Participants:
| Scene Title | Parting Threads |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Tasha is leaving to spend the ominous upcoming week with her mother, and Tamara is leaving… for somewhere else. |
| Date | November 6, 2010 |
Gun Hill: Colette and Tasha's Apartment
A duffel bag sits on the sofa, mostly filled with clothes for the week. Tasha is kneeling in front of the entertainment center, pulling DVDs to bring with her for the week she's promised to stay with Joanna. As usual, music plays from the stereo — today it is Vampire Weekend, playing "Oxford Comma" as Tasha makes a stack of about 10 movies. Indecision seems to be the state of her mind — "The Hangover" is taken from the stack and put back in the shelf, replaced by "Up," then "Wall-E" is taken from the stack and replaced with "My Fair Lady."
The indecision is of course a mere projection of Tasha's emotional state. She is torn by her promise to stay at her mom's and her need to stay with Colette. Somehow she needs to split herself in two come Monday. Not for the first time does Tasha wish she had an Evolved ability — this time, the wished-for power is cloning or something close to it. She heaves a sigh, gathering the stack of movies and rises to bring them to the bag on the sofa.
The girl who walks out of the apartment's second bedroom is dressed for going out — in the literal sense, having given attention to shoes and hair that anyone else routinely performs, and she only rarely. Jade-green knit sweater, blue jeans, even a scarf knotted over her shoulders. Around her left hand is looped the length of a blue leash, unattached to the half-grown dog following at her heels; her right holds something small, barely visible around flattened fingers. Close scrutiny would place the white edges as belonging to an envelope.
Click-click is the dog's familiar tread on hardwoord flooring, higher-pitched and noisier than Tamara's unhurried strides. The girl pauses briefly, then re-angles course to walk to the edge of the sofa, left elbow leaning against its arm as she looks upon the bag being packed. Blue eyes lift to Tasha, and her lips quirk sideways, sympathetically wry. "You have what you wanted to keep?"
What she wants to keep won't fit in a bag — that's Tasha's initial thought, but she looks up and smiles at Tamara. "Just trying to figure out what I need to keep me sane for a week with my mother. I'll stop by here to pick up things if I forget anything. She's still going to work, not taking off, because she has an important case, I think, unless she's changed her mind, and I need to still go to school, so I'll be around if you guys need me. You have my cell phone number, right?"
Like Tamara has ever called her on the cell phone.
"I'm just across town so if you need anything, I'll come right away," she says, a tone of feigned nonchalance.
Waving for Misty to stay back by the sofa's end — which the dog does, although whether she really would've moved in the first place… — Tamara steps in around its front, the better to stand beside Tasha. "I know," the blonde assures the younger girl, smiling with tolerant affection. She also knows how unlikely it is a call will get through when it comes to it — on that day — but saying that wouldn't soothe Tasha's worries even a little. "Do something for me?" Tamara asks, then, an unexpected non-sequitur.
Her right hand presses into Tasha's the angular shape of an envelope — one that, upon inspection, is addressed simply with Colette. Whatever's in it seems padded with paper, difficult to guess at, aside from being 'small'.
Glancing down at the paper pressed into her hands, Tasha nods. Her brows knit together with confusion and worry, and she glances up to meet Tamara's eyes. "Okay," she answers to the request, though she realizes she's not sure when, though she can guess why, and that doesn't soothe her fears any, either.
"When? I mean — you could just leave it for her, so…" she doesn't finish that sentence. If Tamara could just leave it for her, she would. There's a reason she wants Tasha to give it to Colette, and Tasha is pretty sure she won't get a clear answer on why, but perhaps when is simple enough for the strange brand of communication that is Tamara's mode of operation. "When do you want me to give to to her?" she repeats.
Tamara's turn to frown, then, weight rocking back on her heels while she considers the question. Considers its answer. After a long moment, the girl presses her lips together, nods slightly as if to herself. "When it was clear," she replies; as replies go, that one is less than clear. But maybe time, and unfolding context, will fill in the gaps. Sometimes they do.
Blue eyes flick to the bag, hold there a moment, return to Tasha. Her smile reappears — affectionate, with an edge of mischief. It's a common expression for Tamara. Reaching up to brush bits of brunette hair back, as if anything that short could be out of sorts in the first place, is as typically casual as the subsequent light press of fingertips against Tasha's cheekbone.
The kiss that follows is not so usual a gesture.
The worried look softens for a moment at the affectionate gesture, and Tasha shoves the envelope into her back pocket before wrapping her arms around Tamara and hugging tightly.
She buries her face against the scarf on Tam's shoulders, breathing deeply for a moment. No one as sweet as Tamara could possibly do any harm to them, right? Colette will be safe. They have changed enough — just by knowing, the eighth can't possibly come about as how they saw it, right? She exhales, a long shuddering thing, and then lifts her head, dark eyes peering into those blue.
"Be careful, okay? I'll be around. Call me if you need me for anything. Are you going somewhere, that you won't see Colette?" She shakes her head, knowing she isn't phrasing things in ways that will yield coherent answers. "Never mind. Be safe, okay?"
Unhesitatingly hugging Tasha back, Tamara smiles at the younger girl when she pulls back and speaks. "Enjoy your visit," she says in return, blessing or mandate; a distinct lack of assurances and promises, but there are a dozen explanations for why not, and only one of them has anything to do with possible future events. Releasing Tasha, the seeress steps away, working her way back out from between the sofa and coffee table to rejoin Misty. The dog pads expectantly over to the door; recognizing the implicit demand, Tamara follows, casting a smile and quick wave to Tasha without saying anything else.
She definitely doesn't mention the knife that's been silently restored to its covert sheath.
That wouldn't help Tasha worry any less.