No Dana Here


huruma_icon.gif megan2_icon.gif

Scene Title No Dana Here
Synopsis But what if there's still a Gozer?
Date July 23, 2020

Megan and Huruma's Place

The back porch has a roof over it. It's the only reason she's sitting here instead of in the house. The scent of fresh coffee wafts from the kitchen doorway — Scott Harkness apparently has a lot of experience dealing with the aftermath of way too much alcohol and was kind enough to start it before he left.

Ruma is watching her disapprovingly from the rail of the porch, her tail swishing back and forth, but the woman is ignoring the cat. Or maybe she has her eyes closed behind the dark sunglasses she's sporting. Megan's red hair isn't as vibrant as it once was, fading toward white as it is, but the emotions rolling off her are definitely not muted at all. It's unlike her but she is still strung a little tight despite Huruma smoothing the sharp edges of jagged fear. Strung tight enough that the cigarettes came out again this morning, and she's quietly smoking while she sits on the porch thinking.

"…There are better things to smoke, darling." It's not the cat, just her namesake. The drawling voice fits, uncannily so. Huruma is still dressed from sleep, shorts and a tank, when she pads out onto the patio. One coffee cup touches down beside Megan; it's made exactly how she likes it. "Scott wanted to stay. I insisted he give you space…"

Too much stimulation for a hangover. Nothing personal.

"Ffffft," the nurse replies mildly. "Not into the weed the kids are smoking these days. That shit's way different than the stuff I had as a teen." She turns her head to make sure the plume of exhaled smoke goes away from her friend, and then offers a smile. "You didn't have to boot him," she murmurs. Not that Harkness would have gone if he'd disagreed with the tall woman.

After stubbing out the cigarette in a small can she set out here just for that purpose, Megan leans back and takes the coffee cup, holding it beneath her nose with both hands wrapped around it. There's a comfort all it's own to sitting out here in the morning sunshine with the scent of warm coffee flooding her senses. "He's worried." Not like Huruma can't tell that for herself. "I woke up on the ceiling." The confession is uneasy, but there's a thread of humor in her tone. "You should have seen his face. Wanted to know if he needed to call the Ghostbusters, the asshole." She snorts out a laugh. There is no Dana, only Zuul.

The deadpan had made her laugh instead of freaking out again.

"He was too worried." Whatever it was that Huruma saw in him this morning, it was enough to have her send him home rather than fret over Megan. She'll take care of it. Come back later. "And I guess liking the new leaf makes me a kid, so I'm good with that." No commentary on Scott and his Ghostbusters.

Huruma studies Megan for a moment more, soon pulling up a chair in front of her, knees close to touching. "Talk to me." She never delved into it last night for the sake of her friend's nerves. But now that the initial evening is passed, it's on.

She didn't want to delve. Megan is using one of those yoga techniques of mindfulness to keep her head empty of thoughts of what's happening to her. She knows Scott's worried. Huruma's definition of 'too' worried, she's not delving into either. It's the request to be talked to that makes Megan pause. She could play it off. Not that it'll do a lot of good — the empath will call her on it faster than she can even form the words 'I'm fine.'

She's not fine. She knows she is not fine. "I don't… think I really ever thought much about how … afraid all my companions and colleagues were," Meg finally says slowly. "All the years… I knew they were scared. And I was scared for all of them."

Taking one hand from the warm cup to reach up and push her sunglasses up into her hair so she can drag her hand back down her face, she looks pensive.

"I think the 'too' worried was because I asked him if he really thought it was safe to register," she confesses quietly. "Back then," she offers in a quiet voice, "I was the one who had a belief that although some of the people in charge were utter assholes, overall the system would eventually catch up." She and Scott have done a bit of place-swapping, apparently. "I still see … so many things that haven't changed." A fundamental trust broke back in those days. Ideologically she's always been on the 'us' side of that fight… but even within the pro-Evo side, there was a slight difference.

Her elbow rests on the arm of her chair, her head propped on her fingertips to rest while her coffee cup settles to rest on her thigh. Megan's blue eyes meet Huruma's light ones. "It's humbling… and to some degree shaming… to realize I was never quite scared enough. It was all happening to all of them, but… I could have walked away." Not that she ever would have. But now she understands in a way she couldn't before.

Shortly into the start of Megan's words, Huruma's hand rests upon her knee; Megan was always on their side, but now, there's a distinct change in how she looks back on it. Not precisely a rude awakening, but simply being shoved into a world you thought you knew about. To find that you didn't quite know it as well as you'd believed.

"You could, and didn't." Remember that. "It is okay to feel conflicted. Especially on realizing that you had even more of a privilege than you thought. It means you're good, that's all."

Huruma would throat punch anyone who would dare say otherwise.

"You don't need to register if you don't want to. You can make that choice, and no-one can shame you for it. You fought too." The empath wets her lips, brows furrowed. Her own worry is clear and detailed even for Megan. "The system will be haunted for as long as it exists. The people in it may have changed, but it was still built on the bones of the old regime."

"I can hope that things will find a way, but I also know that they may never hit that mark. The only thing we can do is decide if we trust the faces and hands behind the wheel."

Grateful for the contact, Megan offers a soft smile. "I believe in the hands on the wheel right now. But given the rise of the fucking Pro-Earthers?" Same shit, different name. "I don't… really know what to do." The conflict about taking that step is deep and more complex than she ever truly understood ten years ago. "There are pros and cons to registering — Scott pointed out the health care benefits and access to people who can help with the ability. He's not wrong…" There's a subtle shrug at that, though. "I know plenty of people who can help, though. I just…"

Closing her eyes, Megan is quiet for a long few moments. "I told Ben last year… it's starting to feel like it used to. In the early days. Little things — Pro Earth. Rumors about underground fight rings. That shit out in Detroit a couple months ago. The Anti- and Pro- sides haven't quit fighting that war, Hooms. Things are looking pretty damn good right now. But that pendulum is going to rebound. It always does." And where the hell will that leave them all again?

Is it fatalism? Not really. It's just that, to use Huruma's words, her own privilege has slapped her. And it's a whole new set of worries and fears.

"Nobody says you have to make every decision right now. That's one of those things we worked so hard for." Huruma's first words touch on the more personal, edging into those broader strokes. The manipulation and the twist of what happened in Detroit won't go away anytime soon. Adam saw to that. Thinking even just a few seconds on it has her hackles raising, only brought down when she focuses on Megan.

"I know it always comes around again. I saw it dozens of times just growing up." Swallowing once, Huruma's breath steadies. "Sometimes the floor slides out from under you and you need to jump. We'll catch you." In an attempt to add some levity, she adds with a sheepish look, "I suppose you won't need anyone to catch you, but you get the idea."

Megan snerks, jostling her coffee cup. "Jesus, I'm afraid if I jump I might never get down again. What if I start to float away and I don't have time to grab anything? How high will I go when it suddenly turns off?" These are all valid questions — questions that she's been using the yoga mental exercises to keep from allowing to race through her mind. There are a lot of reasons why registering might be a really good idea.

"I'm wondering if I'm gonna have to tie my ankle to the bedpost so as not to flutter off in my sleep," she huffs out in a disgruntled tone.

"You could. Or have Scott over every night, which, I'm sure he wouldn't mind." Don't punch me, says the shift of her chair, just a couple of inches back.

"I know I can help you to a degree. I'm even all officially endorsed for it." Her hands lift up and wag as if to add jazz to the term. Such a big deal. "Not that I need it." Huruma takes a longer look at her friend, teeth drawing over her lip. "We know a lot of people. I'm- - I'm sure at least one of them can help you. I know how intimidating this is, on a - - practical level."

Floating away would not be good for anyone.

Megan doesn't punch her, but the redhead definitely colors a really deep shade of crimson. Which is probably hysterical, given that the two women have lived in extremely close proximity at times — and back then there was a guy involved too. And still, the redhead turns that color. She has always had that reserve about certain topics. Even when she's being racy, as soon as it's about HER, it causes a color change. "Well, it would be a shorter drive than Rochester, at least." The Bastion is local!

"On a practical level, how the hell am I even supposed to go anywhere, Huruma?" She definitely gives the yard a wary look. "I am literally afraid to leave the porch." She's not lying, either. She grimaces. "How do I tell people?" It's the latter part that maybe has her squirming a little. She rarely does well as the center of attention unless she's in her element. This is decidedly not her element.

Huruma tilts her head back to look at the porch roof, the shadow of it settled just behind her.

"So you start small. It will be like learning to walk, but… I know you can do it." Huruma turns her head back and lifts her chin. "As for other people, it's not their business." And right on cue, the empath's head swivels like a raptor in a tree towards the neighboring house. All Megan catches is the flutter of curtain, but there you have it. Huruma gives the window a further warning glower before standing up from her seat.

"One part of learning to walk is trusting someone else to not let go." Pale eyes rest on Megan's face as Huruma offers her hand. "Step out into the sun with me, kôlibria."1

A single brow rises on Megan's forehead as soon as Huruma's sharp gaze turns toward the Kravitz house. Taking a long swallow of her coffee, Megan sighs and stands. "You know, after last night she thinks we have orgies around here." When they came home, Megan refused to let go of either Hooms or Scott, so she was walking between them with a death grip on each to forestall the possibility of just floating away and never being seen again. It is very alarming being out under open sky right now!

But she trusts Huruma unquestioningly, therefore allows herself to be walked off the porch. And if she's holding on really tightly to the hand in hers, well… Huruma won't mind a few half-moons in her skin, right?

"One of these days she'll have to actually get to know us, can you imagine?" Huruma whispers, taking both of Megan's hands when they step onto the ground.

Huruma pays no mind to the vise of fingers nor the alarm bells, firming her feet unto her own calm; her touch not only an anchor, but also a familiar safety.

Whether or not Megan leaves the ground again, she'll be okay.

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