Participants:
| Scene Title | One More Time |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | The morning after the party, Quinn and Sable make a detour back to Quinn's apartment so that Quinn can impart a gift unto her. Things come to a head, however, when the conversation takes an unexpectedl turn. |
| Date | June 13, 2010 |
Quinn's Apartment, Brooklyn
Yawn, yawn, yawn. Probably not the best thing to do while driving. Hard not to, however, when you’re tired and hungover, as Quinn now was after the previous night. And probably as Sable was, perched behind her on her still jerking scooter. She’d asked the other girl if she minded swinging by her apartment first, thankfully she hadn’t. It sounded like it was going to be a busy day, but she at least needed a change of clothes. And, well, there was something else.
The scooter comes to a jerking stop in Quinn’s normal spot in front of her building, the Irish girl yawning and stretching before climbing off of it. “I’m not sure I want to do that again anytime soon.” She holds a hand to her head, mock stumbling. “Damn you and your bad influence, Sable.” She flashes a grin at the other girl, and begins her way to the door.
There are a couple of times during the trip when Sable's grip on Quinn loosens, rather alarmingly, as the rumble of the scooter and the warmth of her companion actually bring on a doze. Sable is quickly shaken from these, and only clings tighter afterwards as a result, and she's very, very glad to get back to Quinn's place in once piece. She gives a dim, crooked smile as she follows after Quinn, re-ruffling her hair to banish helmet head. "Y' must've known that from the get-go, hon. Don't think I made any motion t' hide it, did I? If so, I apologize f'r misrepresentin' myself."
Quinn laughs, and as Sable approaches the door to the building, she reaches out to ruffle the shorter girl’s hair again – but this time withdraws, thinking better of it given Sable’s usual reaction and everyone’s lack of sleep. “Just restatin’.” She opens the door and her hands retreat into her pockets, a smile on her face. Almost too wide even for Quinn. “Hey, Sable, last night bein’ a birthday party and all made me wonder, when’s your birthday?” It’s a question asked as she begins to make her way up steps, not looking back to look at Sable as she goes.
It's been a good night, and the edge has been taken off the yellow eyed girl. She blinks at the withdraw hand, almost with disappointment. "Whatcha drawin' back for?" she asks, "I ain't gonna bite," and of course, the expected grin, "Much 's I'd like to." She follows, step by step, and the question Quinn asks receives a short reply. "Dunno."
Still walking on, Quinn shrugs. “You always look a right bit annoyed, but I’ll keep that in mind from now on.” She slows a bit as they begin to approach the door of Quinn’s studio flat, the girl finally spinning around to face Sable. “What?” Her look is one of pure confusion. “That can’t be right. I mean, if you don’t wanna say, that’s fine.”
"Well, I don't much take t' people treatin' me like a pet on account of my compact stature," Sable explains, her accent taking on a touch of steady drone thanks to fatigue, "But I'll bear affection from you. I know it ain't demeanin'." She teeters back a bit at Quinn's spin. "Uh… no. I just dunno. Never seen my birth certificate or whatever."
She had been pulling out her key, ready to open the door. But at this revelation, she just dead stops, and tilts her head to look at Sable with just the most dumbfounded expression. “That’s… horrible! I mean, do you at least have a day you celebrate as your birthday?” The key finally turns, and the door is pushed open.
"In one 'f my foster homes, they used t' give me a slice of pound cake with a candle on th' day they took me in," Sable offers, not wanting to disappoint. She seems unperturbed by what Quinn considers an injustice. "Don't mind none, though," she reassures, stepping up to the now-open door, but waiting for Quinn to go in first, or to motion her in. Her patterns of courtesy are patchy, but contain some weird variety of personal logic. "We c'n make up a day, if you'd like. I'd be happy t' receive anythin' you'd care to give me as tribute 'n' celebration of my glorious fuckin' existence."
Foster homes? Clearly there was something Quinn had missed or not pieced together, but she’s smart enough to know that anything involving the words “Foster home” is typically a touchy subject, so she doesn’t press the issue. “I can’t imagin’ not having a birthday, not t’ sound insensitive.” She smiles and steps into the room, a hand motiong for Sable to come on in. “Well, I mean, if you don’t wanna that’s fine. But hey, if we’re gonna celebrate it, no better day than the present. Might as well, we just finished one birthday!” Quinn makes her way over to the corner of her room, amidst all the instruments, and first pulls out her guitar, then her violin.
Hard to say what is or isn't touchy when it comes to Sable. One thing's for sure, though. Besides her frequent and occasionally dubious sounding anecdotes, she doesn't volunteer much in the way of specifics when it comes to her past. Whether or not it haunts her is not clear - she doesn't seem all that haunted. Very much eyes ahead.
Quinn's suggestion, however, does remind me of the recent past. She reaches into her pocket and extracts a black bandana from it, using one hand and her teeth to tie it around her upper right arm. When she lets it go, she's free to speak, and speak she does, as she closes the door behind her. "Naw, naw, I'm still mournin' hon. Can't take another day off."
Mourning? Oh, right, her guitar. Hmm, this required a moment of thought. “Well, you know, we could still celebrate. It doesn’t have to be a full blown party’r anything.” She makes her way over to a chest of drawers, and with draws a complete change of clothes, tossing them down on the bed. “There’s a reason for asking, mind you. I kinda…” She pauses, and then turns back to Sable, shrugging. “I kinda got you something.”
Sable blink blinks, then smiles, bashfully. "Oh, I fuckin' see. Tryin' to slip that by me, make it like it wasn't just you wantin' to get me somethin'. Very fuckin' clever. I've pulled that trick before," she waggles a finger, "Y' ain't as sneaky as you think, 'n' yer sneakier than y' know." She moves over to the bed and plops down on its corner. "Well, cat's outta the bag now. You gotta pony up, 'n' appear just as sweet 'n' considerate as I know you are, 'n' shall henceforth know. Sucker."
Quinn wrinkles her nose, returning over to the “Musician’s Corner” of her room. “I just thought it might be more meanin’ful if it was…” She sighs, shrugs, and beds over, brushing away some clothes and other assorted things. “Just somethin’ that occurred to me on the way over is all, nothing sneaky.” When she stands back up and turns around, she’s holding a black guitar case, which she turns and places on the bed next to Sable.
Sable grins, not knowing what to expect, but pleased at expectation without object. "Meanin'ful? Aren't you just the poetic fuckin' soul," she jibes - by now Quinn must know this is just Sable's way of being fond. She gives Magnes enough shit, that's for sure. But when the case appears, her smirk vanishes. Her mouth opens slightly. "Naw…" she says, even as she turns to press her thumbs against the latches, "Naw, no way," and opens the case. Within, a blue acoustic-electric. A sleek beauty. A new friend. Sable is completely speechless. Quite the achievement.
“Hard t’ have a lead guitarist without a guitar, right?” Quinn smirks, still standing over Sable. “I mighta saved it for your birthday, but given the case and, well, you’re here now…” Her hands move to her hips. At this point, Sable’s silence is actually a bit unnerving to Quinn. “I mean… it’s okay, right? I know it might seem a right bit weird, bein’ as we’ve only know each other a few week, but…” She trails off a bit, letting out nervous laugh.
Well, she's got a guitar. The unnamed electric Magnes gave her. But this is a correction Sable has no interest in making. This gesture, this gift… it's too much. Yet still, she lowers her hands and touches them to the strings, to the body. Her eyes close. She's feeling it. When they reopen, she turns her gaze to Quinn. Her look is trying to appear suspicious, but she's not so good an actress as that. "Y' really make it hard on a girl tryin' t' keep t' her principles, dontcha?" she quips. She's too grateful to bear being any more heartfelt than she already feels. She has to joke, or go mad.
Quinn furrows her brow, not initially sure what Sable means. “I feel kind of bad givin’ it to you when you’re still mournin’ the other one, but I knew if I held on to it without a good reason much longer I’d have given it up anyway.” She plops down on the bed, picking up the change of clothes she’d gathered. It’s when she looks back up and at Sable that the meaning of her “principles” registers, and Quinn replies with another nervous laugh. “Well, I mean, I can hang on to it, if it’s that hard.” She smirks, and shrugs again. She hadn’t meant to send a message like that.
Sable acts on grateful impulse. She leans over, cups Quinn's cheek, and kisses her on the corner of her mouth. "I think I c'n control myself," she says, drawing back at no rushed pace, "Just don't be doin' kindness like this f'r me too often, y' hear?" Her thumb brushes Quinn's cheekbone, and then her hand falls away. "I'll play this first when I put Adelaide t' rest," she resolves, touching her fingers to the blue guitar again. "It's beautiful. Thanks, hon. This is as much goodness as I c'n properly stand. Any more, 'n' I'd go up in flames, honest."
“Then I probably shouldn’t mention what else I got you.” Of course, there isn’t anything, she just wants to see if Sable’ll actually spontaneously combust. Actually, that’d be a bad idea, wouldn’t it. She’s already got her own worries about fire lately, and…
Quinn closes her eyes and smiles, nodding. “Alright, next thin’a note, then.” She jumps up, clothes in hand, and then wrinkles her nose again. “I still need to change.” And it’s her own apartment, so she’s not about to wander off to the bathroom to do it. “Recommend coverin’ those yellow eyes of yours, Sable, while I get m’ kit off an’ all.”
Sable turns in her seat, facing the wall. She keeps one hand out, touching the gift. Gotta remind herself that it's actually there. "All clear, hon," she says, her tone much too 'innocent'. "Yer jokin' about th' other thin, right? You fuckin' better. I'll feel ungrateful, 'n' I can't be held responsible f'r myself in such a mood."
Over the rustling of the removal of clothes, Quinn laughs, though muffled by her shirt over her mouth. “Yes, I’m just kiddin’.” After a few moments, she plops back down on the bed to on pants, and then scoots over to the turned around Sable, giving the girl a peck on the cheek and a hand on her shoulder. “No need t’ feel ungrateful, dear. I’m just glad you like it.”
Sable isn't quite above giving a cursory look around for a conveniently placed mirror during Quinn's change. Just so she can know… where not to look again. Yeeeeah. That's it. And, as it happens, there is one, by the piano. But damn - I mean, good! - it's at the wrong angle. Sable scoots back against Quinn as the taller girl sets herself down behind her. "'course I like it. It's a fine thing, as you well know."
“Well, right good then.” Quinn reaches up ruffles the other girl’s hair, noting what she said earlier. “You can turn around now, by the by.” She dressed and ready to go now, despite a small part of her telling her to be otherwise, if only to be funny. “Should’a taken a shower but it’ll have to do for now.” Kinda gross, but she was already in clean clothes now, and had another girl here, and… well, it was probably asking for trouble.
"Well, now," Sable says, turning back around now that Quinn is decent, "I c'n certainly entertain myself if you wanna tend to all y' need t' tend," she says. Really, it's no trouble. "Come t' think of it, I sorely need a wash m'self, though I don't figure any of yer clothes would fit me, now would they?"
Quinn looks thoughtful for a moment. “I might, an’ some of my button up shorts probably wouldn’ have a noticeable difference.” She didn’t really keep that many small shirts around, but there’s bound to be a few. She hasn’t been clothes shopping in some time, save for new hoodies. “If you wanna take a shower, go for it, maybe I’ll join ‘ya.” And it takes Quinn several moments to realize just what she said, and her face turns bright red once she does. “I-I mean, join ya in showering, just not at the same time.”
Sable doesn't blush - it wasn't her slip up. Instead she grins and presses a finger to the center of Quinn's chest. "Yer th' guard 'f yer own fuckin' conduct," she informs Quinn, just in case she needed reminding. "You do as you like. Ain't my duty t' watch over anyone else save m'self. And that's a hard enough job as it is." She rises to her feet, glancing at the guitar before moving towards the bathroom. "I don't plan t' take long, hon." She says this breezily.
Quinn points over to the drawers, still bright red. “Just… just look through there, ‘m sure there’s somethin’ that fits. Pants, now that might be a bit of an issue, but keep diggin’.” She leans back on her hands, looking downwards – though there’s a smile on her face, no look to reflect her embarrassment. “ It was certainly a tempting though, a laugh escaping her lips as she flops back on her bed.
"I'll cross that there bridge when I get t' it," Sable assures Quinn, disappearing into the bathroom. The hiss of warm water can soon be heard issuing from behind the closed door. Well, not entirely closed. It's been left just a bit ajar. It appears Sable's wardenship over her behavior is becoming a little lax. There's the muffled squeak of bare foot against wet ceramic, and the shift in the sound of the shower. Someone's getting clean.
Quinn doesn’t respond, she just waves a hand dismissively. She just lays there on her bed, the guitar sitting on the far end by her feet. Her close, and there’s not much for her to do but wait for Sable. She’s already got her new clothes, and she wasn’t hungry. So she waits, smiling all the while.
Is what Sable feels, as she shampoos her hair, nervous anticipation? Certainly not, right? She is firm on her ground, on the rules she has set for herself. As she scrubs and rinses, she's glancing at that slightly open door because she's thinking of how she should have closed it - there could be no other reason, now could there? She said she wouldn't take long, but she's actually taking her time, and when finally she can clean herself to no greater extent, she turns off the water. As she steps out and wraps herself in a big towel, what she feels couldn't possibly be disappointment.
Sable edges out of the bathroom, bare legs sticking out from beneath the towel, hair a full shade darker and still dripping. "Hey. Uh… where do I look again?"
From her bed, Quinn’s head tilts, cautiously opening one eye. She’s not sure why Sable wouldn’t be wrapped up in a towel, but she’s learning to be surprised by her when she least expects it. Pointing to the drawers, she motions idly. “Bottom drawer. I think there might be a pair a’ shorts or somethin’ you can fit into. I ‘ave belts if not.” She lies back down, eyes closed.
Sable tiptoes over, leaving a trail of droplets as she goes, then stoops to open the drawer one handed - the other hand is keeping her towel in place. She roots around until she finds a pair of shorts and the smallest t-shirt she can find. No point in worrying about undergarments - that's an impassible rift for her at this moment. She feels… she doesn't know what she feels. She tucks the clothes under one arm and moves to the bed where Quinn lies. She tosses the clothes over and, seeing that Quinn's eyes are closed, she lets the towel drop from herself. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed, reaches for the shirt… pauses. Her eyes find Quinn again, and her hand leaves the shirt, instead moving to the neck of the guitar which still lies in its case. Fingertips brush the upper frets. She frowns, gazing at the russet halo Quinn's hair forms around her head.
Quinn’s feet begin to tap on the open air, like she’s got a beat in mind, her head beginning to move just the slightest bit side to side. After a moment of silence, she frowns. “Not havin’ trouble findin’ anythin’ are you?” She’s sure there’s got to be something in there that fits Sable. She can tell she’s sat down on the bed, but the lack of sound otherwise doesn’t go unnoticed. “There’s a laundry on the first floor if you’d rather an’ don’t mind hangin’ around a bit.”
A fingertip plucks a single string, releasing a feeble note - not much leverage that high on the fretboard. Sable closes her eyes as the sound pings out, then fades. "Naw," she says, "I'm jus'…" Just what, exactly? "Y'know." Does she? Sable reaches out for the t-shirt and slowly pulls it over her head, arms sliding through the arm holes, head appear from under the collar, some droplets of water shaking loose, scattering, some pattering onto Quinn. She grabs the shorts, examines them, then flops back, legs in the air as she slides them on. She does all this with that same frown.
As the droplets of water find their way to her body, a few going as far as her neck, Quinn spring up, eyes up, “Ey’ now! Careful with water on the bed!” This is, of course, not parsing the fact that she’d been sitting, wet, on her bed the entire time. Not to mention the fact that she springs up likely just a moment too early, Sable still sliding on the pants, and Quinn’s red again. Not that she really saw anything, but still.
She swivels, her legs dangling over the edge of her bed. “And that all fits fine?” She grins, looking at Sable. Her eyes narrow as she catches the frown, arms crossing across her stomach. “Everythin’ okay? I didn’t leave somethin’ embarrassing in the bathroom, did I?”
Zzzzip button. Everything's stowed away, safely out of sight. Sable would like to hide her frown, but it only deepens as Quinn points out what it implies - that not all is totally well. No use in playing it off as nothing. Quinn's not bound to fall for such a facile misdirection. Sable opts, instead, to be relatively truthful. Though, when she does so, it comes out sounding like an evasive non sequitur. "Why'd y' dye yer hair red?"
Quinn quirks an eyebrow, pulling some of her hair into view. “All the best Irish girls have red hair.” She cracks a grin, and then gives a nonchalant shrug. “Felt like it, I do it from time t’ time. I prefer it t; boring brown hair, personally.” She lets the hair fall from her grip, her other hand tapping a few times on the bed. “Why do ya ask?”
That frown just won't quit. The corners of Sable's lips have even turned down. "This is sorta really fuckin' uncool of me," she begins, glowering at Quinn, though the expression is directed at its owner, "But I'm gonna have t' talk about, like, other girls. If you wanna know my mind, that is. I know that ain't exactly always what one wants t' fuckin' hear about, y'know? But that's what's troublin' me. 'bout your hair."
It wasn’t exactly what Quinn wanted to hear, no, and honestly she was a little surprised. Not that… Sable knew other girls, but… okay, she wasn’t sure what about, it was just a feeling she had. Her mouth moves side to side, like she’s considering, and then she nods. “If ‘ya have somethin’ you need to say, go for it.” She was good at listening, at least. “My hair remind you of someone or… somethin’?”
Sable closes her eyes, readying herself for confessional self-ass making. If this doesn't make her rules about bandmember interrelations an effective reality, God knows what will. She knows well enough that talking about other girls is tantamount to romantic suicide. "Colette, that gal you met, got the same sorta, like, power you got? Me 'n' her had a thing. 'n' it turned into another thing that sorta fuckin' sucked f'r me and left me with a bad case 'f hearache I'm still tryin' to remedy. So, like, yeah, you got that in common with her. The power, that is, 'n' in that yer a gal I had a thing with. So, like, also there's Delilah, the redhead who was at Melissa's party, right? 'n' I've sorta had somethin' like a vergin' on thing with her, on account of some complicated shit I don't wanna get into but, like, trust me that it makes sense t' me. And then, right after I start wooin' her in earnest, y' go 'n' get yer hair dyed red. Makin' you suddenly, like, this fuckin' convergence or somethin'. So, like… these all look like signs t' me, yet I've no notion of what t' make of any of 'em," whew… Sable takes a deep breath before going on.
"'n' on top of this, yer in the band, meanin' I can't by, like, fuckin' personal mandate do anythin' with you. 'cept now, right after I lose Adelaide, y' go and replace her for me. So here I am, neck deep in all these… fuckin' omens. And there you are, lovely with yer red hair. 'n' I have no fuckin' clue what t' do with m'self." And that's that. Sable is getting ready to wince at whatever result this long admission may have.
Quinn fall silent, running a hand through her hair after Sable finishes speaking. She’s not frowning, but she’s not smiling either, she just looks stoic – and that’s a really unusual look for her. After a moment, she sighs. “That’s… right interestin’, to say the least.” She fidgets a bit, and she sounds a bit nervous, in a manner mirroring when the pair first met. “I didn’ get you the guitar with any sorta motive, Sable, but I won’t lie.” She steels herself, leaning forward a bit. “I do like you, as much as I can someone I’ve not even known a month, I guess.” Pretty sure admitting that isn’t going to help matters immediately, but at this point it probably needs to be said. She shifts a bit, so that she’s facing Sable. Hell of a mental battle raging in her head, and the look of consternation on her face communicate that pretty well.
And finally, something makes a decision for her. She reaches up, a hand no Sable cheek, and turns her towards her, leaning forward. She stops short, though, and shakes her head. “I don’t wanna make you go against your principles and all. That’s not fair an’ all. I don’ want to cause you undue stress, an’ I’ll let it go if you’d rather.”
It's telling that Sable's eyes are halfway to sliding shut as Quinn leans in, and then flutter open in something like alarm when… nothing happens. There it is again. That feeling that can't be disappointment. Sitting there, high in her chest, pressing down. And that's not her only feeling. She gnaws her lip, in paroxysms of frustration. Her own hands close into fists, fingers curling into the sheets she dampened. "I can't fall in love with you," she growls, at length, "That'd fuck everythin' up so fuckin' royally. 'n' I'm such a poor master 'f my heart. Goddammit, but if I knew for sure it was just you 'n' me as comrades, that me doin' what I so badly wanna do to you now wouldn't change a fuckin' thing - then mebbe. But that ain't how this ever goes. I just… I fuckin' can't."
Echoed words. Words she's heard herself. 'I can't'. Sable hates those words. She hates them so much, she just pounces on Quinn, gripping her by the shoulders and wrestling her onto the bed, kissing her hard. She's out and out savage. When she draws back, her eyes are burning. "If we do this just once fuckin' more," she growls, "Will it be any better? Tell me. Will our heads be any the clearer for it?"
Quinn is caught off guard. Like, really offguard. That wasn’t really the reaction she’d expected. She liked it, and she certainly didn’t fight it. But when Sable pulls back from the kiss, the look on her face and the question she poses suddenly make her feel less excited, and more conflicted. She wasn’t sure what brand of clarity Sable wanted so bad. Ah, feck it. Her arm wraps up around Sable, hand to the back of her head, and Quinn pulls her back down, repeating the kiss she was given. “M’ mind’s clear.” Well, clear in the sense that she really knows what she wants. Clear as to what’s going to come of it? Not even close. Her other hand moves down to Sable’s side, holding tight. If she misunderstood what Sable meant, it might be a bit too late.
The kiss is really the answer, more than the words. The words are a embellishment, gilt on a lily. Sable gives a shiver, as if the wet of the shower had finally hit her. Her yellow eyes are slits, squinted tight in a look of deep wariness and deeper want. "Just once," she exhales, even as she's sliding her leg between Quinn's own, "Y' here? Just t' set us at rights. Once." A smile creeps to her lips as she leans in, lips brushing Quinn's own as she says one last thing, "So we better make th' goddamn most of it, eh?"
“Just once?” She had to repeat the words, for her own benefit. At the moment, they weren’t exactly words that made her happy (if she were actually capable of being unhappy in that moment), but those were the terms, and maybe from there… maybe from there she wouldn’t have to challenge anyone’s principles anymore. Hands trail up Sable’s side, taking back her shirt. Her hands find Sable’s shoulders, and she can only assume she has managed to catch her off guard as she pushes her over, switching their positions.
“I never did get that shower, y’ know.”