Not Another One


delia_icon.gif sable_icon.gif

Scene Title Not Another One
Synopsis Sable runs down to check on Kaylee, what she gets is an eye (and ear and maybe hand) full of tall redhead.
Date September 23, 2010

Gun Hill Medical Clinic

It's been a while since Sable last visited the Gun Hill clinic. Her broken arm brought her there, back during the reign of missing-presumed-dead Dr. Price. To be honest, Sable doesn't much like clinical settings. Too much neglect from nurses, back in her school days. Too many bruises and batterings dismissed as the appropriate badges of a 'trouble maker'. Sable is not actually one for active self-pity, that scratchiest of emotional blankets, but a medical locale makes it stir within the deep, dark linen chest of Sable's subconscious.

But it was in some part her fault that Kaylee collapsed last night, and in the battle between subconscious and la bonne conscience, Sable's shoulder angel wins out. Taking two or three steps at a time, quite a feat with legs as short as hers, the yellow eyed girl bounds down the stairs and wheels into the clinic, skidding to a halt by the doorway and doing a quick visual scan for blonde.

There's one closed curtain around a bed and a young woman in gray scrubs with curly red hair that stretches down to the middle of her back sitting on a stool. She's looking into a microscope and making notes in a little chart. Scribbling down a small series of numbers, she lifts her head to see the yellow eyed woman at the door.

Delia doesn't say anything before she gets up and winds her way around a tall examination table. Only when she's within ten feet of the brunette does she tilt her head a little and raise her eyebrows. "Can I help you with anything?" It's the usual greeting to those she doesn't know, which number in the millions.

The look Delia gets from Sable is one of slightly incredulity. It's probably not a kind of look she gets often, a very specific expression that is perfectly complimented by Sable's actual words, spoken mostly to herself but audible at just ten feet's remove. "Jesus, yer kiddin' me… another one?"

What kind of 'another' Delia constitutes is not explained. For those familiar with Sable, her predilections and the company she keeps, inference might be possible. Five foot ten of attractive redhead is a quantity that one usually finds in such… quantities. Yet here she is.

Another one.

Sable immediately dons a winning smile. Pay no attention to what she just said! That was an aside, for the benefit of the audience only. The yellow eyed woman sidles forward, thumbs hooking into the belt loops of her cargo pants. "Gimme a sec, hon, I'll think 'f somethin'," she says, tilting her head and confirming that Delia is, in fact, as tall and a ginger as she appeared on first glance, "yer newish. Mebbe don't know me, eh? Name's Sable," she taps her chest, indicating herself, "up in 503. Sage 'f this here Hill. That we don't know each other, hon, is a goddamn crime. An injustice I'm gonna put t' rights."

The name causes the smile to drop from Delia's face and as she reaches into her own pockets, her face twitches as though she's struggling to meet Sable's expression. "Sable— 503— " Two things that she does know. "You're Amadeus' friend." Not a question but a fact that's voiced with just a hint of malice.

Regardless a tense smile finds its way to the redheads face and she nods over to the stool in front of the microscope. "Have a seat, are you here for a checkup or just here to check the place out?" Her misgivings about the apartment or its guest aren't voiced, not just yet. The nurse finds her own stool to wheel around to near the taller one and sits down on it. This gives Sable the height advantage whether she chooses to sit or stand.

Sable brings her hand to her forehead, striking herself lightly. "Aw, hell," she says, "you know that son 'f a bitch 's well? Jesus, please, now, don't y'all hold that 'gainst me. Me 'n' him… friends ain't exactly how I'd put it. Fellow travelers, mebbe, speaks it better-like." She gives Delia a rueful, apologetic smile. "D' y' need me t' beat th' shit of 'f 'im on yer behalf? If he's done y' wrong, I'm more th'n willin' t' send a, like, message."

A few padding steps and a hop later, and Sable has claimed the tall stool. She spreads her legs wide, hands on knees, leaning down to look at Delia. What is she here for again? Oh, right! "Kaylee, th' gal came in last night all… passed out. Came t' check, see how she's doin'. That's first, 't least," she glances around the room, "Don' see 'er anywhere, though. She okay? Back at her place?" She sounds hopeful, her hope a counter product of her worry.

Well the answer Sable gives spreads the grin on Delia's face a little more and she lets out a nervous laugh. "Yeah.. I know him. He's sort of like a stalker." He is, having admitted to the redhead that he hung around the bookstore getting to know the people that she works with. Making a mixed tape for her. Generally being a nuisance. That isn't her real worry.

"You know why we moved in here, right?" The question is posed with a little bit of a tick in her voice, hope maybe. "My dad and I. Well Amadeus brought a stranger to our door. We can't exactly have him bringing people over, it's dangerous. We don't know if they're going to turn us in to the Institute or DHS… and we don't have anywhere else to go."

Confirmed Ferry member though Sable may be, she's not exactly dedicated to staying informed about the specifics of the organization's goings-ons. The yellow eyed girl views Delia's question like it's a pop quiz, with a mix of hesitation and suspicion. Like she's afraid of what will happen if she answers wrong.

"…you with all these new folks from th', like… whatever fuckin snafu brought all these squarish folks here?" Sable says, interrogative lilt inflecting the whole statement, revealing her uncertainty. She's right, as it happens, but she's obviously not crystal clear on all the circumstances, and the words 'Institute' and 'DHS' mean roughly zilch. She assumes, and safely so, that they refer to various tentacles on the ungodly beast Sable knows as 'the Man'.

"Oh… Jesus. Yer th' girl he w's bitchin' 'bout. Must be!" the revelation comes to Sable all at once, "Hon, I ain't gonna fault him f'r tryin', seein' as yer 'bout as pretty as they come. 'n' I think he'll stay outta yer hair, but if ever he gives y' trouble 'gain, you just tell ol' Sable, arright? I c'n set him straight. I speak his, like, language."

The rocker crosses her arms and gives Delia resolute look from her high perch. "Yer safe here, I promise. 'n' if y' need advice 'r a helpin' hand 'r anythin', you just lemme know, arright? This here's my Hill, 'n' I won't have beautiful ladies suffer any sort 'f worry that I have th' power t' prevent."

Another glance around the room. "'bout Kaylee, though? Blonde, 'n' I mean like blonde, like how y' mean it when y' say it."

Raking a hand through her hair, Delia actually blushes at the compliment and shakes her head. "I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about him bringing strangers over to harass my dad. We're supposed to be hiding, for all intents and purposes." Shrugging, the redhead chews on her lip a little and glances toward the three cots that act as hospital beds. One of them has a curtain around it while the other two are free.

"She's in her apartment, there wasn't much I could do for her except give her something to sleep and stop her nausea… I'm not exactly experienced in the way of healing … people who do what she does." Psychics? Telepaths? A little of both? The woman's long slender fingers lace together and she clicks her thumbnails against each other. "Though, if that doesn't help, I'm going to have to study her a little more and see if I cn't come up with some better way to help her. If she does that sort of thing often."

The blush is gratifying, and Sable smiles a little crookedly as she spots it. Her hands grip the sides of the stool and she tips back and forth slightly, from side to side, a dark-headed metronome. "He got th' fuck out 'f here, moved in with some chick 'r other. If he shows up 'gain, I'll be sure t' let 'im know not t' be bringin' any trouble 'pon folks here. Lord knows, better I be th' one t' tell 'im than someone else in th' Ferry, ain't so f'rgivin' 'r warm hearted 's I."

News of Kaylee seems to settle Sable down a bit, stopping her back and forth, and she nods her understanding. "Jus' makin' sure she's okay, 'r as okay 's c'n be asked. She got fucked up pokin' through my head so… y' know," she shrugs, "feel like I owe her t'… I dunno," she wrinkles her nose, "show I care? Fuck, I ain't no real use, I'm sure, not t' her, not like this. I'm a musician, f'r chrissake…

"…'m in a band, too, y'know," Sable mentions, with pointed nonchalance, "you listen t' much rock, hon?"

"Poking around in your head? Why did that hurt her so much?" Delia is confused and intrigued all at once, leaning forward to stare into Sable's yellow eyes with her contrasting blue ones. Her head angles to the side as she leans a little the same way, as though trying to get a 360 degree view of the spiky haired woman from where she sits. "I mean… if you don't mind me asking. I'm not— I'm not nearly anything like Kaylee… at all."

She leans back again after the futile effort of trying to see right through the other woman, even though Delia's incapable of xray vision. "Rock? Uhm… not so much? I don't listen to a lot of music… Okay, that's a lie, I listen to a lot of music, mostly whatever's on the radio though." It's possible that Sable's heard the noise of cat torture next door. That would be Delia in the shower.

"Uh…" Sable begins, really just indicating that she's not sure how to begin, "Guess… simplest way t' put it is that she sorta… blocked up some stuff in there a long time ago, 'n' turns out it's easier t' block somethin' up than it us t' unclog it. Like, way easier. Dunno 'xactly 'bout th' details, 'cause I ain't like Kaylee neither," and that reminds her… Sable suddenly peers at Delia, leaning forward in her seat. "You got somethin' you c'n do? Like most folks here?"

The discussion of music is put on the back burner, amazingly enough. For the best, really. Delia's answer might invite diatribe from Sable, for whom rock is God, Jimi Hendrix being the Messiah and John Lennon the last true prophet.
ORDER: It is now your pose.

"Dreams," the redhead answers simply, her shoulders lifting in a little twitch only to drop again quickly. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth again and she nibbles on it for a while before going any further. "My dad and my mentor call it dream walking, I guess it's some kind of telepathic thing… except when you're asleep. What about you?"

Unfortunately, where music is put on the back burner, Delia brings it back to the front. "What instrument do you play? In your band, I mean." The talk about abilities seems to make her a little nervous, a little more than nervous, actually. The visual proof is the flush across her forehead and glint of perspiration that follows. It can't be the heat, the room is unusually cool.

Sable's eyes widen in interest and what can only be called fascination, just from the first word. "Yer kiddin'," she says, a smile slowly curling her lips, "that's… well," her eyes crinkle a little, "hope y' don't mind me sayin'… I'd like t' see y' in action. Y' could, like, enter my dreams? Waltz in? What else? C'n y', like, change 'em? C'n y' talk t' me while I'm dreamin'?"

She's been asked about her musicianship directly, and it's a testament to how interesting she finds Delia's ability that she as brief as she is. "Guitar, mostly. That's my ability, y' see," she grins, "incredible musical genius. No big thing. I'll show y' sometime…

"But you gotta show me what you c'n do first…"

This is when Delia's face turns a brilliant shade of crimson, "Uhm… maybe someday, right now it's uhm… a little on the uhm… uhhh… intimate side. I can't go far, I have to be touching the person. I mean, I know how to do it without touching but it's too dangerous, to me. I could get lost and never find my way back." Her knee begins to bounce up and down in a quick rhythm, nerves likely.

"Incredible musical ability? Like Mozart?" It's back to the music, rather than the muse. "I can sing, I went to karaoke last night and I think I did pretty well." Except for all of the booing, she did.

Sable could, she could, make a crack about 'intimacy'. But she is, despite her affect, neither stupid nor necessarily lacking in finesse. The yellow eyed girl leans forward, reaching down to touch the tips of her fingers against Delia's knee, pressure set to still this nervous little tic.

"Honey," she says, catching Delia's blue eyes with her strange yellow ones, "I won't ask y' t' go far. I ain't gonna ask f'r nothin' y' won't willingly give. All I'm sayin' is, if y' need a head that already things well 'f y', need someone who'll let y' wander in sleepin' space, welcomed… I'm yer gal," her brows lift, "I mean it, arright? How y' gonna get better without practice? Nothin' I c'n dream that I don't mind y' seein'. Honest."

Sable leans back again, slowly, letting her earnestness settle in before smirking a little. "Mozart? More like Townsend, if I have th' choice. But yeah, sure," her smirk becomes a grin, "Mozart's good," her head tilts, "Sing, do y'?" The sounds of feline suffering have maybe been attributed to actual suffering felines.

"I promise I'll visit when I figure out what or where my anchor is." So far, the young woman hasn't got a clue. Her eyebrows twitch together in thought as the woman starts talking about musicians and she lifts them to meet Sables again. "Pete Townsend, right? From The Who? I saw Tommy when I was little, on Broadway. My mom took me and my sister there. She used to take us to a lot of things, on and off Broadway."

Her legs keep bouncing up and down in counter time with each other, creating an off rhythm ticking from her stool. She doesn't notice. "Yeah, I wanted to be a performer when I grew up. Things didn't quite happen that way though," there's a little bit of a smile as Delia's eyes flit around the stark white clinic. It needs some sort of color, otherwise the redhead will continue to look like the pimple in the clean environment.

"Anchor?" Sable says, squinting with one eye at Delia, "dunno what y' mean by that but… yeah. You keep that there promise. Honest, I'm downright intrigued 'n' all by whatall it sounds like you c'n do. 'n' yer so nearby," she smiles, tilting her head, "I dunno. Seems like mebbe we c'n get on, like, regular terms.

"Plus," the yellow eyed girl adds, reaching up to take the back of head and tugging it the other direction, cracking her neck, "you still got, like, aspirations 'f performin'… mebbe we c'n work on somethin' t'gether? I do guitar, you do vocals? Y' c'n meet my, like, crew. Good folks, best y'll ever meet."

"An anchor… it sort of lets me find my way back to my body, sort of keeps me tied there. The lady that's teaching me things, she said that if I don't have one I could never find my way back." There's another shrug, this time a much slower one as Delia regards Sable. "I used to talk to the people in the ICU at the hospital by holding their hands. But.. until I figure out what my anchor is, I won't be able to get back there." Her expression softens quite a bit, her lips pursing in thought.

She's still staring at Sable, but her eyes are a little glazed over, like someone who is daydreaming about something. There but not really there. A few blinks after the musician makes the offer about performance, Delia just shakes her head. "No, I mean, not really. After mom died, it sort of all changed. I wanted to go to medical school… but this registration thing… and running… changed all of it."

Sable is given a chance to appraise Delia without Delia appraising back fully. The moment of lapse into daydream allows Sable the opportunity to peer at her, to pause from the interaction as such long enough to draw some sort of judgment.

"Didn't figure it," she says, tapping her chin with a finger, "but makes sense, I s'ppose. Yer… kind of a real sweetheart, ain't y'?" Sable says this like the cat is out of the bag, Delia's secret… exposed! "Yer gonna deny it, but that'll just prove it," she grins, "So don't bother."

Sable slides down from her perch, reaches out, sets her hands on Delia's shoulders. It's not a pushy touch, but it certainly is forward, coming from someone one has just met. "Nothin' in th' world y' can't have if y' will it hard enough. I insist, hon. You mebbe gonna take some time b'fore visitin' my dreams, but gimme th' chance t' try 'n' give y' a taste 'f yers."

The sudden touch seems to throw the redhead for a loop. Taking a deep breath inward, Delia just seems to gape open mouthed at Sable for a little bit and then deflates speechless. Mostly speechless anyway. "Uhm.. You don't mean eating a doctor or anything, do you?" The words are sounded out very slowly and carefully, as though she's saying something she doesn't want to believe but isn't too sure about.

"I mean, I know someone that ate someone else, and tasted a few more people… So I'm just making sure. Not that I think all evolved people are cannibals, I don't. I'm sure some are even vegetarians… but.." Her voice drifts off again and Delia just clears her throat, giving Sable a weak smile. "You meant singing, didn't you?"

Sable winces as Delia uses those particular words. She closes her eyes, gives her head a slight shake. "I'm… just not… just not gonna even…" her eyes flutter open, as if emerging from her own daydream. "No, hon. I… yeah… I did mean singing," Sable confirms, her smile highly lopsided, "I ever set teeth t' you, babe, it's gonna be 'cause y' asked me, arright? Never you fear." She makes a small clicking noise with her tongue. "You really don' know 'bout me, eh? That prick too busy tryin' t' move in on y' t', like, actually say anythin' 'bout me?"

Both of Delia's eyebrows raise high on her forehead. There's the slow shake of her head, and her eyes are wide with uncertainty. "Uhm.. No, Amadeus just spent all of his time making me wish he was somewhere else. Like… every time he opened his mouth… I wished he would go away." The nurse's shoulders hunch up and forward as she dips her hands into the two front pockets of her scrub top.

It's no real wonder why the young woman isn't at all attracted to the homeless man. Stand the two side by side and there's a contrast like black and white, night and day. He's loud and crass while she's soft spoken and, so far, not one curse word has escaped her lips. "I mean, I'm sure he could be a nice guy. Maybe. Like… three percent chance. No more."

Sable has to stifle a laugh. Or, rather, she has to try and stifle a laugh. She bites her lip, nostrils flaring as the mirth seeks an exit through her nose instead. Not flattering. To save herself, she just… lets it go. Breaking into a snicker that quickly grows into a cackle. Dark hair flickers as she shakes her head. "Oh… oh Jesus… naw, naw, I take it back. Y' got a meanness t' y'," Sable's teeth gleam as she smiles, "and damn but if I don't like 'em mean. You watch out, gal, y' hear? I got a weakness f'r girls like you, 'n' I'm getting past th' point where I c'n manage 'em all."

Her hands slip up to catch Delia's cheeks, lifting her head back up, yellow catching on blue. "We're gonna get on. I've made up my mind. It's gonna be a challenge-like t' behave 'round you. But I'm gonna do it."

Delia's cheeks turn a vicious shade of crimson that are hot to the touch as Sable tilts her head up. No, Amadeus didn't tell her about the other woman, but she's never been face touched by another female except her mother. It turns the young woman a little rigid and even more nervous.

The left side of her lips pull to the side in a half smile and her voice, well… "Great!" It's just a squeak. There's not really any doubt, just an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. "So… he doesn't live with you anymore? So if he or … whatever her name is… comes to the apartment, you wouldn't be supermad if I like.. I don't know… " She's at a loss for words, there's nothing much she can do. "Fed them to the alley cats?"

"He moved on," Sable says, with a nod. Her touch lingers just a little longer, then withdraws. "Hey, gal, you defend yerself however y' please," she adds, grinning, "this is yer home now, long as y' want it t' be. But don't be too harsh. Keep that, like, three percent from th' jaws 'f th' cats, just in case."

Sable steps backwards, fingers lacing before her, head tilting once more. "Guessin' yer busy, hon, 'n' so I won't plague y' further. Just, how's 'bout when you get off yer shift sometime, y' come up t' my place, say hello? Mebbe we c'n go up to the roof, play a little tune?" She quirks her lips, "Pardon my askin', too… but do y' smoke green?"

"I'm supposed to go to Brooklyn after, my uhm… this guy that I'm seeing.. we're going to watch a movie. He's making the popcorn. Maybe tomorrow oh— Uhm… I have to go somewhere tomorrow.. uhm…" Reaching up, Delia gives the back of her neck a little rub before she shrugs and looks up at the other woman. "Unless you want to go with me, I mean… friends? It's this thing… costume thing. Could be fun." Friends are one thing the redhead doesn't have too many of.

"Green.. uhm… that's like spending money? I don't have a lot of it. All my bank accounts are sort of frozen, you know?" The redhead is a little nervous, it's true. "I sort of saved all my money for that costume thing. I still have to rent one tomorrow."

Oh no, this is just too cute. Sable snickers into her head, shaking her head again, something that is turning out to be a regular reaction to Delia's brand of adorable fluster. "Naw, girl. I mean, like… green. Grass. Mary Jane. Panama red. Y' know… weed," she rubs her nose, "guessin' that's as good as a no, anyways. No worries. I'll see if I can't warm y' up t' th' notion. Smart girl like you… gotta be curious, eh?"

As for the costume thing. "If yer talkin' 'bout what I think yer talkin' 'bout… I'm gonna be there. Goin' with a lady friend 'f mine. But yeah, hon, y'll see me. 'n' yeah… friends. Friends sound mighty fuckin' fine, and no mistake."

The dawn finally breaks in Delia's mind as Sable explains the whole green thing and her face flushes even more. "Uhm… no.. Not… no? I mean… Amadeus tried to get me into his rapevan once to… No." Clearing her throat with a loud 'hemmmm', the nurse shakes her head again. "I couldn't, no. I just no. Bad idea." It's like she forgot how to speak the English language, again. It's something of a regular occurrence.

The fact that Sable's going to the 'thing' too? It perks Delia up a little and somewhat snaps her out of the stammering stupor. "Great, I'll see you there then. What are you dressing like? Where did you get your costume? If you don't mind me asking… I don't know where to get anything."

Sable rolls her eyes. "Look, hon, I ain't so bad, am I? Don't you go judgin' Mary Jane just 'cause she's friendly with that dipshit, either. I ain't gonna push you, but know… I think y'd have a fine ol' time with a little bit 'f smoke 'n' wine."

A finger is lifted, tapping the side of her nose. "Ain't sayin' darlin'," she says, "yer gonna have t' try 'n' spot me yerself. I'll have an eye out f'r you, too. As f'r where I'm gettin' it? Ordered it off th' internet, bits 'n' pieces. Y' may have t' do it th' old fashioned way, though," she grins, "last minute. I like that. Yer spontaneous."

The yellow eyed girl, tips an invisible hat. "I'm gonna leave y' t' yer business, hon, but rest assured, we'll see each other 'gain," she winks, "sooner than y' fear." And with that, Sable sidles for the exit.

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