Practical Applications of Wait


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Scene Title Practical Applications of Wait
Synopsis Some things change. Some things don't. Waiting is still required.
Date November 21, 2010

Central Park

This was so much smoother in theory. You must give Sable some minimal credit for that. Asking Delilah to meet her in the shadow of Belvedere Castle, a place (in her mind) of some mnemonic importance in the ongoing Courtship of Dee, seemed like a waypoint bordering on the romantic. That, at least, was the plan.

But dang if it ain't cold in the shadow of that big hunk of stone.

Winter's taking its first real nibbles out of fall, leaving its teeth marks on the landscape which is fading out of fire-reds and heated-orange and into drab browns. Still, the sun is nearing the apex of its ascent, and directly within it's gaze it's not too uncomfortable.

But in the shadow? Damn Sable's fascination with the semi-poetic phrase. The diminutive rocker stomps her feet to stay warm, her blue BU hoodie doing it's best to keep her warm, but its best being still insufficient for true comfort. Strands of hair protrude from under the upper lip of her hood, pulled up to stop that eighty percent or whatever of body heat that leaks from the top of your head.

That's what Delilah is wondering, as she- and Walter- wander out to meet Sable. He's got his stroller, and she's put great care in making sure that the warmth of it is enough. Fleeces and flannels, for the most part; while babies need similar layers, newborns can't quite regulate temperatures as easily. It's simple enough to bundle the now fully covered bassinet up for the winter weather. She hasn't let him see the snow yet- it might be something worth checking out soon, given that it is bound to be a part of his first few months. Ah, November babies.

The wheel treads patterned with white, Delilah takes her time in finding Sable, bundled up herself in a winter coat and a colorful scarf over her hair and tucked into her collar. "Sable." She's smiling, cheeks a bit rosy. "Shadow? Really?"

For all that Sable's stomping seems ill tempered, and her glances sullen, it's all just anticipation. The moment she sees Delilah and her tiny gentleman escort, her features light up and she bounds over, hood nearly coming loose, a hand lifting in at attempt to secure it.

"Fuckin' tell me 'bout it," the yellow eyed girl admits, sheepishly, sidling up to Delilah and lifting to cup those cold-flushed cheeks. In a motion well worn now, she rises up on tiptoe and kisses Delilah on the lips. "Y' look beautiful. Bein' a mum suits y' so damn fine." She eases down and takes a sidestep over to gander at the extra-bundled joy. "Suits you fine too, I bet. Lucky little thing."

Sable's eyes dart up to Delilah, and her lips quirk down slightly. "I'm real sorry 'bout Else, by th' way. Elaine told me that you told her. Awful as it is, 'n' all, I first think 'f th' loss t' music. Talent like that don't just happen, easy."

Delilah slips one arm around Sable as she comes up and takes her face to kiss it. A hug, certain and warm. "I don't think he can complain." She laughs brightly, letting Sable lean in for the peeking. When she mentions Else, Delilah lets her arm slip down to take Sable's hand for at least a few moments. "The last recordings she did, I think, were for Walter. Usual baby songs, and one that she wrote herself. I think I'm going to copy it a few times so that I do have it as long as I can." B-sides, yes please.

"Been on the phone with her family in Europe, they'll be coming to get her. They sounded just…" Delilah looks wistful, though pained. "relieved, when I told them about how she'd been with me, and how she'd been clean and healthy for so long."

"Y'all are a blessin' 'pon all that cross yer path," Sable intones, a bit overwrought, but no less sincere for all that. She squeezes Delilah's hand as hers is taken, thumb hooking around hers, giving a small brush from knuckle to knuckle. There is a moment of quiet, unusual enough in dialogue with Sable, but only right considering the topic.

"Aw, hell," is what breaks the silence, and Sable puffs a breath of hot air up at her nose, "no reason t' stay in this pinheaded-type meetin' place. Let's get us some coffee 'r somethin'." Still holding Dee's hand, Sable makes to lead them towards a coffee and pastry stand that she's been eying longingly for the duration of her wait. "My treat, darlin', 'course. Figure th' little man ain't quite at age yet, though, eh?" She flashes Walter a grin. Focus on life, not death. Such is Sable's preference, at least. "We get warmed up a bit, wanted t', like, talk t' y' 'bout somethin'."

All terrain gingers are off again, the stroller's suspension quite skilled even on the snow. Walter only feels the rocking, less of the slipping. Dee's got boots on, but yes, its still a little slick. "I'll need to share that music with you. You'll love it. And don't make any plans to addict him to sugar, will you?" Delilah laughs, debating whether or not she should be getting into the caffeine yet. Still nursing, of course. But he did just eat before they came out here, it should wear off before Walter's puttering and fussing for something again.

"It's not about Elaine and Magnes, is it? I've talked to her about it already."

"It's a mothers duty t' spoil 'er son," Sable says, waddling along beside Delilah, odd gait meant to prevent her own slipping and sliding. She must take special care, digging around in her pocket until she extracts - a lighter? No, that's not what she needs. A wad of bills! There we go. "My duty's gonna be t' breed some recklessness in 'im, time comes," her eyes slash over to Delilah for a half-nervous moment, "Lord willing," she adds.

There's a short line of fellow heat-seekers that's formed by the stand, and despite Sable's glowers at these rude New Yorkers who are not showing deference to the lady with the baby, they'll have to wait a bit before taking their turn. "Elaine?" she echoes, invoking half of the split union, "naw, naw. Naw, yeah, she said 's much. That you were there f'r her, even though y'all had yer own copin' t' do. That was real fine 'f you, by th' way. But naw, naw. Not 'bout them, 'bout, uh-" Sable tries very hard to make her smile disarming, "Us. I guess."

Delilah was a little afraid of this. That once the baby was born, Sable would start the circling again. She isn't terribly surprised. The trick is to let Sable clue in without actually making her feel like a fool. She meets the smile with a more wary one, and though honestly polite, there is already a hint of artificial distance. "Sable…" Let's see.

"Walter is just getting to two weeks old, now. I'm still trying to figure out how to be a mom in practice." Not saying anything untoward, but it echoes what she said months ago- that she's not about to go traipsing into something too committed. Nothing personal, as it was before.

For all that the word seems disrespectful when it comes to earnest entreatries and swainlike prostrations, love is still a game, and Sable is a conscienscious and invested player. Despite her hayseed affect (almost all of it affected - no one actually talks like she does in Atlanta), she's a pretty canny operator, and she's considered carefully how a swoop at this particular juncture might go over.

So the sudden emotional distance that's hinted at, the lack of engagement of, in a word, committment, doesn't unsettle Sable. She's ready for it. She waves a hand almost dismissively. "Think I dunno that? Second family I remember livin' with properly had a wiggler 'f their own. Howlin' at all hours, needin' t' be changed, needin' t' be fed, needin' t' be sung t' and cradled 'n' all that. Y'all are workin' harder now th'n when y' were big 'n' grand. I know it, darlin', which is why I got t' thinkin' what I got t' thinkin' 'bout."

But what it was she was thinking about must, at first, wait, since it's their turn in line. "Coffee," Sable orders, a little curtly - she wants to get back to her line of conversation. When asked 'cream? sugar?' she scowls. "I said coffee, eh? So thass what I'm aimin' t' get." If you want to drink cream and sugar, why order coffee in the first place?

The yellow eyed girl turns back to Delilah as her drink is being readied, leaving a pause open so that Dee can file her own order, if she should so desire. "I could beat 'round th' bush, Dee, but I know y' don't cotton t' that kinda claptrap so…" okay, here goes, "I'm out an apartment, darlin', thank t' th' Man. 'n' yer a mom who, like, I know's got a whole line 'f helpin' hands ready t' pitch in, but…" okay, here goes, "meanin' nothin' more than that I'll be of better use t' y', 'n' tyin' no expectations t' nothin' beyond what I'd expect from any I think loves me tolerably well," okay, for serious, here goes, "lemme move in. Lemme be there t' help out, whenever 'n' however y' need it."

Delilah is left curious as to what's up next, in this case; she murmurs out her want for a coffee- heavy on the milk, maybe to just piss him off, maybe so there's not too much caffeine. She listens to what Sable has to say, even if it is verbose in that special way that Sable makes things verbose. The redhead in the scarf immediately looks hesitant while she puts her hand up for the more creamy coffee. It's not a look of horror, by any means, but Delilah is poor at hiding what she thinks, and at first her expression reads nervously. It cements when she chuckles, equally nervously.

"You know I love you to bits, but…" Dee swallows, eyes mostly on Sable's gloves. "I don't know if that would be a good idea." And the whole thing about- well- her roommate died two weeks ago, and she only found out the night before last. Else's lack of presence is still very sore, and that much is also clear. And she has seen how Sable lives, but that is secondary to her wanting time to herself with the baby, and the soreness that comes with losing someone she'd been living with.

For a good three beats, Sable peers at Delilah. What she weighs, behind her eyes, is done delicately, as perilously heavy considerations must be. The entanglement of thoughts, counter thoughts, factors and opposing factors, whims, wishes and principles form a baroque contraption that must cope with a new addition, a single phrase - 'don't know if that would be a good idea'. A string of words so commonly arranged in this pattern as to constitute a kind of idiom.

"What I know, darlin'," Sable says, at (not too great) length, "is not t' push when a gal's off balance." She smiles. It's a real enough, expression and with realness comes a the genuine disappointment which of course she feels, but that's not the whole of it. Their coffee arrives on the stand counter, and Sable palms the required number of bills down in exchange, before taking both cups (ah, nice and warm on her hands) and offering the wimp- er- milky one to Delilah.

"Thass all I got, though," Sable admits, smile going crooked, slanting away from the immediacy of the topic, "Y'all got any better ideas on hand, beauty? 'cause in my head y'all were just, like, swept away by my boldness 'n' manly type gallantry. Seein' as were off script now, up t' you t' lead us through th' improv."

To be quite honest, Delilah has no idea what Sables on about now, other than clearly 'bucking up'. "I didn't say I wouldn't think about it." She half-warns, cup warm in her gloved hand now. "I just meant I don't think it's a good idea right now. For me to be welcoming people into wherever I am." It is never personal. Even if Sable could stand to be cleaner and more organized. "I feel like I should be playing world to my son." She will have time to spend with him for years to come, but Walter is obviously her first baby- and to Dee, that makes the first month or so incredibly important.

"When we settle in, I'm sure I'll be more open to it. It's just… too early for me to put my word on things like this." Don't be sad, Sable, you're making her look like she kicked a puppy.

Sable's argument, vis a vis cleanliness and organization, would be something about having to get over warts if you want the frog prince. That warts are actually more to do with witches and toads is besides the point. Though all this is further beside, as no such argument is made.

She doesn't look too sad. At most Sable is very slightly withdrawn, an uncommon attempt at composure. There's a lot of emotional energy that rockets around inside of her, ready to spring out in a variety of expressions. Whether passion or madness (if you appreciate such fine distinctions) it can get her into trouble. And while she's not normally opposed to risking trouble, losing your shit when you've just proposed yourself as a regular and reliable hand in the care of an infant is unwisdom even to Sable's addled mind.

"I dig," is therefore what she says, sidling over so that the next in line can get their caffeine fix, "'n' I figured I was bein' awful quick on th' draw there. But…" she gives a huff, "can't change what I want. 'N' I figured, better t' be honest th'n try 'n' be sly. I don't have no wish t' try 'n' play you, darlin'. 'N' while I want what I want, part 'f what I want is yer wantin' so… jus' you let me know, arright?"

Delilah can tell that Sable is quelling that so potent fire on purpose right now; that makes the turning down all the more hard to do. Chances are, when Walter gets a couple weeks older, Dee will probably be up for trying it out. It's only a couple weeks, right? Surely Sable won't implode by then? Surely? She steers the stroller away from the line now, snowflakes dotting her head and shoulders. There is a cupholder there on the side of it, and she takes a mouthful of the coffee before putting the lidded cup down. Her hand goes to pull Sable along by the elbow, and there is probably an attempt at linking arms. Don't feel bad.

"I'm glad you were honest with me." Now she knows what Sable is thinking, for once. "I know I'll be teaching you, and probably everyone else about helping with Walter- I think it'll be a good gauge to see if you're really ready for full-time, too. Just so we know?" All practical applications of the 'wait'.

Arm and arm with Delilah, Sable's got only so much excuse to be glum, and so she opts to smile instead, looking at Dee out of the corner of her eyes, the sidelong glance framing her features in a way Sable finds flattering. For all that she's sworn off larceny, theft - even of a look - has its excitement.

"Too damn sensible," the shorter girl grumbles, good temperedly, "y'all make it hard t' put up a fuss. Gonna have t' work double hard t' brew rebellion in yer boy." Because that's just the way to convince a mother to let you have a hand in raising her child.

"That's cause I don't like it when people fuss over me too much." That's why she worked til the tenth hour when she was pregnant, why she was still roaming around, why she didn't feel she should alert people when the labor pains started out. But that was also because she didn't think they were what they were. "But a girl likes being spoilt once in a while." Of course. They wander out to a spot in the park, under the knotted branches of a tree that hangs out over a bench and the walk. The stroller is parked there, for now, the empty arms of the maple catching most of what is falling dainty from the sky. It's time for Walter Trafford to meet snow.

"Not double hard, no. I have a feeling being Irish-Sicilian it'll come easy enough." Delilah goes through the motions of getting Walter out from his tented bassinet, and now he can see that Sable is there too. There is a bit of recall in the back of his little brain, but only enough to know that he likes this person. Mumblemumble, hello Sable. His woolen clothes, cap, and his warmth from the basket keeps him cozy, now, as the temperature is just enough so that when his mother holds him up on her chest- he gets to see the tiny flakes of white coming down.

"We've got time." Delilah smiles, Walter's baby blues hovering inward to focus on a snowflake that comes precariously close and lands on his nose.

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