Participants:
| Scene Title | On the Stairway to Heaven |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Delilah makes herself clear to her suitor, Sable. |
| Date | July 18, 2010 |
Octagon: Else and Delilah's Apartment
The apartments of the Octagon are among some of the most prime pieces of rental real-estate in New York City. Bright, open, and clean, these apartments are all painted an eggshell white and feature floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a sweeping, unobstructed view of the East River and Manhattan skyline. Hardwood floors spread from wall to wall and through the spacious bedrooms and private laundry rooms complete with washer/dryer utilities.
The open-concept kitchen in the apartment features stainless steel appliances, polished granite countertops, cherry finished cabinets and ceramic floor tile with all the convenience of a modern kitchen. The bathrooms are finished with classic subway wall tile and porcelain floor tile in bathrooms with elegantly designed corner-set curved showers wproviding more spacious shower area along with porcelain pedestal sinks.
Each apartment comes in two or three bedroom designs, each with spacious walk-in closets with individually controlled heating and cooling. The apartment is also set up with free Cable TV and Internet hook-ups in multiple locations.
Sable was confined to quarters for a while, but there's no way she's going to stay in one place, not if she can't play. She needs distraction, very badly, and after she heads out to collect visions, fulfill her portion of virtue for the day, she rewards herself by taking the bus out to Delilah's. She doesn't announce her coming. She hopes, hopes, that this won't involve her coming at a bad time, but she wants to be a little spontaneous, a little more bold. That's never usually a problem for her.
Delilah has strange effects. Sable refuses to give her interiorization of Magnes the satisfaction of calling her her kryptonite. She just won't do it.
So when Sable arrives, dressed in her traditional garb of tanktop and cargo pants (sans hat - it's too hot), it's as a surprise. Three knocks. She hitches a smile to her face, trying to look cool and unfazed, despite her sling.
"It's open! I don't suppose whoever's out there would be here for a bad reason-" This time, Delilah isn't tromping to the door; while it's not a busy time, per se, she seems to be doing something that makes her respond over Samson's whuffing. She gets into the response a bit too far, though, obviously. Lilah is inside on the living room floor, poised on a yoga mat with one leg curved just under her, and the other stretched back. Cotton clothes, too, she at least looks to be making an effort with these prenatal yoga shenanigans.
Sable turns the knob and slips in, closing the door behind her with her back. Like she's sneaking in. Which she sort of feels like she is. Or at least she was, only Dee's right there in the living room. Sable receives Samson's greetings, paying tribute to the dog of the house, an important, totemic role to be sure. Then she sidles over to the stretching Dee. She grins wide, crooked, and lifts her hand to her forehead, thumping it. "In younger, stupider days, I'd make some sorta comment," she says, with a tiny snicker, "But I ain't that foolish anymore," she makes to kneel down in front of Delilah, and stretching out to place a kiss on the corner of her mouth, extending a bit so she doesn't interfere with the pose. She leans back smiling with that fond look she gets. "Y' look lovely, darlin'. I hope I ain't intrudin', but I needed t' see y' in a bad way. 's arright I'm here, eh?" She does ask permission, but her smile is a little roguish.
"Just don't knock me over and you're fine." Delilah answers, grinning, as she moves her other leg up so that she is sitting with her legs bowed, hands on knees. "And let's face it, even if you're not making the comment, you're thinking it." Touche. She doesn't spend too long in the sitting position, leaning carefully back, with legs still bowed, to put her shoulders to the floor. "Oh. There we go. I like this one. Mm."
Oddly enough, Sable probably likes this one too. If possibly because Delilah's getting some mom-cleavage, and this isn't exactly a peaceable lie down. "How's your arm doing?"
Hold on. Give her a sec to turn her brain back on. Sable edges around to get a better look at Dee…'s face. Yes. To converse. The yellow eyed girl gives a one-shouldered shrug, eyes lifting to the ceiling in bashfulness. "Fair enough. But comon'," she grins, "It's only healthy. I'm okay with gettin' older. I just don't wanna get old, dig?" she settle down into a sit, next to Delilah. She points at her split and sling, explaining with the succinct, "Six weeks. No playin' guitar. I'm like a junkie goin' through withdrawal, y'know? There's only a few things I got t' help me feel good, get my mind off it," her eyes crinkle with a momentary grin, "Now, y' can b' sure me bein' here's 'bout one 'f 'em. Y' c'n guess just what that is, darlin'. Be as imaginative as y' like 'bout it."
"Could always help me learn. Tell me what I'm not doing and what I should be?" Delilah is saying this about the guitar, but who knows how it is taken. "Oh Yes, I've got an imagination." She laughs quite thoroughly at that, keeping in the lying position for quite a bit before putting her knees up and together, feet on the floor. With this, she arches the small of her back and extends her arms up behind her head. Samson decides that now is an excellent time to see what she's doing, wandering over and putting his nose in her face.
"Excuse me, sir. Can I help you?" Tail-wagging.
Sable takes it every which way, but she doesn't necessarily voice them all. The gleam in her eyes is the only expression of every possibility, which eyes flick back and forth, just once. No need to overdo it. "I've got t' go t' work most days, but I could start comin' over more regular like, after I get done. We could get a lot done, darlin'. There's a lot I could show y'." Of course, she's not going to stop the ambiguity. Sable tilts to the side, looking through the tunnel Dee's back forms, then rights herself to find that Samson has some sort of request.
"Y' know what he's askin' f'r?" Sable inquires, "I c'n go get it, if y' know what it is. Glad t' lend a hand," she lifts her arm, "Though a hand's all I got."
"No idea. Everything below his eye level is his business." Delilah breaks pose to push Samson out of her face, and he responds by lying down next to her and effectively rolling her off to the side. She lets out an affronted, squeaking noise, lifting her palms to push him back for a moment. "That's not fair. I'll get you your own mat, fine."
Lilah sighs, sitting up and folding her legs in the process. Samson just grunts and rolls further onto the mat. As for the ambiguity, Dee doesn't say a thing about it. "I'd like that, if you came by."
The yellow eyed girl grins with a variety of appreciations as Samson asserts his rulership over his particular stratum of the house. Sable can sympathize. When your reach is limited, you try and get as much use out of the range you've got. Inches become more valuable, and boldness is required to defend your hard-won territory from the tall.
There's a noticeable brightening as the suggestion Sable was ready to let slide if left unanswered or answered vaguely produces a direct affirmative. She rocks back and forth on her seat a bit, a rather childish fidget that she can pull off mostly because of her stature. "Sounds like we've got 'n' arrangement, then," she says, grinning, "I may just survive, gettin' t' play vicarilous-like," (sic) "'n' y'll be t' thank f'r savin' me. My gratitude'll be near-endless. Y'll have t' work t' see th' end 'f it."
A pause. "Figure Magnes has any fuckin' clue what he's talkin' 'bout when he gives advice 'bout girls? Like… mebbe he's th' sort that can't do, but c'n mebbe teach once in a while?" A question out of nowhere. And much too general not to indicate something specific mooring it in her mind.
Delilah goes into climbing over Samson to get up from the floor. He doesn't seem to mind. Just a giant lump of dog. "Magnes? Well-" The redhead begins as she gets up, only looking back to Sable when she is on her feet. "Sometimes. Sometimes he gets it right, sometimes he has no clue. He has the meaning well thing down. Why? Did he give you advice?" She can't help but laugh a little, stretching her arms up above her head and taking a deep breath inward.
"I hazard a guess that he may have gotten a lot of things from me. I was his first- well- not girlfriend, really- but- you know. He and I were somewhat just- pro-benefits."
Sable remains in Samson's domain, looking up at Delilah from her perch on the floor with the watchful intent of the genuine listener. Obviously something specific. "He's crap at talkin' a girl up, I know," she says, and while it's nothing like a compliment, she says it with the fondness of the loyal friend, "Dunno how much his bad luck is just bad luck, which it can be, 'n' how much is him bein' a dumbass. Figure mebbe a little 'f both, seein' as bad luck c'n be turned t' th' good if yer clever 'bout it. But he's got no guile…"
Which brings her neatly, if unintentionally, to her point of mooring. "He did, of a sort. 'f course it was just one 'f those damn things people say. 'Be yerself'," she wrinkles her nose, "Which… I dunno," her head tilts, "He figures he got that from you, yeah. But I dunno what might 'f been lost in the space b'tween hearin' 'n' tellin'. So mebbe I guess I'm askin' you what y' think 'f that particular, like, gem. 'Be yerself'. Whoever th' fuck that might be."
"He's right, though." Delilah stretches her fingers last, rocking onto her toes. "Dunno what context it was in, but that's really universal advice. You don't have too much of a problem being yourself, Sable." She laughs, bright and smiling, before she ruffles her hair and wanders out towards the kitchen. While there, she seems to be finding herself a bottle of juice. "Do you want something to drink?"
"And there's sort of something I've had on my mind, incidentally when I mentioned it to a friend she gave me sort of the same advice MAgnes apparently loves to pass off." A sheepish laugh comes next, the young woman in the kitchen now going through the motions of retying her cotton pants.
Sable sniffs, trying not to smile as her hair is ruffled. Her first reply is mostly muttered. "You try bein' me, see how easy it is, eh?" When Delilah moves to the kitchen, Sable is able to get a glimpse of her back, and allow herself a wide, sappy smile. Precisely the sort of 'her' she tries to keep just a little under wraps, however unsuccessfully.
The scramble to her feet is achieved without aid from Samson. Sable isn't going to take liberties with the dog; she's the newcomer here, after all. She gives chase to the kitchen, a route she is getting to know a little better, something that, in Sable's mystical mind, she finds it easy to attribute ritual significance to. She leans against the side of the fridge, getting on tiptoes to peer into the cool white interior. "Y' know me. Dr. Pepper 'r Mr. Pibb'll do me, if y've got it."
Her eyes flick up the moment Dee mentions the 'something on her mind'. "Hard t' imagine you havin' trouble bein' yerself either, darlin'. But you go 'n' tell me what's on yer mind, if y' will. I won't fail t' return in kind, if, like… y'know… y' care t' hear."
"It's about this." She starts off quite abruptly, though pauses soon after. "Us, whatever it is that we're up to, your courting me." That's an old school term, but it fits. "But don't look at me funny, okay, I'm not getting at anything bad." Before Sable really has a chance to say something, Dee has a finger up and an almost stern bend to her eyebrows.
Funny looks are sort of hard to avoid. Sable's insides are immediately set into wild tumble, like a very, very aggressive case of the butterflies. Mothras to her interior Tokyo, to risk a bizarre metaphor. Actually, forget I said that. It's just intense, okay? And of course it is, this introduction demanding the activation of a dozen competing and conflicting hopes, fears, anxieties and, of course, her simple, forceful curiosity.
So the expression Dee gets is something like that of a deer who is very interested in those oncoming bright pools of light. Just being herself! But, dutifully, she bites her lip and pulls that look back a few notches, unable to hide her nervous anticipation and only somewhat reassured by the promise that it's nothing bad (does 'not bad' mean 'good', or does it just mean 'not bad?). She nods.
"Hit me, darlin'."
Delilah entertains the idea for a second, admittedly, if just of curiosity. Obviously she doesn't, that would be terrible. Instead, she fishes Sable out a goodwill gift in the form of a Dr. Pepper can, opening her own juice a second later. Her mood seems mellow enough, for the butterfly filled topic. "I'm sure you know this is a complicated time for me." She does not feel the need to point out her parasite with Irish-Sicilian DNA, as she feels it is obvious. The bottle is sat down on the counter, and Dee looks to Sable with the gentlest smile look she can muster.
"You are so lovely, and so good to me, but I'm not going to sugar it up and say I'm not nervous about you- about you wanting to be with me. I love you a lot, Sable." That much is truth- Lilah has a lot of love to give, and doesn't make light of the fact at all. "And I don't want you to think that I don't when I say I'm really not sure about being in a committed relationship right now. I'm in such a weird part of my life that it gets kind of confusing, but what I know is that I'm going to need the people I care about more than anything, soon enough." But she really isn't sure of the various capacities, is the problem. Maybe not what Sable wants to hear, but it's not the worst news, is it? She never said never.
You've just gotta roll with the punches. Doesn't matter what kind. Just roll as you seem them coming, and if they don't quite miss you, at least they don't quite hit you. Sable takes the can and settles its cool surface in the crook of her wounded arm, letting it chill the bruised skin she has, out of vanity, kept wrapped in white surgical cloth she snagged from the clinic (she asked first, she swears!) She blinks a fair bit, and her mouth is a clean lined couched into unsteady temporary discipline, as Delilah lays down her hand.
Sable figures it's okay to remain quiet for a little bit after Delilah's done. This is a clear statement Delilah's made, and it deserves a clear answer, but Sable's own feelings are badly snarled and she needs some time to tease out the best of the threads. At length, and without yet nodding affirmation, she poses a question.
"Don't gotta stop bein' good t' you, do I? Like I've been doin'. 'r tryin' t' do?"
Delilah already feels like she's shattered Sable to pieces, putting a hand to her own forehead, flustered, and a little embarrassed. She smiles past it, however, slowly getting back to her warm smile and soft gaze. "You're one of the best women I've ever known." That's not a lie, even for such a short time of knowing Sable well enough. "I'm not telling you to stop doing what you want to do- and we can be close, like we have been- I- I wanted to make sure you knew, that I'm not ready for anything too serious, just yet. I want to be, I really do- but I know I couldn't handle it right now."
"I don't want you to feel like it's anything you did." The redhead can't help but let her brown eyes get a pinch wet, thinking about it. "Because it's not. You're so magnetic with yourself, and you are good to me. Sometimes I even feel like I'm not good enough for what you want to shower on me. That's how lovely you are."
The fact that Sable is unable to cushion herself from Delilah's regard, that fact that she can't safely tuck Dee's words into some sort of lewd context with which the erstwhile vagrant feels much more at home and in control, is testament to just how shattered she is. But shattered isn't bad. Sable has already stated that love remakes you. And you have to get broken before you can be built back up. Little deaths lead to little rebirths.
Then again, what Dee is suggesting is a maintenance of the status quo, not any radical shift. But content doesn't have to change in order for a new frame to be set in place, refiguring an entire context. Things are clearer now. And Sable sees Delilah, and she smiles, slowly but without restraint.
"Oh, darlin'," she says, "D' y' think I do it just f'r you?" Her laugh is inaudible, but visible in her eyes, in the slight crinkling at their corners, "D' y' think it ain't f'r my own heart's good that I do all I do? It's all in hopes that there ain't no difference b'tween what I want 'n' what you want, whichever way that swings us. T' give y' what I give, t' dare t' love y'… it's the worst sorta selfishness. Don't you ever f'r a moment feel heavy at heart. How c'n y' ever not be good 'nuff? Y' are my good. Yer what goodness is, as I've decided f'r myself," for a moment, a hint of the mischievous tinges the warmth of her expression, sparks from the hearth, "Whether 'r not y' care f'r it."
"That y' care f'r it - f'r me - at all…" Sable reaches out to take Delilah's hand, "Jesus, gal… Heaven's stairway is a fair bit higher th'n what I've scaled, I know that," she lifts Delilah's hand to her lips, kissing it, "But I'll have patience 'nuff f'r twice th' climb, knowin' y'll have me even as I am, 'n' as we are."
Being someone that Sable cares so much about is quite like being swept off of your feet by a gallant, romanticized pirate in his shiny boots and buttons. All the way down to the way she talks, and the way she thinks. While Dee is first left to chew at her lower lip, it progresses into a small smile to match the other girl's growing one. She can't really hope to ever read minds, much less Sable's.
As she speaks onward, of Delilah being her 'good', it puts fresh butterflies up through her own chest. A fuzzy feeling that only a few people have ever really made happen. If Sable knew, Dee is sure that she would be elated about it.
"…You'll have to be very patient with me, I'm afraid." When there is finally a real answer, her fingers are clutching gently onto the hand that's taken hers to lips, and a bright smile sits on her face. "Not to mention, my third trimester is coming up, and I've heard there's lots of-" Pause, two, three. "-rambunctious days. Don't let me lead you somewhere off the map." Map being a metaphor for what she knows she can handle. Clearly, it is not everything to do with being this close to someone. Not quite.
Blame the thinking on forty years of rock music, all filtered into a single reckless, young mind at just the right time. Blame the shiny buttons on the outfits worn for Sgt. Pepper's. Blame the accent on God knows what - mostly a simple need to stand out, and to make her aggressive attitude seem folksy and charming rather than scary. If it comes together to form something genuinely romantic, Dee's as much to thank for a confluence that looks better than absurd.
"I ain't th' least bit afraid, so don't you be," Sable assures Delilah, her own smile pouring out ever last lumen its got.
Also, you really shouldn't give Sable metaphors. She'll run with them, like a kid with scissors.
"'Don't worry, darlin'," she winks, "I'm a trailblazer."