Participants:
| Scene Title | Pot Calling Kettle Black |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Aaron comes to make sure he still has a job and Abigail made an assumption. This ends up with a very angry and disgusted Aaron who apparently hold anti-evolved sentiments and Abigail downright perky thanks to Aaron's own ability. |
| Date | April 28, 2009 |
Old Lucy's has a vibrant and lively feel to it, from the dark wooden floors to the shady crimson walls lit up by neon lights and many times, the flashing of cameras from the oft-crowded floor. The mirror behind the bar reflects prices of various drinks, bottles lined up, as well as the entire saloon as seen from the bartenders; bolted-down stools line the other side, and there are loose tables and chairs placed all around, though many times they find themselves pushed back for more space within the center of the saloon. A few speakers are placed at strategic places and around a raised stage to the far corner from the bar. Above the counter, an obviously well-used bar is hung; it is this that the girls working will use should there be dancing, which is one reason many patrons choose to come aside from the drinks. Across the bar and near the back, there is a door that leads to the owner's office and just inside a stairwell that leads a apartment on the floor above the bar.
7 in the evening. Weeknights are a little slower than weekend nights. Monday nights are also not a night that the littlest Nun works. But she can be found in the back room by the door leading to the bar with her laptop. Homework. She could concentrate better at home but Ewan is there and he's dancing around like a fool - yes, she knows, he's dancing. Odd. One pencil behind her ear, the healer is writing down stuff on a yellow legal pad, frustration at not being able to grasp some of the English class concepts being tossed around in her class and on the homework. On her conversation with her Psychologist today, a bunch of things really. The laptop is basically being ignored in favor of the paper, eschewing technology as always.
Madness. Total and utter madness. Although that perfectly well describes Abby's recent situation, it also reflects — to a lesser extent — Aaron's own situation. Paulo, his boss and landlord, recently shuffled some schedules around to make room for his nephew, Augusto, the end result of which will be a reduction in Aaron's hours. In the last week, however, he's had to train August in addition to his normal duties, thereby tying up most of his time. So needless to say, when he finally does get into Old Lucy's, it's been some time since he was last in and he has completely missed the entire debacle with Abby and the news. His tone is only guilty when he asks Brenda if Abby's in, though it's not like he didn't call and leave a message for her regarding his situation. Of course, whether or not she got the message is an entirely different story.
Abby got the message, only she was of the impression that he wasn't going to show up period after seeing the news. Some people, they don't like people with evolved abilities or as Abby had said - more accurately, Slyar had said - A Gift from God. The timing may be co-incidence, but Abigail had marked him off as one of those people. She was surprised she hadn't gotten more hate mail. There was a box in the back room with letters she had yet to open.
But Brenda in her flirting ways informs Aaron that Abigail's in the back with her homework. before the loud music blares out again and she and the two others manning the bar scurry up to start their dancing and whooping, much to Abigail's probable annoyance.
As it happens, Aaron is one of those people, he just happens to have missed the entire mess that transpired while pulling double-shifts. Oh, the irony. He makes his way to the back of the bar, his guitar in tow. It's something he refuses to leave out of his sight, so it's even with him (though not on him) while working at Paulo's Grocery. He doesn't actually come into the backroom, but merely knocks on the doorframe, hoping not to disturb Abby too much.
Blue eyes look up from the papers and the books to Aaron at the doorway. A few blinks and then there's surprise. "You came back?"
"I do work here," Aaron says, "Unless something's happened since I was last in that might change that." He looks concerned and sounds worried as he asks, "I do still have a job here, right? Please tell me I still have this job." All the while dancing goes on behind him accompanied by blaring music.
"Well your phone call came right after every newspaper and television station broadcast my face and that I can heal people. Sometimes co-incidence isn't co-incidence" Abigail just outed herself to the guy, blue eyes still focused on him. She's not upset, and the frustration probably dims her a bit in his view. "Brenda and I just figured that you were trying to be nice about not wanting to work with an evolved person"
And that completely wipes the concerned look off Aaron's face. He deadpans for a moment, and then his look turns decidedly sour, and then there's just a glimmer of terror, fury, and a whole plethora of other negative emotions that play upon his face as he tries to figure out precisely what he feels regarding that little piece of news. In the end, the only thing he manages to say or do is make an indistinct sound, through tight lips, that sounds something to the effect of, "What?" Clearly he was unaware of the fact that Abigail so freely blurted out.
"We.. thought you were just being nice, and making a polite excuse so that you wouldn't have to come in. I'm evolved Aaron. Gifted, I lay on hands and heal people. When I touched your hand with your headache the other night It wasn't acupressure, it was me. Taking it away" She hasn't moved from her spot, somewhat anchored into spot. "If you were avoiding the place, then that's fine, we won't be upset. Some people, don't like people who are different. I just ask that you don't go talking to reporters. I value my privacy. If you were really stuck at your real job and unable to help then.. That's fine, you still have your job either way"
"You know, some people don't hide things. Some people actually have enough respect to say things straight to people," Aaron says, his tone getting heated. "I haven't seen a television in months, and I don't read the newspaper. It always leads to disappointment." It's a first, but his ability goes into overdrive without him playing music at all. He turns to start walking away to process things, and possibly throw up. He was touched and manipulated by one of them.
She'd flinch, she should flinch. She should feel sad that a talented musician is turning to walk away. She should still be feeling all the frustration from the work. But she's feeling nothing. As in literally nothing. Normally, any other person might just write it off, but there's been John Logan manipulating her emotions chemically and then there's Huruma. Good thing She's not here because if she was, Aaron might be having some issues walking away. "I don't hide it. I'm registered Aaron. I volunteer at a hospital and heal people, a couple different places. I saved a guy from dying in the street. It's why there's reporters outside the building" Does she say something, does she not? "Are we keeping your employment status as active, or are you leaving? Would be good to know whether we need to advertise live music or not" There would be all this softness in the Healers voice, kindness, sorry you found out ect ect. It's odd, and it's tweaking in her mind.
Aaron stops in his tracks. It's a sweet deal, it was in the first place and that's why he took the job, but can he reconcile the … what's the opposite of a perk? He grits his teeth. At least his headache's gone. He turns back to look at the no-longer-dim Abby for only a moment before turning away. "Take a wild guess." It might be spiteful, and despite what she is, he'll probably regret being spiteful later, but right now he's trying not to do something that he'll really regret. It's not too long before he's out the door, his mind reeling. He breathes in the cold air and feels it wash over him as a light breeze blows by. He starts walking, turning things over and over in his mind. Why the hell did she have to go and say that? She could have just let it be and not said anything, and things wouldn't have changed. He kicks a garbage can. "Damn you," he curses, under his breath.
Reporters aren't interested, what few there are, because he's not Abigail and they're not about to see her come out, because she's heading out the back way. Worry about him and frankly, in case he goes off and does something stupid. He's anti-evolved. Anti-evolved, and possibly, maybe? One of them to boot. She doesn't come from the Deckard or Teo school of trailing, but she manages to hang back, keep an eye on him, messenger bag over shoulder. The laptop will be safe at the bar.
——
In a time that seems long ago, Greenwich Village was known for its bohemian vibe and culture, the supposed origin of the Beat movement, filled with apartment buildings, corner stores, pathways and even trees. There was a mix of upper class and lower, commercialism meeting a rich culture, and practically speaking, it was largely residential.
Now, it's a pale imitation of what it used to be. There is a sense of territory and foreboding, as if the streets aren't entirely safe to walk. It isn't taken care of, trash from past times and present littering the streets, cars that had been caught in the explosion lie like broken shells on the streets nearest the ground zero. Similarly, the buildings that took the brunt of the explosion are left in varying degrees of disarray. Some are entirely unusable, some have missing walls and partial roofs, and all of the abandoned complexes have been looted, home to squatters and poorer refugees.
As one walks through the Village, the damage becomes less and less obvious. There are stores and bars in service, and apartment buildings legitimately owned and run by landlords. People walk the streets a little freer, but like many places in this scarred city… anything can happen. Some of the damage done to buildings aren't all caused by the explosion from the past - bullet holes and bomb debris can be seen in some surfaces, and there is the distinct impression that Greenwich Village runs itself… whether people like it that way or not.
Beyond the dented garbage can, Aaron walks through the alleys, which is probably quite convenient for Abby, since she's trying not to be spotted. He mutters to himself now and again before coming out an alley and arriving on a street corner. There's a newspaper vendor, and a street hustler trying to get someone to follow the Queen. He shakes his head and starts walking away from the hustlers, gnashing his teeth, and then stops. He's next to a brick building near a bus stop, and the building, a florist, has a nice bricked-in flower bed, the corner of which is high enough and large enough to act as a seat. He makes use of that fact, sets his guitar case on the ground, retrieves his guitar from it, no pick. It's almost mechanical at first. He goes through some scales to warm up his fingers and makes a few tweaks to the tuning pegs. That's when people start to crowd around him. At that point, he has no other choice than to play.
A crowd means that Abigail can actually stand on the outskirts of the crowd instead of hiding off to the side. She'd hesitated as he started going through alley's, Coren's words, Teo and Deckard's words, hell everyone's words, but he's not far and she's pretty sure that he'd not leave her to be assaulted just because she happens to have an extra altered genetic material in her DNA strand somewhere that others might not have. But hands in pockets of her sweater, the woman's incapable, right now of being unhappy, and not because of medication. Maybe after he's had some time to think it through, he'll see that she didn't … well. That she's not bad.
Fingers gently pluck the steel strings of his guitar in, what to many, is a very familiar tune of a magnificently beautiful song. He places a few measures of music before he starts to sing, getting his nerve back and feeling more like himself, as he always does while playing music.
"Starry, starry night," he sings, his voice softer than what he uses for the classical rock titles he more frequently plays. "Paint your palette blue and grey. Look out on a summer's day, with eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
"Shadows on the hills…. Sketch the trees and the daffodils, catch the breeze and the winter chills in colors on the snowy linen land.
"Now I understand, what you tried to say to me, how you suffered for your sanity, how you tried to set them free. They would not listen, they did not know how. Perhaps they'll listen now.
"Starry, starry night…. Flaming flow'rs that brightly blaze, swirling clouds in violet haze reflect in Vincent's eyes of China blue.
"Colors changing hue, morning fields of amber grain…. Weathered faces lined in pain are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.
"Now I understand, what you tried to say to me, how you suffered for your sanity, how you tried to set them free. They did not listen, they did not know how. Perhaps they'll listen now."
It's the most bizarre thing to see the person performing the song tearing up as he is, while smiles play across the faces of those around him when those who are more than fifteen feet from him are tearing up as well, or are unaffected by the beauty of the words.
"For they could not love you, but still your love was true. And when no hope was left in sight on that starry, starry night, you took your life as lover's often do." Aaron closes his eyes. "But I could have told you Vincent: This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you." Word dissolve into music, as Aaron plays a full verse of melody, his eyes closed with tears running down. He knows that feeling all too well, and has seen it. Lived it.
"Starry, starry night…. Portraits hung in empty halls. Frameless heads on nameless walls with eyes that watch the world and can't forget. Like the stranger that you've met, the ragged men in ragged clothes, the silver thorn of bloody rose lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow. Now I think I know what you tried to say to me, how you suffered for your sanity, how you tried to set them free. They did not listen, they're not listening still. Perhaps they never will."
Abigail's one of those, having gone from neutral, a cleans late of emotions to hanging around the edges and smiling, watching the little sliver of sight that she gets of him through the people who were likely heading on their way home thanks to curfew soon.
A light arpeggio and slow chord and the song, and it is not until then that Aaron opens his eyes, clearing the tears away with his sleeve. Naturally, a number of people make donations, and he accepts them, stuffing them into a pouch on his guitar case before storing the guitar itself. One song's enough to get his mood up and his head more level, although the issue still has him feeling greatly conflicted. He didn't know, and she just had to tell him because she thought he already knew.
One person who comes up and offers five bucks is Abigail, that quirky little smile on her face, holding it out for him. "I still like how you play. How you feel, doesn't change how I feel. I still think your a pretty good musician.
Smiling people all around and yet his eyes are still watery. Aaron wipes his tears on his sleeve again and slings the guitar carefully over his shoulder once more. He takes Abigail's money silently, and pockets it. Conflict. Why must there be so much conflict? He starts to walk back the way he came, seeing as how he went fuming off in the opposite direction of where he lives.
Which means that she's trailing him, not wanting to actually walk beside him because she's not invited to walk beside him, but he is heading back towards the bar. So she hunkers down much like she did on the way there. Hands warm, in her pockets.
"You're making it very hard for me to hate you, you know that, right? Why did you have to tell me?" Aaron asks. He clearly, he knows she's following him, even if he doesn't appear to be paying attention. It's probably more comfortable for him to pretend she's not there. Maybe he's thinking out loud?
"The nature of my ability and my usually sunny disposition combined with beautiful features make it hard for a great many people to hate me. Or so i've been told." She still keeps her distance, and has to talk a little bit louder to help him hear. "Because.. It's been all over the TV, and on the papers. I have reporters outside my apartment building, they've been outside the bar. You called and left a message the same day that the news broke. We thought.. I thought, that you were just trying to be nice, instead of just not coming in ever again, because I'm a bearer of a gift from god. I guess it's better that you find out from me then, than from.. a TV interview you happen to catch a snippet of. Miracle healer at 9!"
"God…. Don't get me started on God," Aaron says. Yes, he's been bitten by that bug, too. To think, he was raised a catholic. Went to church and everything. Heck, that's how he got started with music, but then his family and friends were all wiped out. God, indeed. "I'd have rather not found out at all, thank you very much, and if you didn't spill it, I probably never would have. I haven't paid much attention to the news since your kind killed everyone I knew and cared about."
"I'd rather not have been put in the position that I was, but I was, and… now you know. Your the first person to actually.. act.. like this" He's being awfully snippy and frankly Abby at the moment… is happy for him. "Pot kettle Black"
"What did you just say?" Aaron asks, reeling around and turning on Abby. He may be dense, but he's not that dense. "Pot calling the kettle black? Just what are you implying, Abigail?"
"I'm implying that i'm on anti-depressants right now, and Anti-Anxiety medication right now, enough to keep me from loosing my mind but they don't hold a candle to how I feel after you've come around" The blonde stops short as he turns around to talk to her. "I've run across two other people who can manipulate emotions. One who had a great deal of fun fucking with me and making me really happy or driving me into a panic attack with just a touch, or making me docile as a kitten so i'd do what they wanted me to. Another one, she's very good at keeping me from loosing my mind when I need it. But you, for days, i'm happy as a clam when your around. It took me till today to have it click in. I'd lay a bet, cross my heart, that your a little different than others too" She's so perky when she says it, and she digs in her bag to proove that she's on the drugs she says she is.
Aaron has disconnected.
"I don't manipulate emotions," Aaron says, his finger pointing very close to touching Abby. "So whatever kick you're on trying to convince me I'm a freak like you, you can just knock it off." He turns and starts to walk off, but is soon waving his finger at Abby again. "Why did you have to screw everything up? It was the perfect job." He growls in frustration and starts to walk off, again.
"It could still be Aaron" Abigail calls out, and she has no choice but to keep following. Because it's on the way to work so she can grab her laptop and take off for home. But she's not going to press it. She knows what she felt. Maybe it's not emotions, maybe it's something else, but three times is not a co-incidence"
Aaron stops again and takes a deep breath. It's nearly a minute before he turns around. "I'm not like you. Remember that, and maybe, just maybe I'll be able to work with you." He doesn't even want to know how many other freaks he'll be working near. It's best not to know these things.
"You won't even have to look at me if I disgust you that much!" She smiles while saying it. She doesn't want to, in fact right now, she wants to be down right assholish to him. But it's too damned hard. But here comes the bar and before she can think about going through the front door, she peels off, heading for the fire escape.
And she's so bright, too…. Aaron shakes his head. No freaking way is she going to put any stock into what the crazies say. That would be the day, right? Right? He walks home.