Participants:
| Scene Title | If It Were Fate |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Things are looking brighter to Tasha and Colette than they did in previous days. |
| Date | June 22, 2010 |
Gun Hill Colette, Tasha, and Tamara's Apartment
Were there a clock on the wall — or anywhere in the apartment — it would likely be reading fifteen minutes to midnight when keys jingle in the door and it opens into a largely darkened apartment. A light in the bathroom had been left on, casting a column of yellow light across the bare floor. Slipping in to the apartment, tired and smelling like she's been underground all day, Colette Nichols slouches her back up against the door as she closes it. Eyes shut and shoulders heaving in a sigh, she stays there against the door, trying to be as quiet as possible, given that there's now two people sleeping in a largely empty and quiet apartment.
Where in her younger years she woud've been tripping over everything in the dark, that one light on in the apartment means it may as well be high noon for Colette. Stepping quietly across the hardwood floor, her boots clunk softly with each step, carrying her through the living room and past where Tamara has fallen asleep on one of the flattened out lawn chairs, a thin blanket wrapped around her, blonde hair fallen over her face from how she lays curled up on her side.
Colette's dark brows furrow as she slowly crouches down, lifting up a hand to brush locks of blonde hair from the seer's face, then leans in and lightly presses her lips against Tamara's forehead, staying there with her nose brushed up against warm skin, breathing in the smell of her hair.
Feeling the weight on her own eyes and the sore ache in her arms and legs, Colette tiredly pushes up to stand straight, walking past a duffelbag she'd dropped off earlier before going to see Sable. It's a short walk to her bedroom, treading over to the doorway and lingering in the threshhold, bare shoulder pressing gainst the door casing as her mind wanders over what it is she asked Sable to do, and the consequences that may have.
The window is open for a touch of a balmy breeze, and Tasha lies asleep, in just her threadbare Ramones t-shirt. Blankets have been kicked off onto the floor, and while the petite girl sleeps mostly on "her" side of the bed, her arm stretches over to Colette's, as if wrapping an arm around a phantom waist. Bare legs curl toward the center of the bed as well — if Colette were actually there, it would likely be too close and too warm for comfortable sleeping. They really need an air conditioner, given the fact both like to snuggle while they sleep.
A slight tinny sound can be heard, the source Tasha's iPod — the earbuds long since slipped from her ears — that has slipped partially under Colette's pillow. The distinctive rhythm and repetition of The Cure's "Lovesong" can be made out by someone familiar with the band.
Breathing out a sigh, Colette smiles as she leans away from the door frame and treads into the bedroom, moving to settle down on the floor beside the bed, dutifully unlacing her boots as she listens to the distant sound of that song playing out through somewhat muffled headphones. Biting down pensively on her lower lip, Colette tugs one of her heavy boots off, sliding it to the side of the bed before tugging at the knotted laces on another and putting that one beside it, never quite realizing that the knife she keeps in a sheath on her boot is the very same one that will wind up covered in blood in the future.
Relieved of her boots, Colette crawls onto her knees, then up onto Tasha's side of the bed behind the brunette. She reaches across her, feeling over the sheets to find the iPod and pause the song, then lets her hand come back to brush over Tasha's stomach as she draws her into a tight embrace, placing a kiss at the back of her neck.
"M'home…" Colette whispers into Tasha's hair, even if the faint odor of sweat, mildew and Midtown clings to her clothing and hair unattractively.
The shift of weight on the mattress doesn't pull Tasha up out of the slumber — she's too heavy a sleeper for that. But the han on her stomach and the kiss at her neck drags her into wakefulness and she makes a sleepy murr, stretching rather like a cat, her legs uncurling as she turns more onto her side to crane her neck and kiss Colette.
"Hey," she murmurs, her voice a little croaky with want of use. "Did you see we finished the room?" she says, meaning the living room — their room is still untouched. "How'd it go?" she asks, as her mind starts to wake up a few moments after her body, remembering that Colette went to help Quinn learn to use her power.
Lips brushing softly over Tasha's, Colette breathes out a soft laugh as her lips creep up into a contented smile. Her fingertips softly brush over Tasha's stomach beneath her shirt, noses brushing together before Colette takes the initiative to crawl up and over Tasha, straddling her for just a moment before making it to her own side of the bed. "Paint-job looks awesome," Colette admits with a lopsided smile, her eyes angled askance to Tasha as she unbuckles her belt, sliding it apart and then tugging it off with a jingle-clink of the buckle before discarding it into a pile of laundry on her side of the bed.
"First lesson with Quinn went pretty good," Colette explains as she arches her hips up off of the bed, unbuttons her jeans and then goes through the snake-like process of shedding the tight clothing and pretty much turning them entirely inside out as black denim gives way to pale, skinny legs. "She's— gonna' be really stupid dangerous, she just doesn't realize it yet." Kicking the jeans off to the floor past the foot of the bed, Colette lays flat on her back and exhales an exhausted sigh, staring up at the ceiling.
"Ran an errand for the Ferry down to Staten Island after, then came back here an'…" Colette leans her head to look at Tasha, brows furrowed. "Went upstairs to drop an' assignment off t'Sable." Hardly missing a beat Colette adds, "I smell've tunnel-funk don't I?"
"Tunnel funk," Tasha says with a laugh, reaching up to rub her eyes and extricate an ear bud from where it's slipped down the crew neck collar of her sleep shirt. She neither confirms or denies the stench but shakes her head at the coined phrase, clearly still waking up. The furrow of brows at the mention of Sable is mirrored in her sleepy face, and then she arches a brow.
"An assignment?" she repeats, tilting her head. "Something besides what we're all doing here? Is she ready for stuff on her own, you think? The other day at the meeting she looked like she was gonna pass out from boredom, didn't really seem into the 'cause' and all, you know? I like her, but I don't think Ferry is really her first priority — though obviously if she doesn't wanna register and needs a place to be, Ferry will do that for her."
Tasha frowns, and sits up, leaning against the wall as there is no head rest. "I hope that doesn't sound like hypercritical or because of … you know." She waves her hand vaguely to fill in all the personal reasons she might have to doubt Sable's intentions. "I don't think she's a bad person. I just don't know if she's… Ferry ready. Is it something really … you know, like, important?"
"Sable's…" Colette's brows furrow and she motions distractedly in the air, "she's a doer, not a thinker. Whenever we needed her to do something she was there, she's just not… administrative." There's a lopsided smile that spreads across Colette's lips at that as she scoots back across the bed and joins Tasha in slouching against the wall, though more tiredly leans against the brunette's shoulder, resting her head there before curling up on her side, though trying to minimize the smothering attention due to how sticky hot it is out.
"I asked her to do something important," is Colette's beginning of her explanation, mismatched eyes alighting to Tasha. "She's going to go around through the Ferry, taking notes on everyone's visions. You know from the— the thing." Her nose wrinkles up at that, leaning in enough to press a kiss to the side of Tasha's neck affectionately.
"Not administrative," Tasha says with a chuckle. "Somehow I get a picture of her in like a business suit o something, trying to delegate stuff and calling people names if they do them wrong. Probably a bad idea." She smirks a little at the mental image, her head turning to lean against Colette's.
"Okay. Just… you know. People are going to be touchy about some of those visions, probably. She needs to … you know. Not get mad at them or something if they don't want to tell her. Because they don't know her well, like you do — especially the higher ranked people, they might not want to tell her. Be sure she doesn't piss off someone like Raith or Hana or someone, you know? I don't know if I'd tell her mine if she asked, but…" But Colette already knows hers, so she doesn't need to. "It is a good idea, to figure out what everyone saw, though," she adds, trying to be positive. She lifts her head and plants a kiss on Colette's cheek.
"I actually kinda' hope she does upset someone like Hana or Raith," Colette cheekily comments with a flash of a smile, "it'd be a very short and very unforgettable lesson." Giggling softly, Colette leans her nose up to brush beneath Tasha's chin gently, then finally slides her arm around the brunette's waist and closes her eyes, enjoying the moment of closeness even if it's swelteringly warm in the apartment.
"I'm gonna' figure out what happened," Colette explains in a hushed tone of voice, "and then I'm gonna' stop it." How one teenage girl can stop the future is perhaps the premise of some sort of fairy-tale story, but Colette seems intent on it and focused. "M'not going to let another bad thing happen to us, or Tamara or— or anyone I care about."
Swallowing noisily, Colette presses another kiss to the underside of Tasha's jaw, then breathes out somewhat more quietly. "When's your mom coming by with air conditioners, 'cause it's too hot to get any hotter." Which is to say I hope it's soon with blushing quality.
Tasha giggles at the idea of Raith or Hana teaching Sable a lesson — it's perhaps not the worst thing that could happen, as far as Tasha is concerned. "Okay. We will stop it. I really think we already are stopping it. Just knowing … I mean, that's half the battle, right? To be totally cliche and lame about it."
Her long lashes flutter against her cheeks as she draws in a shaky breath at that teasing kiss and flirting complaint about the heat. "Well, I haven't asked but if she comes by when it's hot and we have five fans blowing and she sweats in her DKNY suit, she'll probably offer… that's kind of the way it works. I don't ask for things — she decides I need them," Tasha says with a chuckle.
"Speaking of which," she adds a little nervously, "I … you know how I went to an interview that one day… for a school?" she slides back down so that she's lying on the bed once more, tugging Colette with her. "I got in. I found out today. So I have to ask her about tuition anyway. I … she said she'd pay it, back when I first got back to town, but it's still hard to ask. And I don't know, they might have decided I screwed up my one chance, why give me another on their dime."
Already scheming about how to get Joanna here on the hottest day imaginable, Colette is distracted from her mischeif-making by Tasha's sudden revelation. Jolting up, Colette's eyes are wide and she nearly lets out a shout of surprise and happiness before remembering that they aren't the only people in the apartment. Instead, smiling toothily, Colette squeaks excitedly and waves her hands around frantically before throwing herself at Tasha and wrapping her arms around the brunette's shoulders, showering her with kisses across her cheek and nose, down the side of her neck and across her lips.
"I knew you could do it, I knew it I knew it!" All whispered sharply, Colette squeezes Tasha tightly, excitedly and presses her nose to Tasha's before giving the tip of her nose a plucking kiss. "You're such a good artist, I knew you could get in I knew it, I knew it!" There's a soft, contented noise in the back of Colette's throat as she places a kiss to Tasha's cheek and holds the younger girl close, tightly.
"I love you, I knew you could do it and I bet your mom's gonan be super-excited about it and help you." Mismatched eyes watch Tasha proudly, a hand lifts up to brush across her cheek, and Colette shakes her head with a broad smile spread across her lips. "You didn't ruin nothin'."
The kisses and repeated exclamations make Tasha bubble over with giggles, her arms wrapping around Colette and rolling her over so that Tasha sprawls on top of her to kiss her back. Cheeks flushed with happiness at Colette's happiness, Tasha shakes her head. "You're right. I didn't ruin nothin'," she echoes, bad grammar and all. "If I stayed in school in Boston, I wouldn't have come back here and met you."
It's too hot to stay so close, so she rolls off again, but keeps an arm loosely draped over Colette's waist. "I don't believe in fate. I refuse to believe in fate, because then if we had those visions, trying to change them would be pointless. But," she says, moving close to rest her chin on Colette's shoulder, "I believe in coincidences that lead to amazing and beautiful things that Fate would have planned if it existed, because clearly they were meant to be."
Laying a hand down on Tasha's arm, Colette's blushing smile to the brunette couldn't be any happier. Though her own interpretation of things that were meant to be may include more people, may be broader in definition, there's no mistaking the look in Colette's eyes that seems to imply whole-hearted agreement to Tasha's sentiments. "I think right here," Colette whispers as she rolls onto her side, laying so that she can watch Tasha, "is the happiest I've ever been in my whole life… an' I've had the fortune of the best adoptive dad in the world and some of the best friends too… but this place, here…" Colette squeezes Tasha's arm, her smile seeming to restrain more tearfully sincere emotions, "I'm the happiest I've ever been."
Leaning over to press a kiss across Tasha's lips, Colette lays close to but not quite touching the other brunette, a smile spread slowly across her lips that does not fade. It might be hard to believe, with the future as grim as it seems, that any good could be found. But somehow, Colette Nichols has become a pessimist turned optimist.
Maybe that ever-thinning thread of hope isn't as fragile as it once seemed.