Salmon, Not Just For Eating


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Scene Title Salmon, Not Just For Eating
Synopsis Abby has a bridesmaid dress. One she isn't happy with.
Date August 01, 2011

In Dreams

It's always clear when Lynette has been having a rough day. In the past, it would be marked by cigarettes or alcohol or even Refrain sometimes. But these days, it's coffee that has been slotted as her drug of choice, at least when Ben is otherwise occupied.

Despite the fact that it's afternoon, she makes her way into the kitchen to start up a fresh pot. She may be used to a rougher style of living these days, but she hasn't yet fallen to the depths of stale coffee. At least when an alternative is available.

Once everything's set up an brewing, the woman pulls a chair over near the precious nectar of the gods, as if sitting guard lest others make a grab at it first. Unacceptable. She wears a simple, knee-length skirt, something handmade and less chic than she has been in the past. But adjustments were made long ago.

"Is there like this rule, that all bridesmaids dresses have to be some strange color, or must have rosettes on them?" Abby knew where Lynette was, word of mouth meant that she could track down the coffee craving addict. On a hanger, here on Pollepel during her brief forays out here for Ferry business when not at home or the bar.

On the hanger, brandished for the guardian of the coffee pot, is a floor length dress, one shoulder, chiffon in a salmon almost orange color with matching fabric roses at the shoulder and dwindling across the bodice. "Bad enough that she's marrying him and I'm standing for her, but this was what she had me go and buy. Robert can't even keep a straight face" Abigail comes to a stop in front of Lynette, shaking the dress, making it sway back and forth. "If I say I accidentally burned it… do you think she'd let me pick my own?"

It seems much of what people own even now are either handmade, or so threadbare that when someone is able to locate new clothes- new being relative- that it goes straight to whoever fits into it. At least, that has been Huruma's experience. As a result, unfortunately, she usually gets sticked with men's clothing, unless she finds the material for a favor or two. It happens, sometimes. If she has anything nicer, it isn't kept here, and she never has occasion to wear it. Remnants, somewhere.

So when Huruma gets a weary eyeful of salmony chiffon when she ventures to the kitchen- coffee draws many creatures- she lets out a hiss of air and the rest of her flinches comically, taking a step backwards. In a flannel shirt and a white undershirt, jeans, and boots of walking heels and semi-pointed toes, she could classified as dirty ranch chic, one supposes.

"What. Is that." The tall woman's jaw grinds once, and she only finds herself staring It down.

"That," a redhead who happens up just behind the tall woman answers. The baby on her hip is small, thin from lack of surplus food but quiet, at least while he's being held. "That is probably the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life." It's hard to say whether Delia is being sarcastic or completely serious. If she's not, serious that is, she's doing a fantastic job of hiding it.

Passing by the dress, she's careful not to let the toddler's fingers grab at it, just in case. She pokes about the cupboards, surprisingly coming up with a jar with a scrape of jam left in it and a small crust. "You don't think anyone would mind, do you?" She's not completely confident in her food 'stealing', even if it's not for her own benefit.

Lynette opens her mouth at the sight of the dress, then closes it again for a moment. A moment of thought. "The cut is flattering, at least," she says eventually, and with a straight face. If there's irony, it's buried deep, although amusement comes out a moment later in a crooked smile. "I think you run the risk that she might pick something worse if it got 'accidentally' anything'd."

One leg crosses the other as she looks over this dress, as if counting the number of things she disapproves of. She might have adapted to life in exile, but she hasn't lost her sense of taste, after all. "A test to the bonds of friendship," she says in wry amusement to Huruma's less diplomatic reaction to It.

However, Delia's gets a quizzical, possibl y disbelieving lift of her eyebrow, and she gestures to her… What do you call your lover's daughter? Well, Lynette gestures to her whatever her title may be and smiles in Abby's direction, "But it's not all bad, see?"

"Yeah, the cut" Abby looks over to Huruma, threatening to bring it closer to the dark skinned woman, as if it might be actual fire itself. "I think she though that just because I can turn into fire, that the shade is flattering on me" But Delia enters, with child on hip and a ravaging of the cupboard for the Jelly. "Take it, I know there's some more coming on the boat when I leave, and I can get some at the store when I come back again, for you and Benji" Abigail offers to the nurse.

No need to worry about baby hands, there's a covering of thick plastic to do that job, protecting it. "Kasha likes it though" Which either says that Kasha has good choice in clothing for a six year old, or very poor. "Really though, this is a test of friendship? Sticking your friends in the ugliest color possible and seeing if they'll willing do it, and let you take pictures of ones self in it for posterity and evidence"

The dress is shook again. "I call this justifiable Homicide. I'm sorry judge, she made me wear salmon orange, I had to do it, for the better of the world"
Huruma narrows her eyes a moment, offended also in her sense of taste. She peers down over her shoulder to Delia and the baby, moving further in so they can pass into the room. Not getting too close to the chiffon, mind you. "Might as well go all th'way, wear a hat with a stuffed bird on it…" She holds her long hands up, forming them in the air around her head, as if testing a large hat. "She would like a burlap sack, if it meant you would be wearing it." It is difficult to tell if she is being catty, or if she is honest; sometimes, they know for Huruma the two are not always mutually exclusive.

"No sane person would convict you." Huruma smiles toothily, giving the dress a fair berth as she crosses into the room, eyes scanning over the flat surfaces in search of something. She doesn't seem to find it, whatever it was. "What does th'littlest one think, hm?" Huruma turns her eyes down to Benji, not quite lingering near. "Abomination, or masterpiece?" Only partially rhetorical.

"It's not that bad," Delia mumbles, looking a little exhausted as well as exasperated. She carefully places the boy on the counter as she shakes the last of the jam out of the jar and onto the bread. It's entirely too much to balance on the small bit and berries fall off the side, creating a sticky mess for him to play in. "Compare it to what we usually wear around here, it's really not."

From there, she looks down at her own ensemble. It's far from haute couture, barely passing for any sort of couture. The gypsy skirt is a mishmash of different fabrics gleaned from button down shirts and remnants of other skirts, carefully pieces together and hand sewn. Her shirt is an old t-shirt, worn more for comfort than because it actually goes with anything else. And bare feet, which she's apt to fall back on when she just doesn't care. Which she barely does anymore.

"I hate to admit it, but she's got a point. At least you get to wear a gown." And that may make Lynette a little sad, since she used to wear wonderful clothes at any and all occasion right up to the riots that brought them to this island. But instead of bringing down the party, she stand from her chair to step over to ruffle Benji's hair a little before she presses a kiss to his forehead. She may not have ever been the motherly sort, or even very tolerant of children, but this boy gets to be a special exception. She can't help it, he's adorable. "I think," she says to Huruma's rhetoric, "It's up to him to save this poor island from all this beige." Not necessarily meaning simply the color, but the severe lack of pretty in their collective wardrobes. A hand moves over to touch Delia's back. It's a simple gesture, not coupled with any words or anything, but perhaps a bit affectionate.

Abby doesn't have hand me downs, and for all that she has a husband who's rolling in the dough significantly, she's still a normal person, but with clothes that have color and are from within this year usually. Brings what she can to the Island, but not so much as to throw up flags of warning. "She does have a point" Which means Abby's going to hang it up to the side so that she can make faces at Benji as he's allowed to have the last of that jar of jam and to make a mess of the dregs if he so chooses.

"Lookit you. Just like your momma aren't you" Cooing to the kid. "I'll have to bring Kasha next time, to come play with you!" She doesn't bring the girl here often, because of the logistics and the fear of being caught. That and the little girl has preschool amoung other things, preparing her for kindergarten.

it done yet Lynette? I could use a cup. For that matter, you or even you Delia, have any requests that I can bring or send back? He need any more soothers or diapers?" She knows Huruma will speak up if she needs or wants anything.

"I need some better anti-inflammatories." Huruma slips a small request in, when Abby asks out loud. She is distracting herself from most of the conversation by locating a mug to wipe clean. "Maybe thiazides." But getting into prescription drugs may be too much- on the off chance, Robert may have something that he won't be missing anytime soon. On the matter of the former request, Huruma subconsciously exercises her hands, clenching and unclenching her hands as she closes the cupboard.

"I hate getting old. But, as unavoidable as it is…" Huruma glances over the counter to the baby playing in a small mess of jam. "I would rather age well, if I must." She is doing alright, considering what her body has been through in the last (almost) half-century. Destiny makes her too big, parasites, gunshot wounds, broken bones, torn muscles, electrocution, regeneration- you know the drill.

The redheaded woman places a protective arm around her son and gives a sullen shake of her head. "I don't need anything," she mumbles, taking the piece of bread from the infant and holding it for him as he stretches his neck to bite into it. "Nothing you can get for me, I mean." Or will get for her, is what she really means.

The child is slid from the counter and back onto her hip and Delia's nose finds its way to the top of Benji's head. Her lips are pressed into the black curls before she withdraws again, perhaps making a mental note to give the boy another bath. As it is, he's fairly clean, very well cared for, even if left a little hungry most of the time.

"I'm sure it is by now, Abby, have at it. Just save me a cup." It's a short list of people, those Lynette allows in front of her in line fore coffee. "Books, if you can sneak a few our way. I wouldn't object to a bottle of decent vodka." Nothing as serious as medicine on her list. But she looks over at Huruma, her hand settling on her hip as the other brushes Benji's cheek before his mother takes him back.

"So uncaring of time, not to stop for us for a bit so we can get everything done before age starts to set in." Not that she counts herself as aging yet. Soon enough, but not until she reaches forty, at least. There is a glance toward Delia, her lips dipping into a frown. Still not very good at comfort, but then she never really was.

'Well do you want anything Delia?" The request for the painkillers, the not over the counter, little more harder to come by, gets a glance from Abby with a furrowing of her brows in concern. But she has a way of getting some things, things that if asked of Robert, he finds a way to make happen, no questions asked. A bottle or two of painkillers won't be untoward really. Vodka too. Things to see sent to a boat and make it's way here. Some small comforts for Delia and Benji too, she's sure, will find a way.

Slender fingers see to getting herself a cup of coffee, leaving it black as the dark womani in the room and sipping carefully from piping hot surface. "Hows the latest patrols been, We loose anyone else that I don't know about yet?" She hadn't been here long, not long enough to get the gossip and lowdown on stuff yet from other members.

"If Jensen can do it, so can I. Nothing doing." Huruma all but puffs her feathers out. Her words are for Lynette and Abby, and her eyes are settled on Delia and the littlest Ryans. She finds herself always listening more closely than she might with her ears. Empathy is empathy, whether or not you have people to care for, and to care about. Huruma can taste whatever there is in Delia's mind as well as the woman herself can.

"Not as I am aware. More babies than deaths, I've found. I suppose that Fate will be demanding of an exchange, soon. In with th'new, out with th'old. I am not getting terribly complacent, I hope."

With the exception of perhaps Gabriel and Eileen, Huruma may well be one of the only people on the island who knows exactly what Delia is feeling. From her outward disposition it spirals further down, the child in her arms being the only spark that lifts her for a few moments at a time. Moments like this one where she holds him close for a while, despite his struggles and jammy fingers. She doesn't care about the mess on herself, the shirt can be changed or washed. Or just left.

"Whose wedding are you going to?" The question is ventured in a meek voice, diverting the topic back to the ugly colored dress. At least it's a good cut. There's a twinge of jealousy there, when the young woman looks at the dress. She might already be looking for ways to slice it up when Abby's finished with it.

"Yes, things have been alright lately." Just alright. Better than they could be. "As far as patrols are concerned. No babies for me, thank you very much." Lynette looks over to Huruma as she watches Delia, as if she could siphon some of the woman's intuition. She turns, though, to get herself a cup of coffee as well. Also black.

She glances back to Delia at the question, and she tilts her head a bit before she replies, "Abby here is not only invited to the social event of the year, but she's in John Logan's wedding. Bitch." It's a playful word, no real bile in it.

Well, Lynette answers that. "I'm Tania's maid of honor" It's no longer Katya, hasn't been Katya for a long time. her enthusiasim though, is not very high. Little wonder being who it is that Tania is marrying. "I'm in Tania's wedding" John Logan is merely a complication in such but if her friend should want to link herself to the man that… she really loves, then who is she to complain?

"I can try and sneak you in. Or maybe get Tania to sneak me a box of wedding cake and send it back"

"Just a little bit of plastique under the lapel, I think. That would do perfectly." Huruma remarks to herself on the matter of John Logan, glancing over only when Abby goes on to ensure that she is there for Tania only. "Then he will literally be John bloody Logan." Even after all these years, just like some of them, the African woman harbors little to no love for him. He is as useful as god-knows what, though she does not trust him as far as she can kick him.

"Give her my luck, Abigail. She will need it, I expect."

Delia's eyebrows dip into a low vee and she presses her lips together angrily at Huruma's idea. "No," her tone is sharp, unnecessarily so. "I can't believe you would ruin someone's wedding, even if it's someone you don't like." She never had the chance, it might be something she still clings to.

Wheeling on her heel, she storms toward the door and all but glares at the three women. "John Logan might have been horrible, maybe, at one time but he has a heart. Obviously Tania found it and they're going to be happy."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of going. Then the bride would be eclipsed by the authorities dragging me out and shooting me," Lynette says with a dismissive wave of her hand. "But cake… I bet it's going to be some damn good cake." And when was the last time they had any? Too long.

Delia's response makes her blink a little. She doesn't dislike Logan herself, but the little outburst from her comes as a surprise. She doesn't try to stop her walking out, nor does she try to calm her down. Sometimes people just have to be angry.

Is there a heart somewhere in that chest of John Logans? Maybe, buried under the Dolce & Gabbanna, Dior, Furstenburg and Ralph Lauren. Somewhere. Abby doesn't retort, protest or otherwise try to stop the redhead. Maybe another day, another time and place she might talk. Her own chance to stop the wedding can be at any time, but if it's what her friend wants, then it is what her friend will get. Warnings have long since gone to the Russian woman who's blossomed in her own way, about the man she loves.

"She's still having a hard time?" This spoken when Delia is gone, the woman's scent just a lingering memory.

Huruma appears to be thinking along similar lines to Lynette, lifting her eyebrow at Delia's outburst. It might have been a joke- or not- but still, the reaction was testy. Huruma knew Delia's mood, but one can never tell what a trigger is going to be. She broods even after the redhead departs.

"Yes." Huruma states, in her most obvious tone. "That little one gives her what he can, even if he does not know it. A burning coal in an otherwise chilling fire." The dark woman moves to fill the mug she'd been wiping out, preferring to only give herself three-quarters full. Cutting back, possibly. "Time heals all wounds." Some need more time than others. "Scar tissue nonwithstanding."

"It's the father, isn't it?" Lynette doesn't know, not for sure, but it's not too hard to guess. Woman with a kid and all. She puts her hands on her hips, an odd mix of emotion on her face. Sympathy, sure, and a bit of her own anger on Delia's behalf. "I realize this is going to sound strange and a little hypocritical, considering." She and Ben are no secret by now, if they ever were. "But they always fucking leave."

It's deeply personal pain, that sentence, but at the moment, she's more regretful that Delia had to learn that lesson in an even more painful way than she herself did. But she looks from the door to Huruma, ready to protest, but that really would be hypocritical. "I suppose it does. Not a very satisfying cure. Certainly not very fast."

"It's not easy. Being a terrorist and trying to love each other when every time you turn around, something might tear the both of you apart" Says the woman, happily married, not having to live on the run, still able to maintain that life that she had found herself with. "And no, time is not the easiest of cures. Sometimes, it's not a cure at all" The quietly opines, lifting her cup to sip from it, falling silent.

"I've never had th'pleasure." Huruma really has no personal stock in men leaving her, though one can argue she has come close a few times, certainly. Same goes for what Abby says, though a little less-so. "Placebos are as close as some can get to a cure, though, and I am not about to deny them that." Huruma shrugs her shoulders once, eyes roving off to find the door again, before they flick back to Abby.

She does not want to talk about men- or wounds- anymore. "Tell me how Kasha is doing in preschool, these days."

"I've had the opposite experience. It was the tediousness of 'normal' life my previous romances collapsed under." Lynette lifts a shoulder there, glancing over to Huruma as she changes the subject. That's okay with her. She may be more open with these women, but she's still more than happy to not talk about herself.

"Ah, yes. Little Kasha. I can hardly believe she's old enough to be in school." It's the complaint of every adult watching a child grow up. It makes time seem to go by so quickly.

Picture time, oh yes, Abby has a picture. A little girl with hair that's gone dirty dirty blonde and promising to go darker with age. Popsicle in her hand, drips making their way off, down her hand and a ring of blue around her mouth and a smile. That precocious age, the promise of seriousness in her eyes despite the smile and missing teeth. "She likes the other kids. I think though, I might take her out. I don't know. She likes it there just… there's not other kids SLC expressive. Maybe just take her back to the lighthouse and spend her days with the kids for the rest of the year. They could better use the cost each month that that place will"

It would not be terribly out of place if Huruma had a Gollum moment when she asks about Kasha- Abby offers up the photo, and she is more than excited to take it up and inspect the little girl's knob-toothed grin. "I am sure you will figure out what is best. She gets lovelier every time I see her." Which in other words, probably means that Huruma has an actual inkling to see her, now. "They can teach her all th'same things, but you will not find it fitting on elementary applications. We do well enough, with our children."

"She might like those kids, but she does not know them, as she does our others." Which could prove a difference, in time. Huruma might be a partial jury.

Lynette can't help but chuckle as Huruma takes up the picture, the eagerness amusing. But her attention goes more to Abby. "Well… it's good to know non-expressives, too. But I suppose she can do that when she's in grade school. She's right, we do well with the kids." Not just teaching them, either. There's an endless supply of protectors. "If Robert wouldn't object, of course."

"In this political climate?" Big words from Abby! Likely, she's learned those words from Caliban. "It's more a mark against her, than for her. That and not knowing what she does, if her biological mother was a pre-cog-" Highly unlikely, because if so, the mother might have not OD'd and left an infant in an alley on a cold iced over spring. "Or a teep or the other abilities that make the government cringe these days" It makes Abigail cringe. Glad that she's - still of that wrong impression - unable to give Kasha a sister or brother. "I think it would do her good, for the lighthouse kids. She takes a liking to Lance. He can always make her smile"

"Pff. Boys." Huruma and those three little boys have never really been on the same level- they are always like flies buzzing in a lion's ears, driving her up walls. Ever since she met them, really. "This will sound terribly apartheid of me, but she should stick with her kind. If indications are anything t'go by, in any case."

Huruma reluctantly passes back the photo after a bit of looking. "Better t'learn of segregation more than you live it."

"Very progressive of you, Huruma," Lynette says with too much dryness for it to be an honest compliment. "She's going to learn about segregation either way, frankly."

She drinks a little more of her coffee before moving to get herself a refill. "This is a good time to move her, though, if you're going to. Before she's totally settled in with where she is. I gather change isn't easy for children."

"Homeschooling never hurt me" Abby points out, not to anyone in particular, and when the picture is passed back, A pal goes up, refusal. Let Huruma keep it. Abby's got plenty more. "I'll have to talk with Robert, see what he thinks" But it's a very real possibility, if for completely different reasons than Abby had been homeschooled.

"You okay Huruma? That you want something stronger. Arthritis?" Still near the pot, abby nudges her own mostly empty cup, a silent request for a refill
"I would be more progressive if th'rest of th'world was less aggressive." Touche! Huruma gives Lynette a hazy smile, and the last few years have made it look even more unsettling. Perhaps the lines make her cheekbones more stark. She tucks the photo into the front pocket of her shirt, when denied the return of it.

"I am not in the category of old, quite, but I'm getting there. Things are starting to rattle an'ache more. I am taking a cue from Jensen and Ben, they said that it is probably bone, not rheumatism. Megan suggested thiazides. I'm tall, and I am black. Best t'get a headstart." We're not going to even mention the M-word right now, unless one of them wants to. Huruma would rather not.

"I do believe that's the first time I've heard a socio-political pun," Lynette says, her smile wider and appreciative. They could all use good humor in these days. "Better to get a head start than to wait until there's a real problem, I suppose."

She looks back to Abby as she pours the woman a refill as well, "Homeschooling isn't a bad idea, no. You're sensible enough to handle it, I dare say."

"Sensible" Okay, her turn to laugh. She has never been sensible in anything but shoes. Abigail rolls her eyes just a fraction, reaching up to fiddle with the cross at her neck, the engagement right there that stays safe in case of accidental combustion. Her wedding ring remolded the few times that she's never been able to get that off right fast enough.

"I should go see Megan, see what I can do to help. I got some new texts in class that I need her help with, Delia's too" Paramedic training long since done, she was attempting to part time take on nursing classes.

"Not much to be done about blood pressure, in my line of work." Huruma smiles, but it is a bit rigid. "Comes with th'territory, I fear. Joints are another matter. It is difficult to be so high up." She moves her shoulders again, peering into the cup in her hand. "It will be better than none, in any case. Schooling, I mean."

"I had nothing, until I was already older. I was lucky in that my grandmother had foresight, and that I was smart to learn."

And Abby is far more sensible about shoes than Lynette, so perhaps that's where the opinion comes from. "Don't make a face. You are, generally speaking. More than a lot of us, I fear."

She smirks at Huruma, though, shaking her head, "The price for being an Amazon, I suppose. Gravity's been kinder to us shorter people." However flippant she sounds, the look she casts in Abby's direction is a concerned on, for their Amazon friend.

'The air is much thinner up there" Abby commiserates with Lynette, looking up at Huruma. "The clouds you know, they make the perfect compliment to her hair when it goes silver. In fact, I think I see a few grey hairs there" Abby gulps back the hot coffe,e likely going to regret that, starting for the door, pausing only long enough to pick up the salmon colored dress. "I'll see what I can do for you, oh gracious aged one in your bountiful wisdom. We bow to you, our senior, our venerable mistress" If Abby's steps are quick to keep from getting a swat on her ass at the oh so tender age of twenty-six, so be it.

Huruma offers the both of them her littlest scowl, running a hand over the bristle of her hair. There is usually not time for something like that to show, but sometimes it gets long enough that it seems a shade more gray than ebony. If the card play out as they seem, Huruma's hair will turn a shade of silvery white. Her grandmother's did, in the end, finally. Turned out that she dyed it with oil in the first place. Imagine that surprise.

"You will be just as tall if I pick you up to toss you." Huruma bristles teasingly, and feints after Abby, indeed lifting a hand to swat at the air behind her. The bristle turns into a dry laugh soon enough, and Huruma doubles back into the kitchen, if just to have some company in Lynette, and provide it all the same.

Laughing as Abby makes her graceful (and quick) exit, Lynette only follows a step or two to call after her, "Good luck with the wedding, Abby! Bring us back a centerpiece!" They're bound to be fabulous, after all.

But by the time Huruma comes back in, she's leaning again the counter, just picking up her coffee again. "Poor thing, having to endure that circus of a wedding. I do hope she survives," she says, her smile crooked.

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