking at nothing. "It makes my gut knot just to think of what that must be like. Poetic, that is. 'course, poetry's always prettier from the outside, huh?" The last sound, the request for affirmation, occasions the return of Sable's gaze to Colette. The girl on the floor shifts her legs under they're folded under her and she's sitting up straighter, closer to Colette's level. "I'm not gonna push anything. I'm not lookin' for love. I'm looking for a pretty someone I can't stop thinking about, someone maybe to wake up to, maybe even someone I can write a song about, y'know? But that's the most of it. You've got a higher goddamn goal, and if there's such a thing as sin, I'd be sinning if I tried to get between you and it. And her."
Her head tilts once more, in the other direction this time. "That said, hon, if you decide you'd a little rest from that long, noble goddamn road you're walking, and felt it no crime against your rightful beloved," that grin again, nearly wolfish, "I'd keep you warm for as many nights as you'd like."
Blusterily blowing out a breath, green eyes wide, Colette's face is flushed in the dimly lit room. She's laughing, that kind of nervous bubbly laughter that accompanies a not entirely dishonest smile. "I— you— whh— I'm sorry I— you're… you're like the first person in a really like, really long time who'se ever even…" Covering her mouth with one hand, Colette rubs her hand down her chin, then leaves her palm flat against her neck, feeling the rapid pace of her pulse coincidentally.
There's an awkward silence that hangs in the air for a moment, green eyes on Sable and dark brows creased together. "Um… I— I don't even…" wandering her stare left and right across her lap vacantly, Colette's trying to puzzle herself out when she looks back up to the brunette. "Nobody's ever really… been interested in me. I mean I— I kind've… fawn over Tamara, and she's— she's like saved my life more times than I can count. I just— I— " Colette shakes her head slowly, biting down on her lower lip.
"Nobody I'm not related to's ever even so much as said I'm pretty." Quietly admitting that, Colette offers it with a smile as well. "I don't— talk about this stuff with anyone, like— ever. I'm… m'sorry if I'm kind've dumb. I— I don't have a lot've like, the— emotions're hard."
"That I have a hard time believing, hon," Sable says, her smile fairly easy, her posture relaxing into a slight slouch. "I mean, sure, maybe you don't get propositioned by too many dykes, what with, like, society and shit." Her eyes roll at the mention of 'society', "But you can't seriously tell me that you haven't at least had a, like, cat call or even just a fuckin' wolf whistle blown your way?"
Sable shakes her head, as if at a sad, sad state of affairs. "While I'm no fan of fuckers makin' meat of me and mine, I consider that an offense to the cosmic goddamn order of things. Permit me:," she sits up straight again, clears her throat, taps her chest a few times, makes a few tonal noises (vocal exercises?), then looks straight at Colette and says, with as much feeling as she can muster, "Daaaaaayum." Her voice rolls comically low, and she finishes the display off by biting her lower lip in a show of visible restraint.
This accomplished, Sable resumes her relaxed posture, offering a warm smile to Colette, awaiting, perhaps, her review of the performance.
Colette's laughing, embarrasedly so, hiding her face and laughing into one hand, face bright red. "Shh— shutup!" The teen blurts out, reaching out to swat at Sable's shoulder with a furrow of her brows, eyes wide. "What if Magnes heard you!" She hisses in a noisy whisper, which somewhat defeats the point of whispering but she's exasperated. Covering her face again, Colette shakes her head and unfolds her legs, setting her feet down on the floor again, legs rested on either side of the bed's corner. "You're— you're fucking weird," she says in a laugh, which means it's not an insult so much as her trying to play it cool.
"No I— I've never gotten anything like that. I've— had some issues with like… I used to have issues. Like, big emotional subscriptions because of— just shit that happened when I was younger. It's— not up for discussion though. I just… I sort've shut mysefl out from everyone after that, you know?"
Wrinkling her nose, Colette rises her heels up off of the floor, one knee jittering. "God, my life is so fucked up, tonight is the first night I've been around anyone my own age in like… I dunno, months?" When green eyes meet yellow ones again, Colette's smiling a bit more freely now, still blshingly embarrassed, but at least not flustered.
"So wait— " Colette squints, "how're you single." Now the accusatory tones come out, and Colette leans forward to offer a squint to Sable. "You're like— I remember kind've like maybe a little stalking you when I lived at the Lighthouse, but you were always hanging out with that dorky kid with the curly hair, so I figured he was your boyfriend or something. I mean like," Colette laughs and shakes her head, "I used to do stupud shit like offer to do dishes when you were downstairs just so I could try and work up the nerve to say hi or something. But like— "
Colette rolls her eyes. "I'm kind've a retard, if you haven't noticed. But— you're all… you can talk really well, and you're not all stuttery and um, you're better with words than I am. Confident?" There's a crease of her brows. "Why're you living with Magnes," yes it has that tone, "and not some girl or something? I mean— cute rock-star with spooky eyes? That's… I mean really."
Sable seems quite pleased by how her hijinks were received, her smile almost feline in its satisfaction. The accusation of weirdness receives a shrug in response, as if to say 'just the way God made me'. She gets a more serious expression on when talk turns to 'issues', not uncomfortable at all, rather a look of stolid recognition. Issues are something she can understand, something she can, dare she say, relate to.
"Man, see, now I'm gonna live every day in expectation of your opening your heart to me or somethin'," she says, scratching alongside her nose with the side of her thumbnail, "But yeah, yeah, sure, I understand. Your lady love's luck, eh, not having to remember the past or whatever?"
Then the conversation swerves to Sable and her own favorable qualities, and it's her turn to get awkward. She scratches the nap of her neck, eyes swerving down to the spot of floor just in front of the closet, where a shirt sleeve creeps out in a frozen bid for freedom. "Jesus," she mutters, "Jesus… What I am is /loud/ is all. You learn pretty quick, growing up as I did, to either fuckin' shout or shut the hell up. Sheer pig headed stubbornness made me choose the former. Made me pretty good at dodgin' punches too," the joke seems to restore her alleged confidence to some degree, her eyes returning to Colette.
"I… shit… I /do/ remember you, though. Only think likely kept me from being suave, as I for honest can be, was that I was sorta seeing someone a bit at the time," her voice gets maybe a little mumbly around that point, "But hey, Magnes is good fuckin' people, 'specially for a guy. Sure, he /wants/ to fuck me, but he takes 'no' for an answer and that's a rarer fuckin' thing than the good Lord should have made it. Plus… he wants to play music. He's a comrade in arms now, y'know? And girls… eh… girls are a pain to live with, most times. Too," she wrinkles her nose, "Neat."
Bubbling with laughter now, Colette dips her head into a nod, one hand idly plucking at a loose black thread on her jeans. "I had some red in my hair back then, like, streaks?" Lifting a hand, Colette rakes her fingers through the sides of her bangs, "It was just some extension things, I was— I dunno in a phase." Pursing her lips to the side, Colette lifts a brow and looks askance at Sable. "I was actually lookin' for an apartment when I met Magnes the last time, uh, before tonight. Tryin' to move out on my own, I've been living with my sister and my dad back and forth for a couple years now. I'm— I dunno I need some independence."
Wavering from side to side, Colette pulls one leg up to tuck under herself, socked toes curling. "You're… a lot easier to talk to than I thought. You— sort've— I dunno you totally made me worried you were gonna like kill me if I talked to you." There's the barest hint of a laugh there, somewhat rueful. "Kinda' wish I'd talked to you sooner…"
Rolling her tongue over the inside of her cheek, Colette pulls her other leg up onto the bed, crosses it and rests her hands on her calves, leaning forward. "Magnes is a pretty cool guy, even if he's like— totally like every other guy that age I've ever met, But— I owe him a bunch and I feel bad about his whole," Colette steals Sable's hand gesture, making a little heart over her chest and breaking it with a frownie face.
Shaking her head, Colette arches one brow and crooks her lips into a smirk. "I haven't been able to just open up to someone like you since…" Since Kaylee, but that's different, and Colette's mind is briefly distracted by worry for the telepath's health. Her brows furrow, eyes cast aside and she's reminded of something. "Hey— " green eyes flick back to Sable, "you know what? You wanna get to know me?" She probably doesn't mean it like the way Sable did, "You got anything to drink? And— have you ever played the game 'I never?'" Both of the brunette's brows raise and a crooked smile crosses her lips mischievously.
"Christ, sorry if seemed, I dunno, prickly or somethin'," Sable says, scratching her nape again, eyes shifting from side to side, "If forced to, like, excuse myself for appearing… like that, I'd say it's like…" She quirks her mouth to one side, giving Colette a direct look, overcoming this second bout of relative bashfulness, "Some situations, you gotta just, like, /smell/ like trouble. Trouble's gotta come off you like steam off fresh shit in the snow, if you get my meaning. You don't wanna be fucked, you gotta make it clear you ain't the sort to be fucked with. Which, like, looking like I do… that can be hard." She musters a smile, "The eyes help though. 'specially if I actually hiss like a cat. Works pretty good, that. Better than you'd think."
Sable wiggles her nose, as if it were itchy but she can't spare a hand to scratch it. "There's folks that are closed up real tight, like a lockbox, and there are folks that just, like, spill their guts at the first fuckin' instance, like a busted suitcase. Forced to choose, I'll take the lockbox. People who're always on display, well… it's like… generally all that is pretty dull stuff, since they've gotta advertise it. The best stuff is always guarded. Or almost always."
And then comes the proposition of a game. Despite the peculiar limitations of her experience and education, 'I never' is something she is familiar with. There is a moment of instant recognition. "Don't go nowheres," Sable warns, as she gets to her feet and sneaks out the door on tip-toes. Shortly after she returns with a pair of beer bottles, caps already popped off, their exteriors cloudy with condensation. Nice and cold. She plops down in her spot, and offers one bottle up to Colette. "I never…" she begins, without further ado, "Went to high school."
"No shit." Colette blurts out with a look of confusion on her face as she takes the bottle, mouth hanging open before she takes a swig from it. There's a furrow of her brows and the teen tilts it to the side, eying the label before holding it straight by the neck again. "Like— Jesus. I mean I never finished High School but I went." Not that she's counting that particular 'I Never' as part of the game.
Scooting back on the bed, Colette slaps a palm on the mattress beside her and continues scooting back so that she can have her back up against the wall, legs straight out in front of her and ankles crossed. "I've never been on a date." The teen notes with a wrinkle of her nose, expression somewhere between embarrassed and disappointed. Green eyes cross the distance of bed to Sable, and she looks down to the bottle, then up to those yellow eyes again.
Sable hops up to join Colette on the mattress, taking the position that she left behind, crossing her legs and nestling the bottle between her legs. "Time I was old enough, there wasn't anyone to make me go," she elaborates, briefly. "Not particularly proud of it. Ain't no honor in being ignorant. But it's a fact."
Colette's reprisal is effective. Sable tips back her bottle and takes a measured swig. She shakes her head again, after swallowing, bemoaning the fault lines that run through reality. "That's just twisted. It ain't bad, particularly if you don't have to pay for anything," a lopsided grin, "'course, depending on how much that comes to, your date may be expecting something or other."
She takes a moment to come up with something to say, something she hasn't done, which is harder to do on the spot than one might imagine. "I never…" she begins, trailing for a bit before concluding, with conviction, "Owned a dress. A real one, something nice."
Laughing to herself, Colette lifts her brows and smiles toothily, tipping back the bottle and taking a sip. "That…" she says only just after swallowing with a shake of her head, "is a low-blow." Bending her knees and resting her forearms over them, bottle dangling by the neck from one hand, Colette's eyes go a bit distant as she stares down at the label. "I never owned one, like, proper up until this winter. There was this huge celebration at the Corinthian casino, and my sister works for Daniel Linderman, she's like… his personal assistant or something?"
Colette looks up from the label, over to Sable and cracks a faint smile. "She was going to take me to this big, fancy ball. Like— princess/ style. I had this dress all picked out, it— it was //gorgeous. I got… kidnapped, doing some Ferry work." Those dark brows of Colette's furrow. "Got— out in time to make it, but i was so fucked in the head from what happened, I was shuttin' everyone out. I got into an argument with a friend of my dad's, wound up runnin' into an intersection all invisible." Colette shrugs, shallowly, "I got hit by a car, spent four weeks laying on my back and hobbling around with a cane. I never got to be the princess at the big fancy ball…" and apparently her girlfriend who sees the future didn't stop her from getting kidnapped or mangled by a car?
Huffing out a breath, Colette runs her tongue over her lips, thinking. "I've never…" green eyes wander from side to side, then look up at Sable and crack into a smile. "I've never said no to somethin' I actually want, 'cause m'afraid of being right." There's a little resentment there, inwardly directed, and the question seems a bit personal.
Never the less, she drinks.
Sable listens to the story of the dress with focused interest, even being so good as to wince at the mention of the accident, the injury, the recovery. She bites her lip, pressing the tip of her chin against the edge of the bottle's opening. "That's fuckin' horrible," she says, voice a bit hushed. But it can't last long. "And a crime, too, that you didn't get to strut your stuff. You still have it, that dress? Think there'll be an occasion for you to wear it again?" She grins, "Think I might be able to crash that party, so as t' catch a glimpse?"
Sable's levity doesn't hold up against Colette's 'never', though. She has to think about it twice over. First to suss out the meaning of those words, a tangled syntax of desires and denials. Second, to think if she's been in such a position. This latter thought process is hampered too, by trying to figure what self refusal makes Colette drink. She wants to ask, imagines what the answer might be… but doesn't. And so she lifts the beer to her lips, and drinks. "Ain't nothing scarier than finding out what it is you want. Takes a hell of a lot of nerve to risk finding out. All the world drinks with you there, hon, eventually."
Nodding her head slowly, Colette looks a little more crestfallen than she did when this started. She's quiet for a little bit, just swirling her bottle around, "I still have it," she says too late for context to make sense, "the, uh, the dress. I dunno if I'll ever get to use it though, I've never like— been to a big party like that before, let alone get invited. It was supposed to be a big day for me, instead I spent it…" Colette lifts the bottle up again, taking a sip from it for the sake of drinking.
"Sometimes I wonder if I do all the shit I do, 'cause I'm afraid of trying to live a normal life and fucking it up. I've had so many opportunities to like… go back to school, get a job, get my life back together but instead— instead I'm doing something I could go to jail for, and pining after someone who…" Colette doesn't finish that assertion, only exhales a sigh and shakes her head, sipping from her bottle again.
"You didn't do one," Colette notes, green eyes alight to Sable, motioning with her bottle to the yellow-eyed girl. "S'your turn."
The emotional arc of 'I never' is a treacherous one. Sable views Colette's slide in mood with concern, and scoots just a little closer, her bare foot reaching out to nudge Colette's own foot, twice, gently, before withdrawing. "I'm sure you tell yourself about how badly yer needed, and how important what you do is for so many folks in trouble," she says, "I just hope you let yourself believe it, because I get the very strong impression that it's very fuckin' true."
Sable glances to her bottle as Colette points out her dodging of the next 'never'. She manages a smile, trying to lift spirits generally. "If you're lookin' just to have me drink, you can say so. 'course, actually, this is /my/ chance to make /you/ drink. Arright, though, arright…" She peers at Colette hard, studying her, as if doing so will grant her the 'never' she needs. At last, after deliberation.
"I've never saved anyone's life."
The smile elicited by the gentle nudge of a foot has Colette's spirits lifted a little, dark brows furrowed and bottle lifted up. She almost drinks, then pauses and considers the implication a little more carefully. Had she ever saved anyone's life before? It takes her a while, cycling through all the times that she's failed someone, until she remembers that night below Pinehearst. Eyes going a bit glassy, Colette blinks twice before lifting the bottle to her lips and drinking, twice.
Offering a somewhat emotionally tinted smile to Sable, Colette seems conflicted with herself, stretching her legs out to prop her mis-matched socked feet up in Sable's lap in feigned laziness, seeming more comfortable now, if not somewhat pensive. "Maybe m'tryin' to get you to drink…" she admits with a smirk, "depends if you're trying to get me to. Usually takes more'n one to knock me over though, if you're counting."
But all the good nature in the world doesn't help Colette's next question. There's no bitterness behind it, but perhaps an offering of contrast to Sable's Colette states, "I've never killed someone."
Then, she takes a sip.
Sable gives Colette a respectful nod as she takes her rightly earned drinks. She doesn't provide any commentary. The acts, one would hope, speak for themselves. And Sable's expression makes it clear how impressed she was, if not surprised. She had a feeling that one would be a winner.
Sable shifts her legs to make her lap a better home for the clashing socks, giving them a brief glance, offering Colette a small smile of recognition, and then carrying on as before. Or at least that was the intention. But, as with many intentions, the results deviate. Colette's effective admission to the taking of a life is something even Sable can't joke around about. She glances to her beer, then back to Colette, expression a tinge apologetic. Oddly enough, in this moment, her inability to drink makes /her/ feel like the one deserving of guilt. On this point there can be no solidarity, as badly as she may want to extend it.
"Now how am I gonna top that?" Sable says. Okay, so maybe she /can/ joke about it, however poorly. She was fooling herself imagining otherwise. Humor - the anesthesia of the heart. "I've never met my mum," is the best she can do. No drink for her. True as true can be.
There's a blink, and Colette looks at Sable with an honestly confused expression. "You…" haven't? would seem remarkably insensitive, given that obviously Sable hasn't if she admitted it. Colette's eyes avert down to her legs, tongue runs across her lips and when she looks back up, the teen takes a slow drink, expression somber.
"My mom… died a few years ago— cancer. She wasn't a happy person though, had a rough life, had to put up with my father." The way she says that is different than how she said dad earlier. "Still… for all— for who she was, I…" teeth draw across Colette's lower lip as she scrutinizes Sable quietly. "M'really sorry…" She could ask more about her, but it might be worse of a subject than it already is.
Making a quiet sound in the back of her throat, Colette breathes out a sigh, sliding her legs out of Sable's lap and she's scooting over, shifting her position so that her legs are folded beneath herself and she's sitting on her side. One hand comes out, touches down on Sable's knee and Colette shakes her head once.
"I've…" Colette's green eyes wander to the side, her throat works up and down, and when she looks back the ambient light in the room flickers slightly. "I've— I've never…" She can'tt hink of anything clever, but the bottle comes up to her lips anyway, tips it back, and then as she swallows and lowers it, leans over closer. Colette's lips taste unsurprisingly like alcohol.
"Hon," Sable says, "What're you sorry for?" The girl shifts to the side as well, mirroring Colette's own, getting eye to eye with her. "My mum gave me a name, and that's the fuckin' whole of what she ever did for me. And to show proper gratitude, I picked a new one."
Sable reaches out, her hand finding Colette's upper arm, clasping, giving a it a light squeeze. "There's nothin' they can do, nothin' they can give, nothing they are, that we can't turn away from. If you're willing."
There's a faint 'clink' as her bottle meets Colette's, and lingers, glass to glass. "I'm on the edge of my seat, hon. What've you done… or not? I've got to know now."
Colette's forehead finding Sable's, nose to nose, bottle to bottle. The dark-haired teen leans forward again, nose brushing up against Sable's cheek as it moves to the side, breath warm when felt across lips before they meet again. Colette's fingers dance up the neck of Sable's beer bottle. taking it between her knuckles with her own, lifting it out of the brunette's hand and nudging the yellow-eyed girl back with that press of nose to cheek and lips to lips.
Keeping her forehead touching the other girl's, Colette opens her eyes, staring blurrily at this distance, then tilts her chin up and steals another short kiss, lips plucking at Sable's lower one as a warm, shuddering breath escapes as Colette's arm gives a shiver. She pulls away, eyes partway lidded and leans to the side, stretching away from Sable and leaning over the side of the bed. There's a pair of clunks as she sets the bottles down on the floor.
Stretched out, once again, the dark fabric of Colette's turtleneck has pulled up, revealing a still sore looking cut on her right side two inches long stitched with black thread. When she sits up, the shirt lowers to hide the wound, and green eyes consider Sable again. "I've never done something just for myself…" she says quietly, lifting up a hand to walk two fingers across Sable's temple before sliding her fingers into the brunette's hair.
"C'mere."