Lady And The Tramp


brian_icon.gif samara2_icon.gif

Scene Title Lady and the Tramp
Synopsis Dinner on Coney Island turns out to be about a lot more than skanks and chickens.
Date December 12, 2010

Coney Island

The candle flickers and wavers. A stray breeze creeping through the small opening of the dark building encircles the tiny jar of glass. Like a vulture over a wounded bunny rabbit, the breeze descends upon the pathetic flame. Battered and downtrodden the flame wanes for a moment before gathering itself, and lighting back up defiantly at the wind. This happens about twenty times in one minute.

And it's just great to watch.

The small scented candle is a representative of what should be a much more grandiose and bold symbol of a romantic date. Instead it will just serve as a symbol of what they would have… If they didn't live in a city with curfew, or martial law, or restricted areas of the city. But with things the way they are, Brian could only afford to smuggle a tiny candle to the downtrodden theme park. That along with their food. The tuppaware sits not too far off, still red and gooey from its previous contents. The spaghetti evenly divided on both of their paper plats has been cold for a few minutes now. They tried to go fast, but martial law makes it hard. And when you're nightrunning with your new girlfriend, it's way too easy to stop and make jokes and then you have to stop to giggle and then a military patrol drives by and you have to hide….

This date has been hard work. But finally they are able to eat their cold spaghetti in peace. With his back to a wall of mirrors, Brian stares straight ahead at the other wall of mirrors. A light small playing on his lips. Another bite of cold spaghetti is taken. "It's still good. These chicken sausages are primo." He might not be sure what that means, but it sounds superior.

Wearing proper black slacks, and a blue dress shirt, Brian even thought to wear a tie. Which.. He never used to do. So it's a big deal. Even when he was with the Company. No tie. But that's because he didn't know how to tie one at the time. Skills have been learned and a red tie drapes over the blue silk shirt.

And what would a date that's trying really hard to be romantic be, without wine? So there's that, too. But wine glasses are hard to smuggle in a backpack, so instead they have plastic spongebob cups which he probably took from the kids. But, no matter. Both of the cups are full to the brim with red wine. On Brian's other side, his portable iPod player sits, providing the two some quiet ambience.

Turn arooouund~

While Brian may be dressed in proper slacks, a dress shirt, and a tie, Sami is in ther first dress she's worn in over four years. Not that much of it can be seen underneath the bolero sweater she's wearing over it for warmth, but the thought is there, particularly as the little black dress (which she felt justified in buying) falls just below her knees.

She leans against the a similar wall of mirrors just to the side of Brian, shy of the corner, enabling the pair to nearly sit beside each other. Sam twirls her spaghetti and forks a piece of sausage, bringing a satisfied smile to her lips as she chews very very slowly and then swallows. Whether its cold or not, it doesn't phase (haha) her, she's too content just to be eating again. After swallowing she notes, "This sausage is amazing. You weren't kidding when you said you made awesome spaghetti! I'm so jealous of your spaghetti prowess. Those are some mad cooking skillz! I can't even make the one thing I used to make before I disappeared." Her smile broadens as her eyes scan the many mirrors, her own reflection reflecting on itself many times over.

The cup of wine is brought to her lips, causing the grin to grow again, if at all possible, "I bet if I drink too much of this I'll believe I live in a pineapple under the sea… that stuff yesterday was… an adventure." Her arms are drawn around herself momentarily, fighting against that same breeze the candle does.

Absently, her eyes track towards the iPod player, and she quietly sings, "//Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you're never comin' round~" After the line she shakes her head a little, "Sorry. Force of habit. I used to belt that one out at the top of my lungs into a hairbrush. I swear that Mariah Carrey's got nothing on me when I'm in the shower."

"Did you just say skills with a z?" Brian's head thumps against the glass behind them, as his eyes roll over to Samara. He gives her a flat look before looking down at his sausage. (The one in the spaghetti). Poking the fork in, he loops and takes another bite. He then scoots over a little. Pushing the spaghetti around, he finds a particularly long noodle. Picking it up gingerly with two fingers, he places one end in his mouth. And then goes to take the other end. "Aaa." He murmurs, which is the universal word for open your mouth hole, i'm going to put something in there.

Placing the other end of spaghetti in her mouth, he smiles over it and starts to nibble forward. Once the noodle is devoured and their lips press together, he stays there and speaks directly into her face. "I get to be Lady. You can be the tramp."

Breaking the spaghetti kiss he leans back, "Oh stop." His wrist flings out, going limp. "You're just saying that." He grins broadly before drinking some of his own spongebob wine. He gives a very eager nod. "Yeah. If people just recorded you singing in the shower, I'd bet you would get way more hits on youtube than Mariah Carey." He smiles brightly. "Not everyone might be listening to your voice… But." He splays his hands out. "You win some you lose some."

"I did! I'm trying to talk like kids these dayz," the word days is particularly drawn out with that distinct 'z' sound amid a particularly mischievous grin. Samara opens her mouth as instructed, following the same nibbling pattern, drawing her into the Lady and the Tramp spaghetti kiss. "Ha! So you wanna be the Lady then? Interesting. I guess I could be Tramp-like. I mean, I am a kind of homeless if you think about it. And I like could come and go as I pleased without anyone— except Rue— saying otherwise."

"I don't think youtube would be so cool with that, somehow. Although I swear at least someone would listen just for the singing. Besides, maybe I shower with clothes on. Like that guy on Arrested Development." Her nose wrinkles. "I had a friend who played the Sims and there was like this option to make them 'never nude' so they'd shower with clothes on. I can't imagine that would be very productive. I mean, I guess it does let you wash your clothes and body at once…"

"Youtube pooshmube." He retorts hotly. "Don't get in the way of my fantasies with your silly reality." He frowns deeply over at her, swinging his hand out to take hers. "Hey. You're not homeless. As long as I have a home. You have a home with me. Until I decide to break up with you and burn all your stuff." The whole delivery is said sweetly, even romantically. "And get a restraining order, and call the paranormal activity guys to exorcise you if you figure out how to phase back into my home. Which won't be your home at this point. Then I'll probably move to Alaska to get away from you. Or maybe Nicarrragua." His eyes light up charmingly at her. "But right now. You have a home with me. For as long as I'm alive…. Until I break up with you. But we already went over that."

"And the Tramp is nasty and skanky, okay? Hanging out with beavers in the zoo. Yeeeuck. Lady is adorable.. So she has a run in with some asian cats. She has good intentions and she could make the world a better place." Taking another bite of his spaghetti, he grins. "I would listen for your voice, Sameye."

Samara stifles an incredulous laugh as she swings her arm with Brian's once over, "That's all very reassuring, Brian." Her tone is flatter than his, but there's a slight good humoured curl of her lips, "I can see it now: everything I own— that Adisa hasn't claimed as her own— burning in a giant fire just outside your apartment. Or out of the city. Where exactly do you intend to burn my things? And you be careful, maybe I will haunt you."

"The Tramp isn't skanky! I'm not skanky! Have you met me?" she uses her free hand to point at herself. "I'm pretty sure my brother would've figured a way to beat it out of me if I had been. And Lady is awesome, but the Tramp has like experiences. Good ones… and nothing to hold him down." Her chin raises ruefully. "I thought you found my noise annoying and liked me better when I didn't talk?" the sarcastic edge to the question is only nullified by that ever-present smile.

"Total skank." Brian insists, nodding up and down emphatically. Nothing in the world will ever change his opionon of Trampara. "Hanging out on the wrong side of the tracks. Scaring chickens!" Brian looks over at her, eyes howling with disapproval. "Speaking of how skanky you are. Take off that sweater. It's time to dance." He slaps the ground as if issuing an order.

But instead of getting up to dance, he remains seated, to talk. "I don't know Sam. Jesus! Are you trying to say you want me to break up with you now? That will be a very hasty impromptu decision that I make much later on. Goodness." He looks incredulous, looking forward. Mumbling to himself, "Where will you burn my things. Jesus fuck." Taking another pull from Wine Bob, he sets the cup down again giving it a little spin to watch the liquid turn into a tiny whirlpool "Ooo." His eyes flick over at her in irritation. "He has Lady to hold him down. Because he's madly in love and they make weird little mix puppies." He looks up for a moment, his lips thinning. Then very bluntly, "I wasn't trying to say you are madly in love with me, or that we are going to have puppies. I'm sorry if that… Hm." Pushing on the ground, he goes to rise up. "Dance time!"

Samara's hazel eyes flick over to the mirror and then back to real Brian, "Yeaaaah… maybe our definitions of skank are different… mine has nothing to do with chickens." At this she shoots him a thin-lipped smile that won't stay as thin as she'd like it, protruding enough to give a brief flash of teeth. The order is met with a skeptical twitch of her lips and an arch of her eyebrows, yet even in her skepticism, she's unbuttoning the sweater, revealing the black lace underneath. It's not warm, but it's dainty, and pretty in her opinion, evidenced by her lengthened glimpse at her own reflection that has her diverting her eyes moments later.

"Of course not! And who's to say I won't break up with you for calling… implying(?)… no, calling me a skank?" her eyebrows arch expectantly, but the smile remains. She's teasing, that much is obvious, but the metaphor seems to get get lost. Her eyebrows knit together tightly at the comment about the mad love and the puppies. Her mouth opens to react only to close again later with a slight shake of her head. Again it closes. Finally she latches onto the one piece she can easier react to, a charming smile spreading over her lips, "You think very highly of yourself, don't you?" At this she winks while she follows him to a standing position.

"I bet if you really think about it. It has something to do with chickens." He gives her a nod. "You just think about it. For a long time." Watching her gaze in the mirror he can't help but let out a tiny laugh. Though he refuses to comment on it. At least, for now. Draining the rest of Wine Bob, he shuffles back on his feet a little. Dragging his shoes slowly. He laughs quietly, shaking his head. "I'm to say. Sam." He insists, nodding solidly she won't break up with him for calling her a chickenskank.

Lowering his gaze, he lets out a light exhalation of breath. "You are very beautiful, and fun, and funny, and you buy huskie hats, and I'm trying real hard to not fuck this up. So, can we not pick apart my faux-aloof self confident facade thingie? Okay? It's helping me be awesome." He grins a little, holding his hand out to her.

Chickens. Skanks. Chickens… Skanks… Samara's face contorts into a reflective hmmm while she considers these two things, but she pushes the thought out of her mind with a twitch of a smile. "I like that hat," she pronounces as she slides towards him in her black ballet flats, grasping his hand with a broadened grin. "And you can't fuck this up. I think you're very attractive, you make me laugh, and I like just hanging out with you." Her grin broadens considerably as she slides one of her hands to his shoulder, much like the last time they were here, but this time they can both feel the touch.

"I wasn't really scared I'm going to fuck it up. I just wanted you to say fuck." Grinning broadly, his hands go to slide around her waist. "Fuck.Fuck.Fuck." Smiling brightly he takes a step forward. This time it's much easier to dance with her, and very easy to make eye contact with her. Which he does. "Turn around~" He sings, hauntingly.

Leaning in he goes to plant a small kiss on her cheek. "But really. I might be able to fuck this up. Just give me some time." Brian smiles, bringing her in closer.

A sound like something being kicked disturbs the music. A pause lets silence accompany the song, until yet again there is another eery scratching noise as it is beginning to sound more and more like someone is trying to enter through the narrow passageway. A clank a thump and then…

Emerging from the darkness, an immaculately dressed Chinese man slides into view of the small flickering candle light. From head to toe, his clothes are a deep black from head to toe. Despite it being a late hour, the man has sunglasses balanced on the bridge of his nose. Standing lazily in the doorframe, the gaze from behind the shades skips from Brian to Samara. Then back again.


The cantonese doesn't have much time to pass through the silence to the dancing couple. Because right after it is uttered, the man's hand climbs upwards. And in that hand is a pistol, a black pistol. And on the tip of it, a silencer. The gun is pointed at Brian's chest. And then…


Sami settles in the position, taking a slow deep breath as she rests her head against the top of his shoulder, drawing him in closely. The kiss on her cheek draws her eyes shut, and brings a soft smile to her lips as a contented sigh is exhaled from her lips.

Her eyes snap open and she twists around to see the Chinese man standing in the room, actually causing them to widen. There's no time to think about what to do. And there's literally no time to react. Or, at least, theoretically, there wouldn't be.

Phasing or not, there's something inherently protective about Sam. Without thinking, she swings around to face said Chinese man and she's put herself between the stranger and her boyfriend.

Brian's eyes follow Samara's, his head bobbin up to gaze over her to the new entrant. Little on his features change. Eyes swimming across the other man. He simply watches, his own hands dropping. No grabbing for his own gun, no protective leap in front of his girlfriend. Winters tucks his hands into his pockets and watches. Though after the muzzle flash goes off and… nothing happens.

Taking a single step forward, his finger reaches out to prod the young woman in the side of the face. A testing poke to her chin.

Nothing is said by the stranger. Looking up to Brian, Dong-tian gives a solid nod. And with a twirl of his pistol, the gun is holstered inside his suit jacket. Fluidly turning on heel, the Ghost Shadow makes his way back into the darkness.

The poke at her face has Samara gaping further, how is nothing happening. There was no bullet, there'd been nothing fired and now the occupant is leaving. The brunette gapes as the stranger disappears back into the darkness, bringing her face into a contorted mess of confusion. Her gaze remains fixed on the entrance where he'd come in, staring blankly in an extreme state of shock. She attempts to collect her thoughts, particularly at the retreat itself which makes little to sense.

There's a lot of silence for a few moments as Sam's heart thumps hard in her chest, pounding against her insides. Finally, she reanimates, her eyes flitting back to Brian. All of these things culminate into a single question, "What the hell?!"

Frowning, Brian goes to crumple in front of the mirror once again. His back thuds against it roughly, as he goes to pick up his paper plate once again. Kicking one foot over the other, Brian lets out a soft sigh. Taking a piece of sausage, he chews over it thoughtfully as his eyes flit over to Samara. A light shrug is given. "Sorry." He mumbles with a mouthful. Tilting his head back he lets out a groan.

"Didn't work. Thought it would but it didn't." He lets out a groan. He waves a dismissive hand at the man leaving. "He's with me. Don't worry about him. I asked him to do this. You said 'what if that needs to happen again'. So I figured I would make it happen again. " He gives an apologetic shrug. Which is a thing. "Sorry."

Samara just blinks blankly as Brian sits back down and eats the spaghetti. She opens her mouth to speak, only to have all words fail her. While her face had paled through the ordeal, now they flush brightly, a reflection of those words she can't seem to find. Finally, her mouth closes with a tightened jaw. Shaking her head, she walks to her spot, crouches downward and grasps her sweater which is promptly tugged over her shoulders. "Unbelievable," she murmurs to herself as sharp staccato'd steps take her to the door… which she runs into, having forgotten her newfound tangibility.

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