Participants:
| Scene Title | No(ra) Interruptions |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Some interruptions are more welcome than others. |
| Date | December 2, 2010 |
Kincaid's Apartment/Pollepel Island
"..the windchill will be approximately 32 degrees Farenheit, so bundle up tomorrow morning. I hope this isn't a sign of another long winter. Back to you, Dirk."
Weather's such a sensetive subject, even as the radio voice continues talking about the local news. A list of the missing from November 8th, read yet again. The station has been doing such lists often, and Kincaid has many of the names memorized.
"Now for all you insomniacs, we'll have a good hour of uninterupted music."
"That's because you want an hour to nap," Kincaid says tiredly, from where he sits in his sparce living room. To even call it a living room is a stretch. It functions as everything, including an office. The radio isn't a standard jutbox, but a two way radio, complete with a headset, that he doesn't have plugged in at the moment.
Music begins to play, but his dark eyes stay focused on his hand, and the ointment he's rubbing over the fresh burn that blistered there.
Whatever he's listening to suddenly cuts out, interrupted by a sibilant shhhhhhhhhhhhhh of static before suddenly the piano, then synthetic keyboard's opening notes of arpeggio'd chords give way to cheery voices singing the staccato lyrics of The Buggles "Video Killed the Radio Star."
In the midst of one of the "Oh, oh-oh's," the song cuts out suddenly.
"You there?" Nora's voice follows; its owner is miles and miles away, curled once more in a little corner of a dark castle, blanket wrapped around herself. Her fingers toy with the label of a bottle of water; she can't read the Evian label, but the bottle's been refilled many, many times, no longer French water but well water from Pollepel Island.
Without replacing the bandage on his hand, Kincaid puts everything down and immediately goes over to the radio, picking up the headset and putting it on, and plugging it in. The microphone is on it, and it keeps feedback to a minimum, too. The radio is the nicest thing in his room, actually. "Yeah, I'm here."
Even when he accidentally knocks the blistered burns against the desk he doesn't seem to notice anything at all wrong.
"I was thinking about you today, too. How are you doing?"
"Been better," Nora says softly. "We have some issues here, but … there's nothing you can do from there, so don't worry about it for now. I'll call out if I need backup. Just … you know, keep your radio on, all right? In case I need you… everyone here keeps getting in trouble. Somehow I'm the only one who hasn't gotten anyone too pissed off, if you can believe that." There's a subtle humor in her voice, and she smiles on her end, though he can't see it.
"You?" Nora adds softly, bringing the bottle to her lips and taking a long drink, none of the glugs or swallows coming through his headset.
"If anyone was the type not to piss people off, I'd thought it would be Benji…" Kincaid says with a quiet tone of confusion, definitely wanting the story of how things went down, but not willing to go into questioning it too much. Perhaps because, as she says, there's nothing he can really do. "I'll keep the radio on. I'll take my spare to work, too. No one will notice. I do work at a television and radio station." Still, despite the joke, there's no laugh or smile, as he looks down at his hand.
"I wish you weren't so far away. I could try and get you some help… That's why I was thinking of you today. I went to a charity function, selling people as dates with all the money going to victims of the riots. But where you are that money can't really help you…"
He trails off a bit, before adding reluctently. "My boss, Kristen, bought me for ten thousand dollars, too, if you can beliece it… and I ended up buying a date with the woman who was running the auction… Melissa Pierce."
There's a little gasp at the ten thousand dollars and then a splutter of water that this time does make it through to his ears. "You what?"
"An auction? For dates? That's … that's barbaric or something! What are you supposed to do on this supposed date — wait, dates, plural, right? Because you're a slave to this Kristen woman, and then again to Melissa?" Nora's voice is edged with disbelief. "And here I thought prostitution was illegal in New York City, buddy."
Just cause it's illegal doesn't mean it doesn't happen, but Kincaid keeps that tidbit to himself as he leans back to rub the stubble with his fingers, only noticing the busted blister when he looks down. No time to bandage it yet… "Listen, it's not that kind of date. With K, she'll likely run me through the wringer and make me do something embarassining. New guy hazing, but I wanted to stay close to the studio anyway, so it works. As for Melissa…"
His voice trails off, a quiet sigh finally tacked on to the end. "I'm… it's not prostitution." As if he found a way to recover, his voice falls into teasing tones, "Not jealous, are we?"
"Date auctions. How primitive," Nora says with a sniff, ignoring the question as to whether or not she's jealous. "But that's beside the point. So yeah, Kristen, fine, that's work, that makes sense, make nice nice with the boss, probably get a raise, then sue her for sexual harassment and get more money out of it that way. That's a good idea."
Is she kidding? The snippishness to her tone makes it hard to tell. "But the other? What, you so lonely over there you need to buy a date? And how the hell are you worth ten thousand dollars?"
Suddenly, the radio cuts from her voice to the Beatles' "Can't Buy Me Love," cutting off any reply he might make for a frustratingly long time. Can't make a come back if the other person doesn't let you — Nora doesn't fight fair.
After most of the song, she finally lets it cut out, a slightly staticky silence letting him know she's still (probably) there.
There's something patient in the way Kincaid unplugs the headset to let the song play as he walks away to pick up the ointment and the bandage, and then plugs back in just as the static can be heard. "I'm not sure if what happened made you less moody or more moody," he says quietly, as he dabs the ointment back on. Again.
"But it is cute how you hang up on someone." Hang up, but still come back, as he seems to have taken it. "I think we're all a bit lonely, though… Nor. But don't worry. I know what I'm getting into. It won't be worse than a movie and coffee, or something of the sort. What's the worst that could happen?"
Cute. There's a few moments of silence as Nora mulls that over, finally ripping off the pink and blue label of her water and then tearing it into tiny pieces she can't see. "I'm never moody," she finally says. "And, yeah. I mean, at least I have the others." There's another silence for a moment, before she adds, "It's amazing how being in one building with eighty other people can still make you feel totally alone in the world. It's horrible but I was actually a little happy that Howard had to come to the infirmary with me. Probably going to hell for that one."
She heaves a sigh and shakes her head. "You're a guy. Use your imagination." Before he can argue, she adds, very quickly, "What movie you going to see?" She's good at cutting off the retorts.
"I don't know yet," Kincaid honestly responds, not having thought too much about a movie at all. "Whatever's playing," he says, sounding for a moment like he's not even really thinking about that, but she's cut off all his retorts fairly effectively. A quiet moment follows while he wraps the bandage back around his hand.
"You'd think with eighty-odd people someone would be able to do something for you…" She may stop retorts, but he's bringing it back to her injury. Perhaps that's where his mind is sticking, because of the bandage he's wrapping around his own hand.
"Just don't be afraid to call if you get in real trouble. I'll steal a boat if I have to."
There's another moment of silence. Nora shrugs, though it can't be seen, her fingers running out of label to rip up. She starts picking up the tiny torn pieces off her blanket — she'll miss a couple, but she's not trying to litter the hallway with paper.
"I don't think anyone's a healer here. Or else they'd have fixed the others, too, right? I mean, I'm not the only one who was hurt," she says quietly.
"Next time, I'll make sure that we kidnap an ophthalmologist when we're fleeing for our lives in the middle of a riot, okay?" It's an attempt at a joke, but there's an edge of bitterness to the words.
"And next time I sell myself for ten thousand dollars, I'll make sure it goes toward fixing your eyes," Kincaid says with a grin, as he secures the bandage around his hand. "But you should tune into the radio show when it happens. I'm going to be doing a call in show about Humanis First. Maybe you can be a special anonymous guest caller, or something. It could be fun."
And if it isn't he's still invitingher to do it anyway. "You'll have to censor yourself, though. FCC regulations, and all."
"Fuck the FCC. I never fucking swear," Nora tosses back, lips curving into a smirk.
"I'll listen for it, though. Ten thousand dollar — you should be a gold digger, Kin. And you know she's gonna expect you to put out for that much. Speaking of that — how much did you buy your date for?" she asks mischievously.
"Oh, so now you're telling me to put out, are you?" Kincaid says, laughing finally, amused by many of the things coming over the radio, before he has to answer that question. "More than I could afford, honestly, I'll be eating noodles for the next month." But he avoids giving the exact amount, no doubt thinking she would not approve. Or laugh at him. "Tell Howard and Benji to stop rocking the boat before they poke a big hole in it, okay?"
Nora stands carefully, fingers cupped around the bits of paper and her water bottle in one hand, the other reaching for the wall to help her guide her back to the Infirmary. "I didn't say you should. I said she'd expect you to," Nora points out. "Like they'll listen to me."
There's a pause as she begins to walk. "Thanks for the chat, Kin."
"I think she's expecting humiliation not sex," Kincaid admits witha laugh, as he leans back into the chair. Closing his dark eyes, he's probably trying to wonder how she's moving around in the dark, as well as what songs they'd been playing on the radio during this conversation. No interuptions— that's the way it was supposed to be. Some interuptions, though…
"I'll be here when you need me, Nor," he adds, before she signs off. "I'd listen to you, even if they won't."
She's quiet a few moments as she counts under her breath to twenty, numbers he can't hear. "I know," Nora says softly. "Be safe. I'll call for you and the others if we need you."
That much too somber of a farewell, Nora smirks. "And keep it zipped, you hear me, mister?"
She doesn't wait to see if he responds — once more, not letting him get the rebuttal and taking the last word for herself before dropping the signal. Static fills the speakers for a moment before the music of the resting deejay's choosing reclaims the airwaves of Kincaid's radio.