Jesse Is Reincarnated


griffin_icon.gif marjorie_icon.gif child-owain_icon.gif

Scene Title Jesse is Reincarnated
Synopsis …As a tiny red-eared turtle. Also, Griffin invites Marjorie to join him in terrorist-dom.
Date October 17, 2010

Le Rivage Apartments

Marjorie is smoking. It's a very unusual thing to see her doing that - she knows it's unhealthy. But the little ceramic ash-tray Owain made her in elementary school sits on the end-table beside the sofa and Griffin's sister is there, smoking, her bright lipstick leaving a lip-print on each filter. That's what she does when she gets nervous. A button down with the belly knotted above her navel and some skinny jeans. And she just keeps…smoking and thinking.

Owain is in his room, doing his homework while his mother smokes and thinks. In front of her, on the coffee table, sits a business card. God, why didn't she look at it last night? It's a good thing that she didn't - she doesn't know what she would have done, or said. And they seemed so nice too…

Griffin comes bearing gifts today. He carries in one arm a small glass fish tank, which contains a small red-eared turtle. In his other, he leans against his cane, holding a bag of supplies for said turtle. He went to the pet shop and specifically requested the best information to care for the little creature, so as to be prepared for giving Owain a pet.

Using the knob of his cane, he knocks on the door of Marjorie's apartment, a lopsided grin on his face. This turtle better stay alive, because it has a story behind it. He also comes bearing good news for Marjorie, news that he'd rather not have to bear, but is rather necessary.
Marjorie jumps a little bit at the sound of the door. She sits there for a moment, waiting to see if it was actually there or just her imagination. She waits long enough to where Owain pokes his head out of his room. "Mom?" He calls. "Want me to get that?" That seems to be enough. Marjorie has always prided herself on not being one of those parents.

She rises, going to the door and peering through the hole. Griffin, no surprise there. She steps back and undoes the three locks on the door to let him in. Her green eyes peer out from matted bangs, and go straight to what is in his arms.

"Griff, what the heck is that?"

As soon as the door opens, Griffin pokes his head in with a smooth grin offered to his sister. "Owain! Come see what D— Mr. Griffin got for you." He's not going to let her turn him down on giving this to his son, so he's heading her off at the pass. Only after he's announced his presence to his son does he turn a grin toward Marjorie.

"This, dear sister, is a turtle with a story behind it, and a gift for Owain, whether you want me to give it to him or not." He flashes a bright smile down to his sister. "I also come with news for you, but that will have to wait until after Owain gets his new friend."

Before Marjorie can do anything else but open her mouth again, Griffin is coming in, and Owain is coming out of his room. "A story? What kind of story? Is it radioactive or does it have a government listening device or devices or…what kind of story?" Griffin is now catching a glimpse of just how paranoid his sister has been made by the last ten years of life or so.

Owain jogs in from the back room, wearing a plain green t-shirt and some jeans. His feet are socked. "Hi Mr. Griffin," he says, a little confused. He tilts his head to peer into the tank, green eyes going wide. "Whoa! Is that a turtle?"

Stepping past his sister with a grin, Griffin sweeps in, leading the way into the dining room. "A very awesome story. I stopped a couple of bank robbers, and then I had to eat a seahorse, just so I could get you this turtle." He grins, gesturing toward the turtle, which has a complete setup. "He's a little guy, so you're gonna have to take really good care of him. I know you want a pet, and this could be a good chance to prove just how well you can take care of a pet, right?" He grins down to his son, patting the boy on the shoulder.

A briefly apologetic smile is cast toward Marjorie. Hope you don't mind, sis, but he needs to make up for lost time.

She doesn't mind…terribly. "A bank robbery? Ironically enough I want to know more about the seahorse than I do about the robbery. Also…" she mouths the next phrase, so that her son won't hear. He's too busy with the turtle. "No talking robbery in front of the boy." No, he must be under the misconception that life is sweet and delicious, like a pastry!

Owain follows his 'father' and his 'mother' to the table, peering into the tank. He pokes it a few times. "Can I pick him up?" He asks Griffin, looking up through his bangs curiously. He's got a toothy, excited grin, his teeth still a little-too-big for his face. For this second, Griffin might just be his father…

A brow is arched toward Marjorie for a moment as she mouths that phrase. Note to self, have talk with Marjorie about her child raising ethics. "The seahorse actually didn't taste too horrible. Kinda crunchy, very tasty." He chuckles, before his attention is turned toward his son.

Smiling, the man reaches into the tank, carefully picking the turtle up. "Hold out your hands, son. Make sure you're careful with him, he's very young." He sets the tiny turtle into his son's hands, smiling.

Then, he gestures toward the bag. "I have everything you need to take care of him right here, and the lady at the pet store was kind enough to write down instructions on how to care for him. He's a very special turtle, so I want you to take super good care of him, so he can grow up to be big and strong, okay?" He smiles down at the boy.

Marjorie is not a mind-reader, and it's a good thing too, that she missed that last thought of his. She'd skin him alive. But for the moment, she's able to stand back and fold her arms, a painted-lip smile on her face. While the boys seem busy with each other, she turns and goes back to the living room table, picking up the business card she left there earlier and tucks it into her pocket. "What do you say, Owain?"

"Thank you!" He probably didn't need the nudge, but she gave it all the same. Parents do that, after all. "So what does he eat, does he eat like, bugs? Can I keep him in my room, mom?" Marjorie nods, not seeming to mind that. "Sweet! So do I feed him like, you know, bugs? Cause that would be gross!"

Griffin laughs. "You hold on to him while I get him set up, okay? I'll take care of buying him food, you just worry about taking care of him, okay?" He chuckles, carrying the tank and bag into Owain's room to set it up. "He eats all kinds of stuff. Veggies, meat, fish, even insects!" And indeed, Griffin came with a full array of food for the little turtle. "You'll have to get your a— mom to cut up the veggies for you, but you can put the fish and the bugs in there. Then you can watch him eat it."

Once in Owain's room, Griffin sets to work on getting the turtle's tank set up for the boy.

Marjorie sits down on the sofa, lifting her sweet cigarette from the ash tray again and bringing it to her lips. It almost makes her nervous, Griffin in there with Owain. She's almost afraid that they'll come out, arm and arm, announce that all has been resolved and that they're both leaving to live their life as father and son. It'll have to happen someday, and it should happen - it's the right thing. Somehow it still terrifies her.

Owain follows along happily along, pressing his face against the glass to watch the set-up process. In the meantime he sits on his bed, cradling the small turtle against his body with his full attention. "Look, he's crawling up my shirt!" The little boy, whose voice has not yet changed, starts giggling, happily. "Oh god, what can I name him? What's a good turtle name? I want to name him something tough."

Griffin laughs softly, smiling to the boy as he sets up the tank as per the instructions. A little heating rock for the turtle to sit on to keep warm, a nice light for the little guy, he's going to have it made. "Have you ever seen Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? My favorite character on that show was called Donatello. He was very smart, but he was also extremely tough! There was also Raphael, the tough guy, Leonardo, the leader, and Michelangelo, the silliest of the group." He grins to his son.

Owain nods a little, his attention mostly on the turtle. "Yeah, I've seen it. I dunno though, I don't want to name my turtle after a Ninja Turtle. Everybody and their mother's got to have a turtle named after the ninja turtles. We won't be able to tell my turtle from theirs!" He switches hands, allowing the turtle to crawl and tumble from one hand to the next, instead of walking off the proverbial hand-cliff. "Who's super tough? Rocky Balboa is, right?"

"Why don't you name him Jesse?" Griffin smiles faintly. "Jesse is this guy I knew. He was a good friend of mine. He's not around any more, but he was very brave, and very tough. He helped me out of a really hard time in my life, and then he always fought for what he believed in." The man finishes hooking up the tank, and flips it on, prompting the filter to start bubbling in the water. "He'll never be in any history books, probably, but he was a hero."

Owain shrugs a little, looking at the turtle in his palm. "Sure," he finally agrees. "Is it a girl-turtle? Jessie's a girl name, right?" From the kitchen is the sound of the tea pot, and Owain glances up. He sighs and glances at his turtle again, eyes focusing on it. "She's smoking," he informs Griffin matter-of-factually. "She only does it when she's scared about something. When Grandpa was in the hospital two years ago cause he had a stroke or whatever, she smoked for like 4 days straight, she turned yellow."

"Jesse can be a name for a boy or a girl turtle. If your friends ask you why you named your turtle Jesse, tell them you named him after Jesse James." He reaches out, patting the boy's shoulder with a frown as he states that little factoid. "Here, why don't you let Jesse get accustomed to his new home, and finish off your homework?" He smiles to the boy. "I'll get her to stop smoking. Promise."

Even if he has to throw the cigarettes out the window and babysit her.

"Thanks, Mr. Griffin," Owain says, moving to the new tank. He gingerly cups the animal between his hands and deposits it into the tank. He sits down at the desk, with the new tank right beside him, and proceeds to stare at the animal. Homework will take kind of a long time tonight, but that's alright. All kids go through little bouts of excitement where homework is, quite simply, not the most important thing in life.

Patting the boy once on the head, Griffin makes his way out of the room, leaving the door open only a crack. Then, he's on his way to the kitchen, a frown on his face. "Now that that is over and done with, sis, why the hell are you smoking?" This is said in a low voice, so Owain can't hear.

His eyes fade to white, and Marjorie will find her cigarette quite promptly broken in half and crumpled in on it self, extinguished, in mid air. In the same instant, he locates the woman's cigarette pack. This is in turn crumpled right in front of her face, the cigarettes unlikely to survive.

He's got a scowl on his face as he glares at Marjorie, crossing his arms over his chest and putting on that stern look he always put on when she was really in trouble. When he speaks, it's in a low hiss. "I will not have you smoking in the same house as my son. Do you understand?"

But Marjorie is unafraid. In fact, after the shock of the cigarette being torn up in mid-air, she blinks in surprise, and then frowns herself. "Griffin…" she walks closer to him, keeping her voice down. "He is your son. The only reason you get to see him is because I hired a Private Investigator to find you because you wouldn't so much as visit us. If smoking is where you want to put your foot down in this crazy family we've managed to throw together, then fine. But do not walk in here and tell me what to do where Owain is concerned, because I will not hesitate or pull my punches. I want you in his life. I spent my own time, my own stress and my own money on the hope of finding you again, and you should have a little respect for that, and for the fact that there was nothing but a broken family left, 10 years ago, and I've done my damnedest to keep it together. And smoking? That is the line in the sand you want to draw?"

Flushing with anger at his sudden attack, Marjorie moves past him toward the kitchen, getting the Verdejo down from the wine rack on teh shelf and pouring herself a small glass. She hardly ever drinks, but nights like this….

Her words sting, and it shows on his face. Griffin frowns, quietly, shaking his head. "I didn't want to involve you in the life that I live, Kenzie. It's not a happy life. I'm a fugitive, an escapee from a maximum security prison designed to put Evolved like myself away forever. I'm a terrorist. If the police caught me, I would go to jail, and you could face trouble too, simply for being a good sister and helping me stay safe. Owain could be put into foster care, just because you are talking to me, and harboring me, instead of turning me in."

Griffin shakes his head, frowning at the wine bottle, though he says nothing else. "You've done wonderfully with him, Kenzie. He's growing up into a fine young man." He closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they're back to their normal green hue. When he speaks again, his voice cracks slightly. "It's just…it's difficult. I want so badly to take him into my arms, tell him that his dad is back, and his dad will never let anything hurt him…" The anguish shows on his face. He also may be talking just a little too loud for comfort…

Marjorie is quick to shush her brother. "We can talk about this later," she says, keeping her voice low. "Just don't walk in here and expect to shove me around my own home because I did what I had to in order to get you back." She leans against the counter with a sigh, finishing her wine in a quick gulp. "You did come here to talk to me about something, so please, enlighten me." She'll smoke after he's gone. Oh, yes. She already has plans for that.

Griff sighs. "Just— do me a favor. If you're gonna smoke, fine. I won't keep you from doing that, if that's how you cope and if you want to end up like Grandpa Mihangle, dead at 40 from lung cancer." A little bit passive aggressive there. "But if you're going to do it, please do it on the balcony." He gestures toward the little balcony. "Don't make Owain breathe in the smoke. He doesn't like that you smoke, from what he told me."

Then, he turns the subject. "You wanted to help, didn't you?"

"Yes," Marjorie says, unhappily. She plans on smoking where she damn well pleases. She'll just hide it from her son better. Simple! And that's another portion of the fight that she's just looking to glaze over. "Why, are you hurt again? I've bought more extensive first-aid kits if you are, so I'm better prepared so we don't have to go around advertising wounds. I highly doubt that would attract the right kind of attention, don't you think?" She pours another half-glass of wine.

"I have medical care covered." Since he's doing a favor for Abby behind closed doors, he's sure she'll help him out, if he needs it. She's not a doctor, but she certainly knows how to stitch a wound up; the slash in his side is healing rather nicely, now. "But no, I'm not injured at all, unless you count my side, which is healing nicely."

He takes a deep breath, raising a hand and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He's quiet for a long moment. "You said you wanted in."

"Griffin, please. I'm tired, please stop jumping around and just come to it." She says, setting her wine glass aside. Her cheeks are a little flushed - yes, she's had enough for one night and she knows well enough to stop. See, Griffin? Your sister is a lightweight, you'd better watch her at bars! "I've had a really long week and I have a 10 year old. Guessing games is the last thing I want on a weekend."

Griff sighs softly. "You wanted in on Messiah." He frowns at the ground, obviously not happy with himself for even asking this of her. Even if she wants to help, he doesn't want her to. "I— We have to come up with a plan, for Owain, but…Messiah needs help. I want to protect you, but…I think you would be better at protecting people than all of us." He raises his gaze to his sister, moving over to the counter and plucking up the wine glass, pouring himself a glass. He's not as much of a lightweight, thankfully.

"I don't want to oblige you, Mackenzie, but…my needs are miniscule when faced with the challenge we face. We're going to stop November eighth from happening. That blackout that was on the news, with people having visions…there's people working to make horrible things happen. And we need help."

"Alright," Marjorie says, without much of a pause. She just…agrees and flows with it. Very little surprise, just acceptance. "what do you need me to do, and when?" She asks, rubbing her hands together. "I wouldn't volunteer unless I thought I could do it, Griffin. And like I've said, Owain and I have contingency plans - he knows to be wary. And my will states that Owain will go to Dad back in Indiana if I am found to be unfit for guardianship. Or, you know, dead."

Griffin frowns. "I have to speak to Peter." He glances up to his sister, sipping some of the wine down. "You have a sitter? I need you to be able to come and meet me at a moment's notice, if you can. You'll need to meet with Peter, and perhaps Richard Cardinal." He tilts his head toward the woman. "For now, we wait." The last bit of information causes him to wince.

"The old woman across the hall is always more than happy to come in and sit with Owain. WE both think she smells a little weird, but she's very sweet, retired and widowed. I think it does her a lot of good to be around a kid Owain's age." It seems Marjorie had considered something like this. "Do you want to sleep here tonight, then?" She asks, already moving to the linen closet to get the blankets and the pillows. "I'll make a nice breakfast for you in the morning."

Griffin nods slowly. "Please. That would be nice." He nods slowly, moving over to the couch and seating himself, watching his sister. "And tomorrow, you can tell me what's got you so stressed out that you're smoking." He leans back, resting his cane against the arm of the couch.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License