Participants:
| Scene Title | Mister and Miss Charming |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | The roadtrip of life… |
| Date | May 9th, 2019 |
"… I bet you didn't think I was going to show up on time, today."
Many things can be said of Zachery these days - a great number of which may not necessarily be positive - but one thing he did end up being today was punctual.
He's sitting slightly askew in the driver's seat of his 1967 Cadillac-turned-hearse, the palm of one hand lax on the wheel and one eye fixed on the road. For the short amount of time that he's been playing chauffeur, his driving has been exemplary. The car's not in perfect condition by far - not counting the decade-old flame decals, which very clearly ARE perfect - but it certainly is very clean and spacious. All in all, it's been a smooth start to a good few hours of forced togetherness.
Where there might otherwise be plenty of space in the back of the car for, say, a coffin, there are cardboard boxes and black plastic bins with lids on them, positioned just so to prevent jostling while the vehicle moves.
"But here we are. Rested! Ready to look success in the eye and say, 'Hey, guess what. I'm taking you home today.'" Speaking of looking, he throws a glance sideways, to his passenger, almost managing to keep a straight face before cracking a wide grin that he appears incapable of holding back, or wanting to— "This is how friendships start, you know."
Do not mind the one arm draped across his lap, when that left hand should be on the steering wheel. Do not mind the bandages on said hand, or the splint on obviously broken fingers.
Visible through the front windshield of the vehicle, there’s Zach’s grinning face and a mess of fiery, long red waves. Isis is turned around on the seat, rump resting on her boot heels, with her fingers digging little holes in the Wagon’s fine leather headrest. Her hazel eyes, speckled with stary glints of gold, remain wide and stuck on the space filled with boxes and bins. Clearly, she didn’t think this through….
“You’ve had… bodies back there.” Blink. “Dead people.” Blink-blink. “How many dead people would you say?” Gulp. “When we’re dead do we really-…” She squints and snaps her attention back around to Zach. “NevermindIdon’twanttoknow.”
Shhhtt. Isis whirls about and slides on the leather to face forward again.
“You’re very optimistic.” Her verdant-molten gaze slides to the corner of her khol-lined eyes, considering the strangely chipper man on her left with obvious skepticism. “Is this a common thing? Because as much as I could use a new friend, I can only take so much of…” She waves an open palm with splayed fingers in a circular motion over Zachery’s whole being. “That.” She manages to keep a straight face for an extra second before a sly smirk cracks the facade.
There's a joy in just letting people talk. Zachery knows this. And he's happy to listen. Sitting oh so comfortably, leaning back and head tilting upward as his attention returns to the road, his body language more akin to that of someone watching their favourite TV show.
"You've caught me in a good mood. Rare as they are. Were?" He considers, aloud. "You'd best get used to it." Barely a heartbeat later, he adds, oh so crisply, "Do you not have any friends?"
Asked with all the eager readiness to judge that could possibly be within him.
Once more her squinty face is all skeptical, but ultimately and without too much effort, she let’s Zachery’s contagious mood contaminate her. She leans her head back into the headrest. “I have friends,” she says, playfully defensive in a way that makes her alto tones a little squeakier than she likes. Isis clears her throat. “One or two.” Friendly face Sahara and the mostly MIA Dio totally count….
“I mean, one doesn’t know everything - but, that’s kinda nice. And the one that does know shit is kinda… stuck in his own head.” She reaches back and grabs the little rungs that hold up the headrest, turning her face so her cheek rests against the inside of her bicep as she turns a curious, taunting look on Zachery. “What about you, Mister Charming? You got friends? Because, so far every time I’ve met you, you look like someone beat the piss outta you. Just sayin’.” She grins.
"I have friends," exclaims Zachery in an echo, though with no squeak and more practice behind it. It is a bit of an automatic answer, but Isis doesn't need to know that. The words that follow sound a little more idly contemplative. "In fact, I met with one just a few days ago. A friend good enough to let me fight my own battles. After, well, ah — "
He stops, the fingers of his hand on the steering wheel wrapping around it a little more firmly. "A scuffle." Again, no pause before he adds, "I like this 'Mister Charming' thing. Can we keep that one?"
Isis consider Zachery a bit more seriously than is perhaps necessary, thick lashes shading her vivacious gaze as she tips her chin down subtly. “Is that a good thing - letting them fight their own battles?” She truly needs to know.
As for Mister Charming, she purses her lips with the effort not to smile - it gives her freckled cheeks an apple-rounded quality. She twitches her nose thoughtfully. “Time will tell. But, even if we do - I’m not saying that in front of the guys. Pffftttttt.”
Again, Zachery seems inclined to just let Isis rattle on. There's not even a glance in her direction, giving her only the side of his face with his functional eye to stare at.
There's a brief wrinkling of his nose at her question, even if an absentminded grin remains. It's only bolstered by her mention of 'the guys'. To delay his answer, or perhaps to hit two birds with one stone, so to speak, he asks, "You have any brothers?"
“No,” she bites. Isis turns her gaze pointedly forward, taking in the battered landscape on the other side of the windshield. A pause. She seems to literally be chewing a thought as she moves her tongue under a pointed canine and bite down behind pale lips. “I did. A step brother. I hope he’s in a ditch.”
Isis stretches out - the hearse is roomy even up front - bracing her boots to the floorboards and wriggling. With a deep breath, the hackle-raised cat effect seems to smooth back down to something a little less claws and hissing. She’s not entirely ready to relinquish Zachery’s infectiously good mood… yet. “You?”
There's just a hint of something catching Zachery's attention about Isis moving around on her side, but the look he throws her, mostly leg-focused, appears more habitual check-up than not.
There's another shift in his expression as Isis speaks, something a little tenser to go along with a dry chuckle of an exhale. His injured hand comes up to rub a palm against his jaw, a little awkwardly with more than half of the fingers sticking straight out. When his question is turned back on him, his eyebrows twitch upward, if only briefly.
There is a delay in his answer. His gaze shifts a little further up ahead, as if preparing for a turn that isn't yet coming up. "… Yeah. Just the one. Trust a twin to jump into your fights for you, right? It teaches no one anything, in the end."
Isis tips her head before she turns it to consider Zachery. “You know what I think?” He doesn’t, so she’s going to tell him. “There are no right answers. No right actions. None.” She holds up a finger to stop any interjection. “Hear me out. He was wrong because he jumped into your fights. But, in another reality where he stayed out of it - there’s another you out there bitching that he didn’t do right by you, didn’t stand up for you.” She turns her extended finger gesture into an open palm instead, throwing in a shrug.
With a deep breath she turns her attention back to the stretch of road reaching out before them. The redhead leans forward and folds her arms on the dash, resting her chin on her forearms. “Kinda sucks when you reverse that thought and place it on yourself - you can’t do anything right. Not by any body, at least. Not in the long run. It’ll always lend itself to some manner of character flaw for which you will be held accountable…” How’s that for a ray of sunshine?
Zachery has been listening, this much is clear by the way his head's lowered back down, and by the way his left hand lingers on the stubble of his jaw as he processes the words spoken.
There's a recognition in the way he nods, just once. He does not interrupt, even if his mouth opens before his passenger finishes explaining her viewpoint.
What he does do while she's speaking — is pick up a little bit of speed. When the silence finally resettles over them, the hearse's old engine purring a little louder becomes more obvious.
The ragged environs outside flit by a little more hastily, as Zachery - very calmly - notes, "… There is relief, though. If you can't do anything right, you can't do anything truly wrong either."
Finally, the hand on his jaw comes back down for the palm and bandaged fingers to be pressed against the steering wheel. "So, then, what matters? The scenery?" Speaking of which… the scenery outside speeds along slightly faster, still, now, as Zachery settles his back a little tighter against the back of his seat. His eye stays on the road, sparking with added attentiveness. "The promise of recognition? Because praise doesn't discriminate - victors as well as vanquished can achieve that."
“You can’t do anything truly wrong….” Isis echoes quietly with her ever searching gaze still turned ahead of them, focused on that enigmatic vanishing point in the horizon. A slow, sharp curl takes up the left corner of her lips, dimpling her cheek. “Oh, that’s good. That’s dangerous.” She braces her hands on the dashboard and pushes up, straightening in her seat to look upon Zachery. “And, that’s exactly what I needed to hear.”
“Between you and me,” she makes a two fingered gesture between Zach and herself while pursing her lips to blow away a few buoyant, errant waves of crimson. “I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to do this… assignment-thing until… well, right now.” She snorts. Yeah, that’s attractive.
“But, fuck if I know what matters. It’s actually something I’ve been pondering a lot lately. And, I’m pretty sure there is someone, or something, out there right now that knows. Here’s hoping I live long enough to at least get an answer. But, in the meantime, I intend to fully enjoy the damn ride.” Isis’s grin is renewed as she reaches out and gives the hearse’s dashboard a friendly pat-pat.
“Are you enjoying the ride, Mister Charming?”
The vehicle gradually speeds up further, definitely a little faster than most people would venture to enjoy, and then levels out.
Much like Zachery's expression, which has settled on a content sort of smirk out to the view ahead. "In truth?" He finally gives Isis a longer look, now, turning his head just enough for her to be reminded of the off-white acrylic that sits in his left eye socket. "All the potholes, the poor weather, all the strained conversations in the world, the broken radio, the jammed doors, the birdshit and the roadkill. Doesn't fucking matter, does it? In the end. You get where you're going." Wherever that is.
He should probably be looking at the road again by now, rather than just beam somewhat giddily at his passenger. "So yes, Miss Charming, I'm enjoying things just splendidly."