Participants:
| Scene Title | Rose Petals and Album Leaves |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Sable makes an unexpected call on Delilah, and receives memories in exchange for gifts. |
| Date | June 5, 2010 |
Village Renaissance: Delilah's Apartment
Just entering the apartment, it gives of a feeling of comfortable homeliness; light colors, pastel shades, floral designs, clean and sweet smells, and only accents of dark where it most fits. The front room leads to a den further on, with a large sofa in a coffee cream color sitting opposite a similar chair, and a wooden table in between. There is only an almost retro-looking television off on the other side, but the things hooked up to it show that it is not as old as it seems. Nothing is, really.
To the far end is the kitchen, which always seems to smell like something recently cooked there; the appliances and counters are squeaky clean, but obviously used on a regular basis, and the leftover anything in the fridge can attest to that, as can a perpetual dish of cookies on the table. The bathroom is also squeaky clean, and it seems as if anyone coming out smells significantly nicer than when they had gone in; there is a closet within where the washer and dryer stay. There are two bedrooms, but one is emptied and instead made into a big rainbow-colored sewing and storage room, complete with fabric bolts and racks on wheels centered around a masterfully ordered sewing machine and table.
The actual bedroom is based in those mainly soft colors, yet the lower walls have at least two long, cluttered tackboards home to pictures, clippings, seemingly random crafts, and generally quirky things. A desk in a similar state sits in the far corner by the closet, opposite a low, wide, fluffy-looking bed swamped in pillows and comforters. At least half a dozen stuffed animals peek out from various points.
Its hard for Sable to laugh through her panting, and what laughter she does manage to drum up comes out more as a wheeze. But laugh she does, in spite of her burning lungs and flushed face. The quick-coming breath is not without good reason - the best word for what she's doing is bounding. Over hills and valleys of snow, across still-clogged roads, her momentum carries her through snow that would immure the less light footed. Once and a while she glances over her shoulder, which only leads to an increase in wheezy mirth. Her winter jacket bulges oddly in the front, and one arm is pressed high on her stomach, holding that distention in place as she tries to keep a good ratio of speed and balance.
And then she's there! Delilah's building number peeks out from the snow-speckled brick, and Sable is forced to skid to a halt, both arms swinging out, circling as she screeches to a halt. Another look, from side to side, and she's leaping up the stairs to the entrance. Through the first set of doors, looking for the intercom and directory. Ha! One gloved finger and two yellow eyes scan names. Trafford… Trafford… Trafford… Trafford! Another finger is called into play, depressing the button next to Delilah's name, sending a plaintive buzz. Sable leans hard against the wall, still trying to catch her breath between gleeful exhalations.
Upstairs, Delilah just about jumps out of her skin. Nobody she knows ever rings the intercom- the noise is just a buzz- an out of nowhere buzzing that has Dee looking around confusedly around for the source. Samson knows where it is! He is staring at the space beside the thermostat, head tilted. Oh! Lilah hops from her seat in the den to approach it, amazed that she's never used it much before now. People usually just show up at the door. Her finger presses down.
"…Uhm. Hello?"
Even though she's expecting the reply, Sable also jumps at the tinny rendition of Dee's voice. She presses her thumb to the answer button and answers in a voice that's only a quarter breathless now. "'s me. Lemme in? Need, like, asylum." Which sounds serious, until it is followed by a series of snickers. Apparently not such a big deal. But she sounds like she's been up to something, her voice husky from the cold air she's been gulping breaths of.
"…Sable?" Delilah, in her apartment, puts a hand to her face. Samson watches. "Asylum? Why are you giggling? Just come on up, you turkey."
"By your leave, hon," Sable answers, and she leaves the intercom, plowing through the second door. She takes the stairs, just assuming the elevator is out, but after the long white mile the steps feel like a walk on the moon in comparison - light as a feather. It's not long before there's a knock on Delilah's actual door. Sable, standing the hallways, backs up and unzips her jacket, reaching inside to pull something from its interior. The lump beneath her coat reveals its true form: it is, of all things, a not-ungenerous bouquet of roses. Some dark red, some pale pink, some soft yellow, they are lightly dusted with flecks of snow, and one yellow head hangs from a broken stem - not the most composed of flowery offerings. But it is what it is, and they may be some of the first flowers many have seen in the city for quite some time.
Delilah is waiting there at the door for Sable's knock, as is Samson. He stays sitting when she opens it. It's about the same time that Sable is reaching inside of her jacket. At first, Delilah tenses up- it is quite strange- only to practically melt a few seconds later. She might have if it were possible.
"Oh-" Delilah puts a hand over her chest, laughing before she moves a step forward to cup the poor rose whose head is dangling loose from the bunch. Her other hand finds the surface of Sable's curled around the trunk. "You've got a jumper." Lilah's voice floats overtop the proffered bunch of flora, as she stands parallel. The wracked rose is snipped off at the bend with a twist of fingers around dark green, the yellow being offered up to her nose.
"These are beautiful. How in the world did you find them?"
"I stole 'em!" Sable answers, with equal and generous portions of pride and pleasure. Never has larceny been admitted with such willingness. The bouquet rises up to Delilah, "Turns out rich folks 'll shell out like crazy t' refill their Ming fuckin' vases or whatever. I wan'ed t' get you somethin' like this but I never coulda afforded it. So I figured… five finger discount!"
"The seller guy… he chased me for I dunno how many blocks. He was /piiiissed//," and Sable is pleased as punch about it, from the sound, "I fell over a couple times b'fore I stuck 'em in my jacket. That's why they need a little dustin'."
Sable has to sort of peek around the flowers to get a proper look at the other girl. There's a touch of the same nervous apprehension she displayed when presenting Dee with dinner, though it's still infused with the thrill of the snatch, and the chase that apparently followed. "Sorry if roses are, I dunno, unoriginal or somethin'. Only other things I could get out with quick enough were, like, those cheesy floofy flowers," Chrysanthemums, she means, "And these other ones, looked like space aliens or somethin'," she's talking about orchids.
Delilah looks somewhat stricken by the fact that Sable stole all of these roses- but- it was for her- so at the same time, it is flattering. She really is not sure what to say about this, other than to just give Sable a rosy-cheeked smile.
"They're lovely." Mentions of various flowers bring the images to her mind. The mentions also bring the memories to which such images belong, and for the duration of post-speech to whenever Sable might speak up, Delilah's features seep into something neutral. It isn't quite a sad expression- just momentarily lost in faraway thought.
Sable, being a little bit too attentive to Dee's reaction, wrinkles her nose at the redhead's initial reaction. "'s arright, I swear. It was a big, like, chain store. One that could afford t', like, fuckin' I dunno - airdrop all these flowers from wherever they got 'em. I didn't rob some nice ol' lady or somethin'." Sable is employing a version of the Robin Hood defense, though this instance is actually much closer to Monty Python's Leslie Moore.
The expression that follows directly after causes Sable to arch her brow. "Did I fuck up?" she inquires. Assuming, of course, that this is about her. She gives the bouquet a little shake, "I ain't givin' 'em back. These are yers. So, don't let 'em thirst."
"No, no, it's not you." Delilah relinquishes Sable of the flowers, nearly hugging them to her chest. Mine, yes. "I was just remembering something, is all. You did good." Presumably, Sable's thievery is okay; the taller of the girls offers a motion to Sable to go into the apartment. Samson is behaving quite well and still waiting around for them to come inside, tail giving half-wags every few seconds. Though for a few moments longer Delilah could seem jaded about something, eventually it comes time for her to take a big breath of air.
"Can I get you a drink? I don't have too much yet, food banks are strained up."
"Hold on," Sable says, not quite satisfied with the transfer as it stands. She reaches out to pluck the errant yellow bloom from Delilah's fingers, and then gets on tiptoes, brushing a wave of Dee's red locks behind her ear and slipping the flower into her hair. "There, Sable says, after setting a light kiss on the taller girl's cheek. She eases back onto the heels of her feet, and steps inside.
Where Samson awaits. Sable gives the dog a look, right in the eye, appraising. 'Are we gonna have a problem?' is the question she seems to convey to the dog. The half-wag is taken for diplomacy, and Sable drops down to Samson's level and ruffle the fur between his ears. "Thass a good hound dog, eh?" She looks up at Dee from her crouch, "Uh… sure, yeah. Sounds good. Um…" her lips quirk. She wants to ask 'remembering what?' but even Sable understands the limits to which one can be a pest and get away with it. "Yeah. Sounds good," she reiterates, "Whatcha got?"
Delilah smiles when Sable goes through the trouble of making a fond gesture even moreso. The pale yellow contrasts fittingly with the shade of her hair, pastel against the red. "I'm actually not sure- Let's have us a look, and we can find a vase for these. I think I have a nice crystal one somewhere."
Samson wags his tail when she scratches him on his big head, sitting halfway onto his hip and looking the role of a Guard Dog that doesn't really act like one in personal contact. If he could smile, he might be. Mostly to himself.
This is Sable's first entrance into Delilah's sanctus sanctorum, and the young vagabond makes sure to shed her snowy boots before treading on sacred ground. Hands find pockets as she meanders into the living room, attention unevenly divided between Dee's home and Dee herself - the lady proves a greater distraction than her house. The bright, lively colors seem utterly perfect, but it's a perfection that exists only in relation to a better example of brightness, color and life. So Sable ends up following after Dee at a reasonable distance, vision roving but always returning. Her interest in the drink is, admittedly, not nearly as great as her interest in whatever's on Dee's mind, but the drink guarantees her stay for long enough maybe to pursue. Of nothing else, she wants to stay. It is all so very Delilah, and Sable finds it hard to think of higher praise than that.
"Know what those alien-lookin' kinda flowers are called?" she asks, with roundabout intent - it was the flowers that brought on Delilah's preoccupation, after all, "I'm left wonderin'. They're pretty, but I thought they were sorta creepy also, far as flowers go."
Delilah wanders her way into the kitchen with the flowers, seeking out a vase from a lower cupboard to relocate the roses- which by now have veritably intoxicated her with the smell of them. She almost doesn't want to put them down into the vase, now filled with cool water on the counter. The redhead puts them into the glass, only to have her face linger there amongst them for what seems a great while. "Orchids, probably. They are bred to be different. Some do kind of look like aliens, I suppose." A thoughtful hum grows at that, for a second or two.
"Oh, mmm, it's been so long since I've had roses like these." Delilah draws back to only move back to simply bury her face in them. It looks just silly, sure- what better way to inhale them?
Sable moves up to the counter, drawing closer to Delilah, leaning against the cupboards at an easy angle, a soft smile on her lips. For all that Delilah enjoys the flowers, Sable enjoys Delilah's enjoyment. She loses herself in what she sees in the redhead. However trite, this is one of the cases where it is at least as good to give as to receive.
"How long's it been?" Sable asks, a brow arching, "Seems like y' get lost somewhere in that lovely red head of yours somehow."
Sable tugs at the zipper of her coat, drawing it open and pulling it off, folding it and placing it on the counter, patting it once - stay. She then moves up next to Delilah and slips her arm around the taller girl's waist. "Where's it you go, hon? I'd like t' know."
Samson's feet can be heard clicking into the kitchen behind them. "Sorry. Sad fond memories." How that works, Delilah does not immediately say. She turns when Sable sidles up to slide that arm around her waist. A smile aims down to her, a hand finding the one curled around her.
"My grandfather had flowers, plants. I would hide out in his greenhouse all the time. He had the most scented roses. And beautiful orchids." She makes a point to reference the flowers talked about. "He grew just about everything I could imagine, even some things that I'm not so sure were …right." Her shrug makes another point, if vaguely, that her grandfather was odd.
"Gotta say," Sable says, "That's an awful pretty picture, you 'n' all those flowers. Seems like y' held on t' all that color, too. 'n' I don't just mean the way y' make yer home." She's proceeding with all due delicacy, or trying to. Her other hand goes to Delilah's, clasping it between both of her own, arms fully encircling Dee now. "Assumin' they weren't genuine space critters," Sable says, her brow arching, "So… whaddya mean, 'not right'?"
"He had a back room. At this point I don't know if he grew drugs or- or if he just did weird shit. I was only in there a couple times, and he chased me out both. Roses thorns like big teeth, big flytraps, black looking things-" Delilah might shudder a little if it were anyone but her grandfather that she was talking about. "He was secretive, for the most part. But every time, with nice flowers, I think about that."
Yeah, that sounds not-right. Sable's smile grows a little awkward, "Aw hell," she says, "'n' here I was just tryin' t' be romantic." She gives Delilah's hand a squeeze, "…thanks f'r tellin' me, though, hon. That's no small thing in your life, I'm sure 'n'… well, I'm much gratified to know it," she tilts her head, "How old were you? I wanna have the proper composition in my mind's eye."
"My grandfathers-" Note that part. "-died when I was around nine. But I remember back then so well, so it's strange to think it was that long ago." Delilah leans forward and plants her lips on Sable's forehead, directly within bubble distance. "It was romantic. Thank you."
Dead grandfathers, fondly recalled - at least as far as she can tell. These are deep waters, and Sable feels a twinge of concern that she's pushed out into them. But not for long. Sable cannot but beam, first at the notion of a young Dee, buzzing about amidst glass-filtered sunlight, then at the kiss, with a blush joining her smile.
"I'm like to fall f'r you, y'know," Sable says, her words a warning, but her expression pure pleasure, "Need y' t' know that ahead of time, cuz I fall pretty hard. I'm apt to drown you in roses if I think that's what it'll take. It may be foolish, but fools love pretty darn well, given the chance. I hope y'r ready f'r that."
Delilah gives Sable a very studious little look. "To be honest, I'm not sure what I'm ready for." One doesn't really know what to do, IE dating scene, when one is …bearing gifts, so to speak. It's a grainy line, and Lilah does not seem too afraid to dip her toes across. "Did you enjoy my little trip down memory lane?" She laughs a bit. "I doubt Magnes is much of a gossip, how much do you actually know about me?"
"Close t' nothin'," Sable admits then, out of honesty and loyalty, she adds, "But all that was said was shinin'." She squints at Dee, smile sly, "Which is why such trips are just what I need. I wanna know your story. Any tale that ends with you 'n' me, here in this very moment, is of interest t' me. Cheerful 'n' grim, both, if you'll tell it. So…" her head tilts, birdlike, "Grandfathers, hon? I mean, I know everyone's got two, but you spoke of 'em in the same breath…" She did note that part.
"Yep. They were together. I had a grandma too, but she was more like a friend of the family that just happened to give birth to my dad." Huh. Delilah unwinds from Sable, in order to relocate the vase into her hands. A jaunt of her head motions the other girl to come along. "As long as you're interested, I'll tell you things. Maybe Quid Pro Quo? You're a mystery too." Freckled cheeks move up in a grin. " "I've got pictures, if you're feeling up to it."
Sable grabs her coat as she follows after Delilah. The way she describes her family - it's both strange and not. Not, because she has no comparable experience and thus nothing to compare it against. Strange, because having no comparable experience means she has only cultural normality to base her vision on. Picket fences and a family car. Over the hill and through the woods, to grandmother's house we go.
"I mean… sure, sure… if you're interest'd," Sable says, with the put-on self deprecation of someone who's embarrassed, but essentially willing, "'n' yeah!" Her enthusiasm for pictures is quite clear, "You'll be a sight to see, I'm sure!"
"Even Magnes has only seen some once- I think I've made Teo sit through them all- I don't usually get them out all the time." Delilah is careful as she puts the roses smack dab in the living room, and they seem to bring a splotch of bright color to otherwise paler ones. "Be right back." Despite the inferred tragedy, Dee seems happy to be doing this, and for a few moments disappears into the next room. Samson follows Sable around, suddenly keen on investigating her. His collar jangles as he tries to put nose to ankles.
"Don't be scared." Wha- oh. When she returns, in her arms is a very thick binder of photo pages, apparently filled. Hoo, buggy.
Sable can't but feel… excited? Not at the notion of the pictures in and of themselves, she doesn't mind, she's interested (though it's very odd to see younger pictures of someone you're currently full-on ogling), but at the fact that she is among a chosen few. When Delilah disappears, she pinches the bridge of her nose, closes her eyes and quietly scolds herself.
"Don't tweak out, ferchrissake. Don't make an ass 'f y'rself." She opens her eyes to see that Samson witnessed her talking to herself. She scowls at him, then addresses him with a deadpan, "Make sure t' make y'rself scarce at an opportune moment, arright? Help a gal out."
Samson peers upwards at Sable. Which, incidentally, is not that far up at all. He's a big brute. If he could speak he might say something wise. Dogs cannot speak, unfortunately. So he just stares at her, tail wagging idly behind him.
"Samson, go find your bone. Where'd you put it? Bone?" Delilah chirps this happily as she puts down the binder on the couch cushion. The dog perks up like nobody's business, suddenly making a frantic search of the floor area with a swiveling of his head. Shit! Where did I put it!? "Get it!" And he goes- into the first direction he is facing, sniffing around for this supposed bone. "Most of this is from before the bomb, at least. After that there wasn't much, and my aunt's been back to taking pictures lately." This time, Delilah is talking to Sable, waving her down and plopping onto the sofa.
Sable sniggers as Delilah sends Samson on a wild bone chase. Once she regains herself, the name's significance sinks in. She blinks, "Samson?" then laughs, "Y'know, it's crazy, I first heard about those two in church preschool, but now the first thing I think of is the Grateful Dead song. Y'ever heard it?" Sable squints a bit, "Seems like you just need t' speak t' him to rob him of his senses, if not his strength. Bet he's mighty protective of you, though, when it comes down to it."
"If I had my way, If I had my way, I would tear this whole buildin' down-" Delilah croons, looking expectant while grinning. "That one?" The dog Samson is still on his mission. "I got him from a shelter last summer. He's like the big brother I never had, something like that. Some older guy owned him before me, taught him a lot of commands. I'm still finding them out, cause used dogs don't come with manuals." Best way to put it. She slaps at the cushion near her. Come sit!
"Aw, see, and now I'll think of you," Sable says, tapping her head with two knuckles, "You're in competition with Jerry Garcia, gal. Thass impressive. Yer serious business." Sable hops up and settles down, right next to Delilah, slipping her arm around the redhead with, likely the first time, no show of intention. It's an easy, familiar sort of clasp.
"There might be buttons you're afraid t' push, huh?" Sable says, "He seems like a sweety, but anythin' that big ain't afraid of much." She scratches the back of her neck, just a moment of nerves after easiness, "Arright," she says, settling down, "Let's see these." She nods at the album. She's ready.
Delilah, perhaps out of mercy, opens the binder to a midsection. She also looks like she knows exactly where anything is. The pictures she has opened to seem to have her in some- a little ginger girl with a red bob and a ribbon in her hair. Others have varying faces, though there are several in common as she flicks a page or two along. A muscular, broad shouldered man, with close cropped hair and bright blue eyes; he has Delilah's smile. A shapely, tall woman, with auburn hair and Delilah's brown eyes. There is another woman, older, with dark hair and light eyes, and a third, blonde and vivacious looking. In time, Sable will learn that this one is alive and well- Delilah's aunt. The last two of repeat appearances are men. The first is a slender, mousy-haired man, with watery blue eyes and a huge smile. The last, Dee points to, the specific picture of him with her, sitting on a porch swing.
"Here. That's him. With the greenhouse. Walter. If I have a boy, I'm making a homage." Walter was not the tallest of men, nor the biggest. However, there is a stalwart quality to him, and a meticulous way to his clothing, which in turn lends him a serious gravitas. Paired with sleek, dirty blond hair turning premature white, and the pair of piercing blue eyes, it makes that effect even stronger. His oval face is divided by a stern, thin brow, and a wrinkle-eyed smirk. He has little Delilah perched on one knee, her legs over his lap as his own brake the swing's movement for the picture.
Sable's eyes dart from face to face, a desire to make people out of these representations. Trying to imagine who they were, or what they must have been like - and who they were to Delilah. "I see you in 'em," is all she is able to be sure of. She understands these things are significant, she can feel it, as a sort of reverence. But it's all such a mystery. She lifts her finger and touches at the bottom of Walter's picture. "How did he seem t' you when you were little? I know the adults I knew 'n' saw most often were larger than life."
"He was sort of- like an Odin figure. I guess. He was more like my father than my father was, for a long time. He was always forceful without actually trying- the kind of guy you knew you had to listen to. He had such a gentle voice though." During this, Dee points out one of the broad younger man, in a picture with the dark-eyed woman. She has his scruffy jaw by one hand, kissing his solid cheek with full lips. "Daniel. That's my mum Janet, there, too. That's Jon, my other Grandfather-" The mousy, scholarly man. "Vittoria, my grandmother-" The lean Italian woman with the dark hair. Delilah is taking pride in introducing the dead. "This other woman is my aunt Marien, my mum's sister. She's the only one still alive."
Sable's brow furrows into a frown. She feels… what she feels is like listening to someone playing an instrument she could never find the strings of. She feels the truth of a thing that she never had, but had some space in her being for. It's not unpleasant. It's like staring at the Milky way, marveling at a universe you'll never see.
Yellow eyes dart over to the girl at Sable's side, "I… I dun' wanna cloud up your sunshine… but I also dun' wanna do dishonor to any part of you. I gotta ask, what ill wind swept through the lives of these fine people? They're fair but they're fallen. There's shadow 's well as light, eh?"
"I told you my grandfathers died when I was little- Jon was sick- I never found out what it was, technically. I think it was complications from AIDS. Walter died of a broken heart about a week later." Delilah starts to mist up thinking about that particular part of it, her smile omnipresent. "When I was twelve there was a fire. I was at school or something. It must have started on the ground floor, 'cause nobody made it out." Delilah picks a fingernail over the plastic page corner, glancing down.
"I came to live with my aunt." She finally says, pointing out the blonde Marien. "She has three boys. One my age, and a twelve and six year old. Her husband died in Afghanistan. I think he was a Colonel. Lived with her 'til about a year and a half back. She was a lawyer before the bomb. After that we lived in Thomas Jefferson. My friends helped me help them move out last year."
Sable's arm applies a gentle squeeze to Delilah as she relates the story of the deaths, the fire. It's a wonder that she can speak about them with only a mist, and with a smile in place. That fondness and good feeling seem to trump tragedy is remarkable. "I can't imagine," she admits, voice lowered out of respect for the fallen, "Dunno how you stay so bright. That's more th'n most any heart could bear, yet yours seems stronger than any…"
"Where'd y' live b'fore? Where was th' big house?" Sable asks, both curious and somber, "That little accent 'f yours sure ain't American grown."
"Manchester." Delilah drags her wrist across her eyes. "We lived around Old Trafford, had two townhouses side by side." A bone followed by a furry skull intrudes up between the two girls, Samson brandishing the large beef bone with a triumphant rumble. I found it! Lilah laughs and puts a palm onto his head. "I stay bright cause I had to find something else to live for. First my new family, then my friends, causes- Samson, now the baby. I've always found the good in bad places. Nothing else to look for, really. No use being a bore."
Sable leans up to press a kiss to Delilah's cheek, the best she can think to do for the glisten in those eyes. Samson's appearance draws a single-eyed squint from Sable, but she finds herself smiling despite herself. She reaches under the dog's chin and scratches his neck. More attention!
Sable glances over at the photo album again. She reaches out, fingers slipping down to the last page and turning, opening up the very end of it, like that certain breed of impatient novel readers. There's a purpose to her motion, and a question in her eyes, but it remains unspoken, since the answer might lie beneath her fingers.
The very end of the book has some empty pages, but the first page with pictures starts as recently as this winter; actually, the more recent ones seem to be of some place not New York City. A rainy coastal city, mountains in the distance covered in green, the views of pale houses with sienna colored rooftops along the streets. Lots of pictures of weird little places- buildings- a bar- the inside of a house. Pictures full of handsome Sicilian footballers- Teodoro Laudani included, being a dusty blond, blue eyed male to Sable, his face unmistakable by that scar on the side of his mouth- and the usual tourist shots. There is one photo of Delilah with a beautiful older woman, her dark hair flowing about her shoulders and luxurious brown eyes alight.
"What are you looking for?" Delilah wonders out loud, her hand still on Samson. "That's from this last January. Went to Palermo with a …very good friend, to see his folks." Storywise, she doesn't really share much else.
Sable frowns, scanning the snapshots as if they might, if read in the right order, in the right way, reveal some truth that she's after. What truth that might be, she couldn't say. She'll tell you when she figures it out. Her thumb runs against the edges of the still-empty pages. "'s an open book," she finally states, "Ain't finished yet. I was… I guess I was just wondrin' if your pictures were just of old things, past things. If this here was… I dunno… a certain kinda memory," she looks up at Delilah, "I'm glad it's still goin'. I hope it ain't too much to hope I'll sneak in here somewhere. I dunno that I'm in any pictures, come t' think of it. Never was part of that sorta family, nor stuck around long enough t' make those sorta friends."
"If my camera works, you'll be in pictures." Delilah assures Sable of this, eyebrows lifting. Samson takes his bone and slumps over in front of the couch. "I have backups of my photos, and this big thing. I didn't end up with much when they let my aunt go through what was left of the house. I try to get the good things all the time, so I can even just- feel better on crappy days…" Delilah turns the book over to the front, and sure enough- a good deal of the old pictures in the first section are smoke-damaged, some charred on the edges. They are very old, some of them- young Walter and Jon with men Delilah never knew, her mother and father's wedding- the sort of pictures she would have flipped through when she was little. There are baby pictures of her, too. For certain. The usual baby activities documented by parents and grandparents. There is even one of Daniel, in all his big hands and buzzed head, trying to go through changing a diaper. Janet's reflection is in the mirror on the opposite wall, holding the camera to her husband's disgruntled and very much hilarious expression.
For the record, Dee does laugh at it.
Sable doesn't laugh, at least not at first. Her face actually conforms more to the expression on Daniel's face. Personal experience must inform this level of sympathy, though God knows who'd ever let Sable near an infant. But as she turns her eyes to Delilah, hearing the redhead laugh, Sable's expression shifts through a spectrum through skepticism, across bemusement, finally ending in a smile that shivers into a laugh of her own. Contagious.
"Gotta admit," Sable says, drawing back her chuckles so she can be somewhat articulate, "I always tended t' think of, like, thinkin' too much of or on th' past as… I dunno… dangeorus, 'r somethin'. What's done is done, is generally how I try 'n' go about things. If it ain't a foundation f'r what yer buildin' towards, let it fall away, y'know?" A life view that is the product of a specific kind of life. The dark haired girl gives Delilah a serious look, lifting her hand to catch the redhead's chin. "Howzit y' manage t' keep the bad from swallowin' up the good? I mean… y' say y've got things t' live for, 'course." Her hand drops, touches very lightly against the gentle bump of Dee's belly, "That I c'n understand perfectly. But with somethin' like this…" she gestures to the big album book, the pictures of happy moments quite literally scorched and stained by tragedy, "Howzit you don't wanna… I dunno… chuck it out the window?"
"Because even happy memories fade, with time." And the last thing Delilah wants to forget are the faces and kindness of her own family. Her answer is simple as that. "Being angry at tragedy won't do any good for anyone. It happens, yeah, but being terrible to a photo album means nothing after the fact." She smiles to Sable, head moving to bump foreheads.
Sable lifts her face, tapping their noses in the beat after their heads touch. She smiles then, on impulse, she sneaks a quick peck from Dee's lips. Sable doesn't toe lines, she vaults over them, heedless. But the topic is hardly right for true leaps and bounds. Quickly, Sable's expression becomes investigative. "Guess that's what's to it, eh? This is how y' keep what's good, even after it's been taken away," she gives a wry chuckle, "Yeah… actually, I do that too, now that I think on it. 'cept it's a little different with me. I got songs and instruments, holdin' onto names I want t' keep thinkin' well of."
"To each their own, right?" Delilah doesn't shy away from Sable's darting forward. The redhead even tastes kind of sweet. Or maybe that is cosmetics. "I use pictures, you use music. Everyone does it in some kind of way, even if they don't realize." Samson grunts down below, maybe affirmation.
"Can y' dance, hon?" Sable says, with something like abruptness, "Like, go out dancin'? I mean… that's all right f'r the little one, right?" Sable's not entirely clear on all the details of pregnancy. Even if she had ever attended the right health classes, she wouldn't have paid any attention.
Delilah just lights up. "I haven't been out like that in forever. Not since the snow. Are we talking dancing like actual dancing, or thrashing around in a club?" She questions, not committed to either, but it sounds as if she is open to both. "It'll be fine. If anything, he'll hear it. Maybe." Huh.
Sable winces, "Aw Jesus, shoulda known you'd know how to dance properly. Yer too damn classy. Ah… 'n' it'd be a sight to see. Y'know… here," she takes Delilah's hands, "How's this? We do both. I know there's a place that opened up again. You 'n' I 'n' maybe ol' Magnes and his gal can get properly dressed up, 'n' hit the town. Soon, too, b'fore they start gettin' picky about dress code 'n' there's just no way I c'n get in," she grins, "You'll look lovely, though, I know it. Mebbe that's the first picture we c'n snap. But yeah… yeah," she starts trying to draw herself back to her original line of thought, "But also… mebbe you c'n teach me to dance properly. In exchange, mebbe, for some lessons on the guitar? How about it?" That nervous excitement is back, but it's much more stacked in favor of the excitement, rather than the nerves.
There is a grin spreading, foggy memories dissipating in lieu of it. "Sounds like a deal to me. It'll be nice to get out like that." Delilah squeezes the hands holding onto hers. "I can show you a bit now, if you'd like?" While there's a mood, may as well use it.
Right now? Oh boy… Sable's nervousness spikes again for a moment, but she bravely presses it back down, capping the feat with a nod. She gets to her feet, her hands still clasping Delilah's, drawing the taller girl up as well. "Hon, I'd fuckin' love to."