Participants:
| Scene Title | Rooftop Shenanigans |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | There isn't much Elle can do to allay her suspicions about what's going on behind her back, but she can try. |
| Date | April 13, 2019 |
Dorchester Towers
Saturday, April 13th, 2019.
It feels like a monday. Ten years ago, it is a monday. Was a monday. Whatever the fuck tense you're supposed to use. This whole time travel ordeal has left Django with a perpetual headache for almost a week. At least Cat and Helena have seen to it that he's comfortable, letting him crash in a decent apartment in Cat's building, plus the extra bonus of access to the sweet penthouse. All told, things are going pretty good, up until people start talking about timelines and histories and paradox and whatever. Then Django's eyes glaze over and he suddenly needs a stiff drink.
He drops his hood as he comes into the front atrium of the Dorchester Towers, shaking off the clinging remnants of a healthy spring rain. His head bobs in a nod of greeting to the doorman, and his boots squeak on the tile as he makes his way towards the elevators. Lips purse, and he whistles a little tune as he wonders who might be in. Hopefully at least one of the other accidental time travelers will be home, because it would be nice to have a conversation that doesn't involve someone saying the words "Oh, you didn't know?" The 'up' button lights up as he presses it, and he waits.
Oh, if wishes could be only translated into commands more often. It may not be quite who he was expecting, but nonetheless, Elle's arrival just behind him is nicely timed. "Django!"
And should he turn around to meet that voice, he'll find Elle looking more like her usual, impeccably-dressed self. More as she had appeared the first time he had encountered her in Moab, at least. Unlike many people, she has absolutely zero compunctions about splurging a huge chunk of someone else's money, lent completely out of generosity, on expensive and cute outfits just for herself. The agent is currently wearing the result of yesterday's splurge: cropped denim jacket, black blouse, skinny jeans, and large gray-patterned hoops in her ears. Not to mention heels that add several inches to her otherwise less-than-considerable height.
Django, on the other hand, is dressed more for comfort in a close-fitting t-shirt (stenciled with the words 'Bad Boy'), loose jeans, and an old leather jacket that has seen greener pastures. None of which he paid for, lent money or otherwise. With his particular skills, he would probably have very little problem disappearing into this paradisical future and starting a new life for himself. But he'd rather not leave behind the comforts that have been so kindly handed to him on a platter unless it becomes a necessity.
Hearing a (relatively) familiar voice call his name, he casts a glance over his shoulder, lips quickly spreading into a broad grin at the sight of Elle. "Oi," he responds cheerfully, raising a hand with the first two fingers extended. There's a soft chime, the lit button is extinguished, and the polished elevator doors in front of the Russky slide open. "Hey, nice timing," he comments, stepping forward to put his hand in front of the door, holding it open for the Agent. "Going up?"
"I am." Elle confirms this with a confident quirk of her expression, letting her eyes settle towards Django to regard him for a brief, interested moment. She doesn't noticeably hurry up any when the door is held open for her, but her gait is spry enough just as it is, and it isn't long before she's next to him in the elevator with one hand resting atop her purse. As she gazes up towards the top of the electronic panel, a tiny smile appears mysteriously on her lips. "You know, I haven't had a chance to talk to you for a while."
Nice that's it's just those two in the elevator, this trip up. No awkward filler-silences necessary.
In no hurry himself, Django simply watches appreciatively as Elle approaches, then walks past him into the car, following her in and letting the double doors slide shut behind them. "Yeah, I know," he answers, with a touch of regret in his voice. "Doesn't help that they split us up. But Cat's place is pretty rad. She's got hella money, and it shows." He reaches out for the operation panel, then hesitates, finger poised over the numbered buttons. "Ah… What floor are you on?"
"Whichever one you are. I'm here for my ~daily sightseeing tour.~ Abs is taking her time back there, though." Presumably, she had told Elle to just go ahead without her. She makes no comment with regards to Cat's wealth, her lips just pursing thoughtfully for a second. Her eyes stay loosely focused on that panel, blinking once or twice, seemingly waiting for Django to choose his own floor. "Mm, yeah. About that. I feel like I've been… missing out on a lot of stuff going on, because of that. If you know what I mean."
"Oh, I'm not staying in this building. Me and Helena are over at Cat's safehouse. Least, she calls it a safehouse, but it's more like a fuckin' five star hotel." For lack of a better answer, he presses the button for the roof, so maybe she won't think Elle ran off or something. That could be bad, given that most of the other folks around don't seem to trust her. Could raise alarms.
"Missing out?" He cants his head at the much shorter girl, curiously. "Missing out on what? It's not like we've been doing anything. Helena's been sitting around reading comic books for days. I've just been out seeing the city. Doesn't seem like too much has changed, other than, y'know, what you'd expect. And the whole," he waves a hand vaguely, "political situation."
The changelessness in Elle's face indicates her lack of interest in the change of floor. Really, she doesn't care. As long as she can exchange a word or two with Django without the entire Scooby-Doo gang overhearing them, she'll be happy.
"Missing out on talk." That much is obvious; she hasn't been physically around to be able to hear it. And, oh, of course there will have been talk. Even if it's all just the idle kind. "Talk about what might've happened the night we were all sent here. Talk about…" Her voice floats off into a casual 'mm' sound, but there's a very sharp edge detectable behind it. "Me."
Django nods, chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip, as Elle speaks, and echoes her little hum. "Yeah, there's been a lot of talk. Especially around Helena, since she's, y'know, important and shit. Honestly, I haven't paid a whole lotta attention to it all, starts makin' my head hurt after a while. 'Time streams' and 'paradox' and what the fuck ever." He waves a hand again and scowls faintly.
"They say we might have to go back. Which, I mean." He clears his throat. "I'm sure yous guys are eager to get back to your old lives and whatnot. But I kinda like it here. I been thinking, and, well. I dunno. I just think I might stay." The Russky coughs into his fist, then glances down at the Agent with an eyebrow cocked, interested to see her reaction.
That hint Elle had been edging towards just sort of bobbed over Django's head, didn't it. Ah, well. "No news, then, on any way to get us back," she correctly interprets. If they're all still quibbling over time streams and paradoxes, then the problem has obviously not been resolved in a neat and orderly fashion. She blinks silently at him once, her eyes growing a little wider, but her reaction is no more than that. "Why would you want to stay?" she asks intently, a hint of a laugh peppering her tone, as if this was the most amusing idea in the world.
The tall man just shrugs at the question, stuffing hands into the pockets of a jeans. "I like it here. Er, now, I guess. It's nice. And, uh. It's not like I got shit to go back to. Ain't even got family or nothin'." This fact doesn't seem to bother him at all, it's just the way things are, the way they've always been. "And here, maybe I won't have the cops and fuckin' DHS breathin' down my neck all the damn time. Back ten years ago, I'm an escaped convict. A fugitive. But in twenty-nineteen, I'm just some guy."
As Django talks, his eyes seem to lose focus, as if staring into the distance. Or perhaps retreating inwards with his thoughts. Then he gives his head a small shake and his gaze sharpens again. "Yeah. So. What about you, cutie? You got any family or anything to go back to? Boyfriend?" The corner of his mouth turns up in a sly grin as he says the word. "Oh, hey, I don't… I don't think I ever actually got your name." And if he did, he forgot, which is an embarassing prospect.
"I've never…really…been allowed." A intense, childlike smile curves onto Elle's face, and as she says this, she reaches out to ~touch~ the lower curve of Django's cheek with one finger— as though touching a porcelain doll. Even as she does, a small, bright-blue streak of electricity jerks horizontally into his skin, and she watches him intently for the reaction.
Three guesses as to why she's never been allowed.
"My name is Elle. I have a family. Kind of. Just a dad." But she does want to go back to him, his…treatment of her aside, and so she can't really empathize with Django's desire to stay.
Django's grin widens as Elle reaches up to touch his face, and his gaze approaches something like a leer. Until that spark arcs onto his skin with a little 'pop', causing him to flinch back with a small, startled noise. A large, rough hand comes up to his cheek, and he looks a little worried for a moment, until he notes that she's not making any sort of hostile gesture towards him.
Lips twist once more into a knowing smirk, and he turns his body to face the girl, even going so far as to take a small step closer to her. "Never allowed, hm? Well, you know, daddy's not here now to tell you what to do." His eyes wander shamelessly down her figure and back up again, appraising her, and his expression clearly says that he likes what he sees.
Good enough, apparently. Elle looks pleased enough, at any rate, her own eyes widening right along with her gently breathy smile.
"Mm. Ten years in the future, yeah. Who'd have to know? " Fidelity? Modesty? What the hell do those mean? In fact, she already has one hand stretched out to settle very delicately at the back of Django's neck, surveying him like some kind of predator while making minuscule, stroking motions with two fingertips. Her lips have already crooked upwards.
That is, before the elevator door slide open with a ~ding~. The electrokinetic's arm drops away, just a second belatedly after the opening appears in front them. Her head remains turned sideways towards him, however, gaze lingering with entertainment even as she steps out.
Oh, my, my~ Django waggles his eyebrows slightly at the small girl in front of him, leaning down to press his forehead against hers as she teases the sensitive flesh at the back of his neck. "Not. A. Soul." This is very quickly going in a direction that the Russky likes very much.
And then the doors open and Elle pulls away from him, a disappointing turn of events. He sketches a mocking pout at her as she steps out of the elevator, returning his hands to his pockets and following close behind. "Oh, you tease," he chides, shaking his head. "You have the most incredible timing."
Oh but Django, that poor soul, has but no idea how much Elle can tease. As she strides out into open floorspace ahead of him, she does glance back at him once. Sweetly, as though she were a little girl leading on an adult to come play.
The polite shower of rain that had been drizzling when Django was outside had, by the time the pair step out onto the roof, completely stopped. There is nothing but occasional patches of dampness on the hard ground, not even really puddles in size, to mark its passing. This is good news for Elle, though she is careful to angle her steps around these damp locations nonetheless. She wants her power intact.
They're back where Abby had first taken them. The magnificently green "ruins" of Midtown are visible in the far, far distance. Insects wheedle faintly, peacefully, from a point equally far away, though it's not perfect; covers of clouds still drift across most of the sun.
The second time around, however, Elle isn't so drawn in by the grandeur. "I still do want to ask you about something," she addresses to him aloud, not bothering to glance behind her.
Django follows along behind Elle as if led by a leash, eyes fixed on the lovely young girl that walks before him. So intent is he on her that he doesn't even think to put up his hood before they step out onto the roof, where it had been raining only a few minutes previous. Fortunately, the weather has eased significantly, so such concerns aren't valid anyway. Part way out onto the roof, though, he stops, folding his arms across his chest to watch the girl approach the low wall and the view it provides of the monument to the sacrifices Helena and her kind made.
When she speaks to him again, he smiles and runs a hand through his hair, taking a few more slow, deliberate steps towards her. "And what is that? Ask away."
Unfortunately, it maybe doesn't have to do with anything Django is expecting. It's certainly nothing romantic in nature, anyway.
Elle exhales inaudibly. Ponytail blowing off one shoulder, her form appears particularly slight in the wide-open expanse all around— sky, ground, sprawling away in all directions. "I want to know what the others have been saying about me."
She does turn to face the Evolved man then, eyes simultaneously full of petulance and childish seriousness. "Be honest. I'll be able to tell if you're lying."
Django blinks, a little taken aback by the question. Out of left field, much? Yeesh. He purses his lips, and finally comes up to the edge of the roof to lean against the wall near the dainty blonde. "Honestly? They ain't said shit about you where I could hear. 'Cept for that first night when we all got here." There were some things said about her then that could be considered unkind, but she was present and conscious for most, if not all, of them.
"It's pretty clear they don't trust you, though. Even I'm smart enough to see that. Probably 'cause you're, what? Homeland Security? Someshit like that. But whatever." He shrugs, gaze drifting out over the park, rather than looking at his partner in this conversation. "You ain't done wrong by me. In fact, you been pretty fuckin' civil as far as I can tell. 'Sides, you're cute, so that excuses you from a lot." Yeah, maybe it's a little shallow. That's Django, take it or leave it.
As that perception is revealed to her, Elle's teeth show themselves in a smile of muted delight, her gaze flicking up towards Django's face with a hint of the strange intensity she had shown before. "Of course they don't trust me. I'm their broken link. The bee in the room they can't see." Her head is somewhat tilted as she says this.
If they did trust her, that might actually be kind of insulting. To them.
"But you know what I'm saying, Django? What, you think they're just going to let me skip my own happy way when we get back to our time? Of course they're not. I can see it in their eyes. If they aren't completely stupid, they'll plan on doing something. And I need to find out what." Cat had hinted towards it in their talk together, after all. Elle could either 'do the right thing' and expose the Company, her own flesh-and-blood Company, or — Or what? Exactly.
And she eyes him, again. Meaningfully.
Django nods along with what Elle says. It all makes perfect sense. If she's 'the enemy', then knowing some of the things she's learned through this little ordeal could be very dangerous. It would be bad if that information made it back to those that mean harm to the Evolved. In fact, it makes so much sense that he has trouble seeing her side to it. He looks over at her just in time to meet her eyes, and takes a step back with hands raised, palms out. "Hey, don't look at me like that. You gotta admit, they have a pretty damn good reason to wanna keep you quiet. I mean, look at all this." One hand sweeps out to gesture at the park, the city, and the other drops to his side. "Wrong information gets to the wrong damn people, we lose this. And like I said before, I kinda like it here."
There's a pause, then, long enough for him to fish a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and place one of them between his lips before extending it to Elle in offering. "On the other hand, I think I might know how ya feel. You're the freak of the bunch, right? Way people look at you, way they treat you. Scheme behind your back to do something about. Welcome to my world, babe. 'Cept when I was there, it was your people treatin' me like a dangerous animal."
When Django takes a step back, Elle takes a small step forward, her lips pressing together in a subdued and beseeching line. Wordlessly brushing aside the offer of a cigarette - she doesn't smoke, after all - the small woman seeks instead to lay one hand on the back of his, and perhaps draw him even closer to her by way of curling her other hand about his upper arm. "I didn't say I would say anything, Django. Didn't say I'd say, or do anything." No word is said about Django being treated like an animal in turn, though he may well imagine that there's silent acknowledgement in her expression.
Regardless, there's nothing but pleading in those eyes now, even as they still have to look up and up to meet his level. Yay for height differences. "If they want to hurt me, Django, tell me. That's the only thing I ask of you; I'm afraid of what they'll do to me." Please?
And there she goes, exploiting Django's weakness. One of them, anyway. As she steps in close, taking him by the hand, and flashes those baby blues at him, his eyebrows draw up and his expression suddenly grows sympathetic. He hesitates, plucks the unlit cigarette from his lips, and sighs. "I ain't heard shit. Honest. Maybe you're not one of the good guys, but you ain't done nothin' wrong that I've heard of, so I don't wanna see you hurt. If I learn anything, I'll… I'll let you know."
With the extra slotted back into place, the pack disappears once more into the depths of his pocket, and his freed hand reaches up to brush his knuckles lightly along her cheek. He smiles at the petite blonde, a small, sad kind of smile, and then he leans down and kisses her on the forehead. "Those eyes of yours are dangerous, Elle. You should be careful with 'em."
It's as though dawn steals over Elle's face - a triumphant glow of pleasure seeps into her expression, transforming it, and she lets herself receive the kiss with briefly closed eyelids. Drawing herself up on her tiptoes, she gives Django a swift peck on his own cheek, a harshly painful but playful ~zap~ of electricity darting from her lips just at the moment they pucker.
She had been right, in coming to him. What a fool. Though in times like these, she can't be choosy. Those 'dangerous eyes' of which Django speaks - they still regard him fervently, the thoughts going on behind them unreadable. But she does give his hand a clasp of a squeeze before letting go, and backing away. "I'm trusting you completely, Django," she murmurs in half a sing-song. Need more be said?
 <date>: previous log |
 <date>: next log |