Must Be Deckard Genetics


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Scene Title Must Be Deckard Genetics
Synopsis Really, it's not. It's just that both individuals don't' quite know how to deal with nice christian girls who offer free baked goods and healing and don't scream and try to steal from them. Makes you wonder what kind of childhood they had.
Date May 17, 2009

Greenwich Village

In a time that seems long ago, Greenwich Village was known for its bohemian vibe and culture, the supposed origin of the Beat movement, filled with apartment buildings, corner stores, pathways and even trees. There was a mix of upper class and lower, commercialism meeting a rich culture, and practically speaking, it was largely residential.

Now, it's a pale imitation of what it used to be. There is a sense of territory and foreboding, as if the streets aren't entirely safe to walk. It isn't taken care of, trash from past times and present littering the streets, cars that had been caught in the explosion lie like broken shells on the streets nearest the ground zero. Similarly, the buildings that took the brunt of the explosion are left in varying degrees of disarray. Some are entirely unusable, some have missing walls and partial roofs, and all of the abandoned complexes have been looted, home to squatters and poorer refugees.

As one walks through the Village, the damage becomes less and less obvious. There are stores and bars in service, and apartment buildings legitimately owned and run by landlords. People walk the streets a little freer, but like many places in this scarred city… anything can happen. Some of the damage done to buildings aren't all caused by the explosion from the past - bullet holes and bomb debris can be seen in some surfaces, and there is the distinct impression that Greenwich Village runs itself… whether people like it that way or not.

Leah is not having a very good day.

It did not start well, and the headache that throbbed in her temples and dulled her senses has not completely receded throughout her dragging return to Manhattan isle, or her dragging through the various parts of her day. It's still daylight, and she is wearing sunglasses against potential sources of brightness. After a quiet exchange in a little alley off the main drags of the Village, she emerges out beyond a dumpster, cigarette held in her mouth and a faint, aggravated crease in her forehead.

She's wearing the same clothes she wore yesterday, plus the liberal application of some deodorant. Really, it's just been one of those days all around.
Post church, Pre-dinner. That's the time during the day. Abigail's coming out of a baker, a brown bag in her hands and heading towards her scooter. A thousand little errands to do now that she's done worshiping the lord and giving him his due. Al's hopefully gonna be back from whenever she is - Abby suspects at Cats - and she can see him before she gets too busy. Leah is glanced at as the woman stands with her smoke and a dip of Abby's head is offered. Not because she knows the woman. Abby doesn't recognize her all that well. Not with the sunglasses.

Leah's forehead creases some more. Puzzlement reflected there and in the purse of her lips, she pushes her sunglasses up to the top of her head, crowning the cloud of her dark hair like a dark plastic headband. She is squinting a little as she glances at Abby, her eyes still sensitive after many hours awake. It's been awhile, right?

Months. "Leah?" Yup that has to be Abby, only there's red hair now instead of blonde. But how many southern religious women are there running around on pea green shimmery Scooters with the name 'lazarus' painted on it. "You okay?"

Recognition takes a little longer to process through Leah's drug-addled consciousness. For one thing, the hair is different, and that throws a gal more than you'd think. But the fact that she's known by name makes an impression, and at a delay, Leah says, "Oh." Her cigarette caught between two fingers, she exhales an acrid breath past her teeth. With her other hand, she rubs her eyes. "Hi," she adds. And then, flicking ash off the end of the cig, she lies blandly, "I'm awesome. How are you?"

"I'm good. You don't look awesome. How's Flint? I heard you both took a swim yesterday" The red head offers, diverting her route from bike to Deckard family member.

Leah looks down at herself: dark denim jacket, rose-colored shirt, tight black pants. As though the glance at yesterday's clothes might reveal some history she doesn't really remember about the evening before. "No swimming," she says, decisively. She looks back up at Abby, sighs, and drops the half-smoked cigarette to the sidewalk, crushing it under the square heel of one shoe. And then allows, "Close call, maybe. What do you got, little birds come flying to you full of gossip?"

'Little birds with broken arms. There's only one guy I know who's friend with Teo who has a sister who can go through things" Abigail's voice is low, between just the both of them. "Do I get to know the whole story?"

"Augh," Leah says, and presses the heel of her hand to her forehead. "Fuck. Fuckity fuck," she adds, for emphasis. "What whole story. Crazy bitch comes flying at him all pissed and 'you're a bad man'." Leah makes talky hands, and an expressive grimace, which show just exactly what she thinks of character judgment delivered in this way. "He shoves her, she grabs him, he breaks her arm and they both almost fall off the damn dock. I have no idea what happened after that," she adds firmly. This is more directness and straight talk than most people get out of Leah in a week.

Abigail sighs softly. "So in other words Delilah was… Delilah and Flint was Flint" The redhead murmurs. "I don't need to fix you up? and I got some fresh Croissants do you want one?" Last she saw the woman had been in a not so nice basement in Staten Island.

"I'm fine." This Leah supplies quite quickly, without stopping to take stock of herself. Grudgingly, surlily, she adds, "Thanks." She shakes her head and presses the pads of her thumbs to either side of her nose. "Man, you're going to give me baked things?" Her next exhalation is a voiceless laugh, flavored mildly with disbelief. "No. Thanks. I appreciate it." For some reason, she doesn't return Abby's offer of food with an offer of drugs.

"You haven't discussed me with your brother have you. It's the gold standard with me" Abigail smiles softly. "Thank you, for getting him out of the .. brothel. Months ago. I don't think that he would have made it in there" Offers of drugs would have been politely rebuffed.

"Ehhh." Leah breathes out on a long sigh, and reaches up to mess around with her hair, nails dragging along her scalp. She stands there looking awkward for a moment, hands falling to her sides and knuckles bracing against her hips as she tips her head down. "I don't know what else I could have done," she says. "We don't talk much. Not really, anyway. There's some things don't need saying, though. Like please can you make my ass not get killed in horrible ways. I just." She breaks off, and snorts. "Yeah," she concludes, instead of whatever she was about to say.

"Oh" Abby murmurs. It seems that the awkwardness that fills the space between flint Deckard and herself isn't relegated to just her and him. It seems to be a Deckard Genetic trait. "So umm.. So what do you do… you know, for work?"

Mouth twitching at the corners in a very wry smile, Leah arches her eyebrows and says, "Oh, this and that." Her weight settles on her heels, a momentary island of stillness in the sea of her restless shifting. "You know. I keep myself busy. What do you do?"

"I uhh" Abigail turns, gesturing down the street to a sign that reads Old Lucy's. "I work there. A bartender at Old Lucy's" Yup, the Nun works at Old Lucy's. Dispensing alcohol. "I'm going to school too, to be an EMT. Classes are about to end, so there's tests and the like"

"Oh. Huh," Leah says, looking down the street at the sign with a slight lift of her brows. "Wouldn't've guessed that. Do you need to learn to be an EMT?" She looks baffled, since she certainly has never gone to thief school to learn to walk through walls. "I mean, don't you already—?"

"I can't use God's gift all the time Ms. Deckard. It would tired me out. I don't like taking money for using it either and that would .. well, yeah. Who knows when I might have to be called in to a scene with a negator on the premises as well? I'd be very useless then too" Abigail points out.

Scrubbing a hand at the back of her neck, Leah tips her head slightly in acknowledgment, and shifts her weight from foot to foot. "I guess," she says. Her own gifts are not so altruistic in mode of use … at least, usually. Tugging idly at the hem of her jacket, she says, "Good luck with that." Something bitter flickers briefly in her expression, and for no immediately visible reason, she laughs, and then rolls her eyes. "God," she adds. She doesn't use it as an imprecation, exactly, or as a prayer. More like the name of someone she has a beef with. Like He owes her money or something.

"I should go, I have stuff to do but.. Tell Flint if Delilah did anything to him, stop by and I'll fix him too if I'm home, or the bar" Abby gestures to the scooter. "You sure you don't want a croissant?"

"Really. Some other time. I'm a little hung over," Leah says, with a slightly too bright smile. She lifts her hand to pull her sunglasses back into place, and puffs out her cheeks with the expulsion of another breath. "If I see him, I'll pass it on. See you … around, I guess." She hesitates over almost saying something else, but then lifts her hand and wiggles it in a little wave, instead.

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