Participants:
| Scene Title | It's Jimmy Buffets Fault |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Alternatively called, where's a screwdriver without the vodka or OJ when you need it. Wendy and Peyton luck out and start thier great escape from Alcatraz. |
| Date | August 17, 2009 |
Shipping Container Somewhere In the Greater NYC area.
Padded, Air conditioned, table and chairs. Food. Everything two hostages could possibly need to live in short term comfort.
The girls had not been idle in their captivity in the soundproof shipping container from hell. Maybe if they had kidnapped hefty girl or bulky men instead of two skinny socialites, there wouldn't be this future problem that was going to happen. Didn't take them long to get their hands in front of them and not too much longer after Wendy and Peyton had gotten their wits about them, than they were working at the zip ties. The table with it's folding legs has pieces of long metal with the potential - with the application of rigorous friction that would make any single male jealous - to get them out of their bonds.
After that, between the two of them and another couple hours, they had stared at the A/C that was mounted inside the container. Wendy had been the one to suggest that that was how they were going to get out and thanks to a man name Laboutin. She'd willingly sacrificed her shoes, whacking at the heel and eventually, through the work of both of them had broken the hell and produced from it… The Shank. This would be their ticket to getting out. Hopefully. It was going to take time, but Wendy was confidant that they would be able to undo the screws and unmount the A/C. Both of them were thin enough to wriggle through the vent if they stood on the table and used a chair to give them the height when the time came. For now, wendy was working at the first screw still.
"Fuck" The older woman curses, sticking her finger in her mouth, makeup long since run and a granola bar wrapper or two tossed around her feet.
Peyton has climbed up on the table in her bare feet to investigate the screws once more. There'd been a ballpoint pen in the corner of the storage container, and she's trying to use that to turn the screws, but to no avail. The pen is going to break before the screw gives. "Yeah, the pen's a no go." She hops down and flops on the floor once more, picking up the other shoe she'd tossed aside when she noticed the pen. Her own shoes were no use — they were only solid wood kitten heels.
She uses the pen as a tool, but it's not much of one. "If we get out of this, I'll buy you ten more pairs of shoes. A hundred." Not that she has that kind of money at her disposal, but she'll find a way. "I wonder who knows we're missing," she says softly. She doesn't know that they've already been on the air and the internet and the radio.
"My parents, maybe Bella" Broken nail. The bane of female existence. There's a smatter of dark bruises where the Irishman has pinned her, same for her lower back. The one side of her face puffy thankfully, not much there. Both their wrists were scored by the zip ties and the successful attempt to take them off. "It's turning, it's just really slow going Pey. We can do this Pey and I swear once we out of here, I am doing refrain for a week non stop" The screw gives a little, turns to the left just a fraction but it's enough to incite hope.
"I swore I was giving up drugs when I was in that hospital shooting. If I could get out, I promised I wouldn't do anymore. So much for that. Maybe that's why I'm here again." Peyton frowns. She doesn't really believe in such things, but obviously she's being punished for something, right? She squints. "Did that just move? God, I've never wanted a screwdriver without vodka in it so much in my entire fucking life." She scratches her nose, which is smeared with some dirt and a bit of blood from her wrists.
"And Yet you did refrain with me" She points out. But it all degenerates into laughter at the screwdriver comment. The situation making emotions all this and that, right below the surface. It's either laughter, or crying and really, Wendy's just done crying. She'll cry when they're out of there. "It's moving pey, here, you think you can manage this? I'll break my other shoe and that way I can work on the other one. two of us working is better than one working." They likely both look like raccoon's with their smeared makeup.
"Yeah, you had better luck with the shoe," Peyton says, setting down the heel and the pen and heading over to the table. She offers a hand to help Wendy down, then climbs up again, to begin the painstaking and finger-numbing work of turning an all-but-frozen screw with a sliver of metal. "What about when we do get it open — how will we know if it's safe? Just have to try I guess?" she says, angling her head this way and that to see if she can see through the vent — not so much.
"We run like hell Peyton, that's what we do. There's water nearby, I assume one of the rivers. We can jump in there and swim. Do you know how to swim pey?" She's grateful for the help down, down away from the blaster of chilled air that is the A/C and their path to freedom. Her other heel is glanced at forlornly as she sits down and starts to go through the process of breaking her shoe. "I bet you he never imagined anyone would use his shoes for this purpose"
"We'll have to write them a thank you note," Peyton murmurs. The screw moves suddenly another quarter of its circle. "I can swim, yeah. What happens if they're out there when we take it out though?" She shakes her head. "Never mind. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Her fingers slip and the sliver of metal slices another chunk of skin from her palm. "Dammit!" she shakes her hand out, then goes back to pushing that screw once more. "Ever do that prank in school, where you unscrew like three quarters of the way all the furniture in a teacher's classroom — so it all starts falling apart piece by piece? Maybe this is karma for that."
"We'll deal with it Pey. Okay. We'll just.. we'll deal with one thing at a time. Right now, we need to get that out. We already got our hands free."They can do this, they can do it. They can get out of here and away from the Humanis First assholes. She has to pause a moment as the hysteria starts to burble towards the surface and it can heard in her breathing and seen in the way she grips her shoe.
"You're right. We can. We can do it," Peyton says as she continues to work on the shoe. A glance toward Wendy makes her realize the other woman is starting to get hysterical and she frowns a little. What can you do to ease someone's nerves when you're working on an escape route? She starts to sing. Something to take their mind off death and zip strips and blindfolds and escape routes.
And of all the songs, the only one she can come up with words to:
"Nibblin' on sponge cake. Watchin' the sun bake. All of those tourists covered with oil. Strummin' my six-string On my front porch swing, Smell those shrimp they're beginning to boil." She actually has a rather good voice, a bit low and husky.
She gets louder, belting out the first chorus: "Wastin' away again in Margarita-ville … Searching for my lost shaker of salt … Some people claim that there's' a woman to blame… But I know it's nobody's fault."
Of all the songs. What was going to turn into tears starts to divert itself into laughter before soon enough, Wendy's voice chimes in. She does not sing, for being artistic and sucks at singing. "
"I don't know the reason, stayed here all season. Nothing to show but this brand new tattoo. But it's a real beauty, a Mexican cutie. How it got here, I haven't a clue. Wasted away again in margarita-ville. Searching for my lost shaker of salt. Some say there's a woman to blame, but it must be, buffets damn fault" There's less panic and more concentrated effort on breaking open her heel.
Peyton laughs at Wendy's rewording of the song. "Pina Colada's next," she says with a smirk. She many not have Aaron's power, but there is power in music to uplift moods, and she's going to do her best to do just that — even if it's through Jimmy Buffet songs. There's a long list of Broadway show tunes in her repertoire as well.