Participants:
| Scene Title | See? |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Abby discovers she has perhaps gotten more than she bargained for in providing shelter for Odessa Knutson. |
| Date | March 2, 2010 |
Old Lucy's - Upstairs
Though one might remember when a certain fiery woman lived here… Now the living area above Old Lucy's has changed hands. The open living room and kitchen are homey, a commingling of two people's tastes. The leather couch sits kitty corner to a one of red suede and a bit smaller. A large bird cage for it's budgie inhabitant takes up it's own corner beside dark paneled walls. Bookshelves with literary pieces of a variety both academic and not take up another small section.
The kitchen is large, with a rolling wood and black marble island to give more counter space to work on. Pots and pans hang from the roof and track lighting keeps it not gloomy. A proper oak dining table has been set up with matching chairs instead of the 70's castoff that the residents have been known to own and a bowl of fresh fruit sits in the center.
Down a hall lay's multiple doors. A master bedroom occupied by the oldest resident and occasionally have a pervading smell of whiskey and smoke coming from it when the door is open. A second door with a cross above it, a third with no marking that is occupied by the third resident of the premises. Two other doors lead to a linen closet and bathroom - Decorated in a very strong pirate theme - respectively. A black cat with a red velvet collar and a little Swarovski charm dangling from it can be found meandering at will.
It's not like tonight was the first time Odessa's woken up in a dark alleyway, but it's usally for different reasons entirely than the predicament she found herself in. The contents of her pockets are strewn about the pavement, fortunately it seems nobody's stumbled upon her to plunder her things. Or perhaps nobody wanted to steal red lipstick, bubble gum, or slips of paper with seemingly random number sequences.
Only after steadying herself against a wall and promptly vomiting does she make the trek from the Bronx back to Greenwich Village, and Old Lucy's. Slipping inside the building and back up the stairs was no difficulty. In the short time it takes her to get from the front of the building and to her borrowed room, however, her grip on her ability is slipping. She allows time to resume around her. Pain blurs her vision, dulls her mind, and leaves her feeling weak.
And worst of all, it leaves her feeling foolish.
Laying back on the bed, Odessa can't quite bring herself to examine her broken fingers. Not just yet. Maybe once she's relearned how to take a full breath. Maybe then she'll think about looking herself over. And setting those fingers.
Out from under the bed emerges a tremendously fluffy calico Persian kitten. Schroedinger, or simply 'Inger to her owner, joins Odessa on the bed, curling up on the woman's good side and lapping at her fingers as if she knows something is terribly wrong.
Dinner with her parents, a quiet stilted affair thanks to the night before and the conversation therein brought Abby back to the bar because she'd asked Peter to meet her there. Through the day she'd neglected to actually get him to draw the blood and on the way back she'd called up her partner. Did he have a few moments and happen to be in drivable distance of Greenwich pretty please, she'd make it up with a cherry on top and getting lunch all this week on her. It was really important.
The bar is in fine form tonight and she'd waited outside for Peter until he'd appeared, a gesture with her head towards the bar door and a motion for him to go on in with her. "Going upstairs. Don't want you thinking impure thoughts about the girls when they get up on the bar," she teases the guy, pushing open the door to the bar and heading in. The bouncer doesn't blink an eye to the pair, no move made to check ID's or the like, not when he's in the company of the boss lady.
Around the bar, into the back room, go through the motions of security and head up the stairs. "Thanks for doing this, Peter. Better I do it tonight than forget another day or do it in the morning and then I'm too messed up for work. Hope I didn't pull you from anything." She's oblivious to Odessa's state above and none of the bartenders saw fit to stop her and warn her.
"Hey, no it— I stopped off to check up on a— " Awkward hitch of Peter's voice indicates guilt, "friend." A blonde, skinny, maybe too young friend. "I ah, haven't gone home yet. Has it been a long week to you?" Peter offers in quiet distraction from his earlier comment, following at Abby's heels like the lost puppy he often is on their way up the stairs. "God it has been a long week." When he says that on a Tuesday it really does seem like he's losing his mind.
Clearing his throat, Peter offers a crooked smile when he adds, "I dropped the bar-dancing thing on Kaylee last night. Told her I didn't believe her…" He manages that wry smile, crooked on one side. "So, she got up on my coffee table and— heh, I owe you one. That's the only reason I'm still awake right now, because as long as this week has been, that sort've made up for it."
Waiting at the top of the stairs while Abby musses with the door, Peter looks back down the stairs, brows furrowed. "So… exactly why am I doing a spontaneous blood drive in your apartment?" One black brow rises as Peter turns to look back over at the blonde. "I mean, aside from placating any vampires you might have lurking around here?"
When the door opens, a stream of curses that could well make a sailor blush is what greets Abigail and Peter. And those curses are, perhaps ironically, drifting from the partially open room with a cross above its door. That door opens wider as the kitten nudges it open to bolt from the room and dash across the path of the newly arrived EMTs.
Abby sticks her fingers in her ear one he starts making noises about he and Kaylee and dancing on the table that has been the one reason he's awake right now. "LA LA LA LA LA I CAN'T HEAR YOU PETER. I DID NOT HEAR ABOUT KAYLEE AND YOU DOING WHATEVER PETER." Obviously she did and with that joke made, the door is opened properly, starting to input the necessary code to turn off security systems and once they're both inside, turn back on.
"Do you really want to know Peter, or would you rather just continue to walk around normal and ignorant? Cause if you want to know, I can tell you. By the way, I'm a fainter. Prooobably should let you know that." She's not really a fainter. She's a foot tapper and a bride of nose squeezer and a babbler when someone approaches her with a needle. "I don't think Teodoro's home, or Alexander, he might be out. Or Francois." How many men does she live with? And not dating any of them? The cursing though and the calico kitten bolting for the door causes her to bend down, make to scoop it up and cradle it to chest. "Joy!? You home?!"
"Frrr— Francois!?" Peter doesn't do much but stand squarely in the middle of the doorway with brown eyes saucer-wide. His mouth moves but words don't quite come out all the while. He gapes, breathes in deeply, then just hustles over to Abby's side and grabs her arm holding the kitten, not quite realizing who the source of the cursing is. "Francois died, Abby, he died in Antarctica! I saw him go down the drill shaft to where the bomb was before it detonated." There's a horrified look on Peter's face when he moves to stand in front of her, nostrils flared and face red.
"Whoever it is it's not Francois. Abby— Abby how long has he been here?" There's a frantic look of anxiety now on Peter's face, because there's only two options in his mind that make any sense; one that it's Kazimir and holy shit screw that, and two that it's some shapeshifter or illusionist he hasn't yet had the pleasure of being beaten about the head and neck by.
There's the sound of feet on the stairs, again, someone coming hastily up from below. Maybe they just won the lottery. Maybe Al's Spideysense has alerted him to the fact that Helena's douche ex-boyfriend is breathing his air. No attempt at stealth.
That douche ex-boyfriend is Abby's rig partner and with the door already closed and the familiar sounds of Al's footsteps rising at an alarming pace there's a pinch of the bridge of the youngest blonde's nose. Really, all she wanted was to have blood drawn. That's all. "Lord on high, Peter, you're done gonna burst a vein and I am going to be stuck with some vegetarian, eco-cheerleader EMT who believes in Satan. Calm down, you're hurting my arm, Peter." Fluffy kitty is switched to her other hand.
"It's him. Long story short, he carried around Kazimir to Mexico, and… Flint was there. So you can guess what happened. It's not in him anymore. I saw it die. I saw both of its die or whatever they do when they cease to exist, so you need to calm down right now. That, that is plain old normal Francois the same as you are good ol Peter and …. Al's coming up the stairs and his feet sound angry, so I'd be careful. He's still got a red head's temper."
Oh Jesus bloody fucking shit hell goddamned Christ, when did people decide to come home? Can't a woman be injured in peace anymore? Odessa rises from the bed when her name - or at least her alias - is called. Not really because she's responding to that, but she really should make sure her cat doesn't try to eat the bird. She did promise she would do that, after all. "'Inger!" she calls after the ball of fur. She steps into the hall, pale and clammy the way that only extreme pain can make a person. She's still wearing her red wool coat. Taking it off would just be too scary right now. One hand hangs uselessly at her side, all four fingers bent at awkward and impossible angles.
Odessa stops in her tracks when she sees who else has come up the stairs. Once she registers the man as Peter Petrelli, the first thing she does is study his eyes. And they're what colour exactly?
For all that Peter wants to find out who's coming up the stairs, for all that he wants to chastise Abby for thinking that Francois somehow came out of that duel of conflicting spirits without one or both of them hiding somewhere else, Peter doesn't get the chance to because Odessa Knutson just walked into the room and he is never coming here ever again. Letting go of Abby's arm when he hears that voice, Peter turns in what feels like slow-motion until he makes out Odessa's red-clad figure standing there. His head shakes, mouth opens and brows furrow.
"O— Odessa." Immediate logic fails rather quickly as Peter puts his back to Abby and holds out a hand threateningly, because there could be any myriad of abilities tucked away inside of him and who's Odessa not to know that all he really is right now is a touchslut and that's really only harmful to the future longevity of his healthy relationship with a certain blonde telepath.
"Abby, get downstairs." Peter states flatly, dark brown eyes locked on the blonde doctor. "Odessa how the hell did you get in here?" The idea that she's Joy never even remotely crosses his mind, some of his memories from being Kazimir are foggy at best.
There's just one problem with the 'go downstairs' order. Alex is in that door. Redheaded, pale as milk, larger than life, and just bristling with nervous energy. For the first time since he got back from his little zen pilgrimage out West, there's that weird, thunderous feeling in the air that means he's clamping way down on his power, and thus sort of muting the motion of the air around him by accident. "Petrelli. Why are you in my house?" His tone is as flat as a Kansas highway, and all the more threatening because of it.
"I most certainly am not going to go downstairs," Abby's voice booms in the way that her mother's does, that super evo power that all southern women have. "Really, this is just getting ridiculous. I just came to get you to take some blanking blood, not start World War Three in my own bloody livingroom. Jesse Alexander Knight, you will get your power under control or so the good lord help me, I will make you get it under control." One down, two more to go.
The kitten is released to the couch and a side step around Peter. "Peter. You will either behave yourself in my home or I will surely go to the administration desk tomorrow morning and tell them that I need a new partner. And I'm pretty sure that you enjoy having me as your partner and don't want that eco-bark and nuts squirrely guy who's stuck with no partner. So calm down. She's here as my guest."
Which leaves the guest and Abby with pursed lips as she takes in the sorry sight that is Odessa. "Merciful lord above. How am I supposed to protect you Joy? Really? I can't tether you to me twenty four hours a day. Peter, in the closet there's a big ol duffel bag, get it out and come help me see if we need to cart her off to the hospital." There's a mutter under her breath about how she just wants a quiet night.
"Merde," Odessa mutters, shutting her eyes. Alexander's well-timed entrance means that the woman doesn't really have to explain herself to Peter. At least, not yet. Because he kind of looks like he's about to be punched upside the head, and he probably won't remember a damn thing she's said, and they'll just have to go through this whole spiel again anyway. For now, she just shoots a somewhat apologetic look at Abby and shrugs her shoulders.
When her injuries are noticed, however, Odessa sort of half-heartedly attempts to hide her hand behind her back. "I fell," she insists quietly. "No big deal. I just… need some splints." That's right. She fell and broke all four fingers. Nothing to be concerned about, Abbs.
This is like one of those fever nightmares Peter had while Agent Verse was rooting around in his head in Moab. Except he's fully clothed and Sylar isn't capering about in tap shoes and a tophat and cape. Dark eyes go towards Alexander in the way someone looks quick at a rabid dog they failed to see earlier, all wide-eyed and fretting. Huffing out a breath, Peter takes a staggering step back, tongue running over his lips and brows practically in his hairline.
"You— can't be serious." Peter suddenly grouses, moving his dark-eyed stare from Abby to Odessa. "She— she's a psychopathic murderer." As if he needed to underline that statement due to her current wounded-kitten appearance, Peter adds, "When I had Kazimir in my head she— wanted— ssssomething." There's a squint, and Peter can't just quite put his finger on what that something was. "She was Vanguard!" Well that's the best he's got. "She— she was Vanguard like the Russians you said are trying to kill you?"
This is going to be such a wonderful night.
"Bullshit," Alex says to Odessa, oh so eloquently. And then he swings back on Peter. "Petrelli. What the fuck are you doing here? Other than hyperventilating like a housewife that just saw a mouse. You need some smelling salts?" But he does obey Abby's order….the air loses that weird, expectant hush. Mostly.
"And?" There's a finger pointing towards the closet. "Just get the bag, please. So was Eileen," she points out. "Eileen's got a key, you had Kazimir in you, and I still invited you back to the bar. Just because I don't have my gift anymore, doesn't mean I don't stop offering help and healing those in need Peter. I'll still take whomever God sends across my little patch. Besides, I'm a murderer too or did your stint holding Kazimir in you not remember the bridge? The only difference between me and others is that I didn't get tossed into a black hole for doing it."
She's already peeling off her coat and moving over to the other blonde. "Really, Odessa, you need to not fall again. I can't.. I need keep you alive and I don't think you'd take kindly to being tied down to the bed." She doesn't stop to realize what she said and how it can be construed. "Al, he's my paramedic partner. I needed him for something, stop spazzing out at him. Heavens, you're worse than Heather when she sees a cockroach. Can you get some ice from the freezer? Lord you'd think this was a zoo."
It kind of feels like a zoo in here. Odessa fixes Peter with a defensive look. "I am not psychopathic, thank you." She doesn't bother to correct him on his other point. It's a fair shake, really.
Dizziness washes over the older blonde and Odessa goes staggering backward, good hand reaching out to brace against the wall quickly. "Morphine," she demands. It would feel good on so many levels. But it has a practical application right now. It's not about achieving a high. She shakes her head quickly and then looks back to Peter. "You were Kazimir. You don't get to judge me right now."
A scowl is what Peter fixes Abby with, dark eyes moving over to Alexander in an uncertain manner, he just doesn't know how to feel about seeing that southerner here after their last encounter ended with knuckles in Peter's jaw. Looking back to Odessa, there's nothing but silence for a long while, and Peter exhales a deep breath and for the barest of moments looks to be ready to move out of the apartment, but reconsiders. Brown eyes angle up to Odessa, then over in the direction of the closet.
"I'll handle it." Peter states flatly, turning around to march in the direction of the closet across the apartment, one hand raking up through his bangs and sweeping his hair away from his face in a frustrated motion. That went too easy for him not to still be simmering with something inside, but at least he isn't going to try pitching anyone out of a window at the moment.
It is a zoo in here. Al opens his mouth to say something else bitchy…..and then belatedly remembers Abby's presence. So all he does is blow Peter a kiss.
Abby will take simmering. Simmering is better than defenestration. "No Odessa, you're not going to get any morphine. Get back in my room, I'm spending the night it seems and thank you Peter. I'll let you figure out what to give her that's not Morphine. That's my ferry bag, should be a locked tackle box with drugs in it." The night is young, this sucks and was nothing like she had hoped. Peter going into over-protect mode, Odessa beat up, Alexander pissy cause Peter was in here. But one problem at a time tackled. "You're the more experienced than me too here so.. just think of it as work right? We have to help everyone. We don't have a choic- Alexander Knight!"
She knows him well and the look she sends him is murderous. "You get downstairs right now Jesse Alexander Knight and get back to doing your thing or you go get me some ice. Enough with that… bullshit. Enough with bullshit from everyone. Heavens, you'd think this was the babies room at the church and not knowing how to be civil." She's by Odessa, helping steer her to the bedroom and get the jacket off.
Odessa is easily steered back to the bedroom she's been given to occupy, though she's not going quietly. "Yes, morphine! Dammit, Beauchamp! I'm a doctor, not a child!" Though she is whining like one a bit. "Ow! Watch the arm!" Okay, a lot.
Out of sight as he retrieves Abby's medical bag, Peter emerges back into the living room with it in hand, brows furrowed and a dark-eyed stare leveled towards Alexander as he makes his way towards the bedroom door. Shoes thump soundly on the floor with each step, frustrated half-stomps that are so mature.
Pushing the bedroom door open with one hand, his eyes wander towards Odessa, then over to Abby silently. As he makes his way inside, Peter seems a touch nervous— not about Odessa but about the bedroom in general— and tenses up just a little once inside. He moves towards the bed, settling the bag down on it and offering a look out towards Abby. "You do realize this is a terrible idea, don't you?" Peter's stare directs towards Odessa. "There's ex-Vanguard members trying to murder you, and you have one living in your apartment? One that didn't come to help stop them with the rest of us?"
When Peter's eyes settle back on Abby, he just shakes his head slowly. "She's a time manipulator, can freeze time around herself. Makes it hard to pin her down to hold her anywhere, drug her and she can't control it well." A look is given back to Odessa. "You want some Morphine?" He asks with a sharp cynicism.
Ex….ex-what? Al's face is abruptly comical in its shock. He swings an accusing look between the two women, and then back to Peter. Peter fucking Petrelli, who spoils everyone's peace. "…wha- what did you just say?" he says, all but gulping. And god, now he's getting a headache from not throwing a psychic temper tantrum and destroying half the room. The one thing that happens is that an empty rootbeer bottle falls over on the kitchen table, rolls, and clinks to the floor.
This is why Abby can't have nice things.
This is why Abby's nice things are in her room. So that Al doesn't have to replace expensive stuff. "You are stating the obvious Peter. Whatever I do is always a terrible idea. I've long since grown accustomed to people thinking that my actions are stupid and idiotic and going to get me killed" Abigail's words carry a sense of a sigh about them, like she's tired of hearing those very words. "But I have my reason for being up here. I know she's former vanguard and I know she stops time. She was there when I healed Eileen. It's how Eileen lived"
Odessa's quip about being a doctor not a child has the younger blonde raising a brow. "Physician, heal thyself?" Abby pauses for dramatic effect, forefinger tapping the corner of her mouth. "Oh wait, you can't? Guess you're stuck with redneck Barbie and the president's little brother. We'll try not to poke more holes in you." This is getting tiring really, sorta. "No morphine." She doesn't state why, but the look she gives Odessa means the other woman knows why. "Besides, I don't have any. I returned it to the ferryman, so you're out of luck on that count. I have some Vicodin in the box though" She switches with Peter, letting the guy who was a hospice nurse do the work. Besides, she needs to glare at Al from her doorway with raised brows. "Ice?"
"I am perfectly capable of setting my own fingers, thank you." Capability does not equate to a desire to do so, however. Knowing what she has to do doesn't make the task any easier for Doctor Knutson. It will be much easier to have someone do it for her.
Despite the pain and a desire to make everything just stop, Odessa flashes a wicked smirk at the former nurse when he takes up in Abby's stead. "Go ahead and pin me down, Peter. I won't protest." The witty repartee is gone quickly, consumed by a want to vomit in the rubbish bin or curl up into a ball and cry because her fingers fucking hurt. She replaces her own brand of flirtation with a dark scowl. "You have no idea what I went through with the Vanguard," she warns. "If I hadn't been sabotaging the Shanti Virus, the whole world would be dead or dying right now." Her expression softens, but only marginally. "I'm not one of them anymore. I'm different."
"Sure you are…" Peter grouses wordlessly to Odessa, turning to the medical bag as he unzips it, then just takes a step back and motions to Abby. "As much as I'd love to be the one setting her fingers, I think this is where my cooperation in this stops." Both of his hands raise in the air, and Peter's dark brows furrow together. "I'm— I refuse to have a part in helping her. You want to risk your life, your job and everything else housing a wanted criminal in your bedroom, that's your call and I'm not going to stop you. But I have a life and a career to think about, and she didn't get a pardon from the government like the others did."
Sliding his tongue across his teeth, Peter offers an anxious look up to Odessa, forefingers and thumb rolling together as he seems to consider something. As much as a selfish want for the ability to stop time is, Wendy's ability will lead him to what he really wants, and what he really needs, not some flight of fancy desire to see what a temporal manipulator's power feels like with this ability.
Temptation is further represented by Alexander, but the only touching he and Peter will do likely results in stitches.
Al flings up his hands in theatrical despair. One of his queenier moments, oh, yes. "You and all the rest of them. Amazing what a change of heart everyone's been through." The sarcasm, it is thick and sticky like Georgia asphalt. But he does go to get the ice.
In as much as she would agree with him, and that it's wrong to have Odessa up here, Hiro asked and she trusts him. So Al's throwing up of hands and snit fit just drives her to close her eyes and grimace. Some days, the stress is just too much and she can feel the headache now creeping up the back of her head. "I don't care anymore. All I care about is that someone is hurt. Someone is hurt and I have the skills to help them," she snaps out to no one in particular.
"I can't heal them anymore, but that doesn't devalue the promise I made to God that I'd heal whomever he sent my way. So if certain people here don't like that I opened my home to someone that they don't care for, they can get the fuck out of my sandbox, and out of my bedroom, because she's hurt. I don't know how, I don't care how, but she's hurt and I'm going to do, what I can, to ease that hurt. If she turns around and stabs me in the back, then she does it, and I did another stupid thing, but it's my stupid thing. So y'all will either help, or you'll leave and I'll go about patching her up without running her to a hospital."
You'll persevere he'd promised her. That he was sorry. She was wondering just how sorry he was. Odessa's hand is grasped, working on the innermost finger to her thumb, and not giving the other woman any warning before she goes about to setting it.
Odessa rolls her eyes and levels a look to Alexander. "If I wanted the lot of you dead, you would already be dead." In her mind, that's rather an indisputable fact. "Sorry if I'm reluctant to sell my soul to the same sons of bitches who put me in Moab," she growls.
There's a dramatic sigh. "Don't be such a whiny bitch, Peter." With a wave of her good hand, the nurse is frozen to the spot. "I'll deal with you later," she mutters.
Breath hitches in her throat, and eyes go wide when Abby sets to work without a word of warning. The shriek that escapes Odessa's lips is ragged and throaty. Perhaps this is some sort of karma. There have been many times when she'd given this sort of treatment to her own patients, but in her mind, that was completely different.
Take a slice of film, cut it up into jerky reels, and then press pause. That's Peter's world, motion even still blurred from the fact that he was halfway turning from Odessa when she froze him. Brown eyes are partway lidded, mouth open as if preparing to speak; it's not the most picturesque way to be frozen in time at all.
Especially not since this isn't the first time he's found himself frozen and at Odessa's mercy.
Al returns with ice. Only to notice what Peter is doing. Or rather, not doing. "Undo that," he says to Odessa, flatly. "Abby may let you stay here, and I'll honor that hospitality. But that doesn't mean you get to behave like a bitch princess while you're here. Let him go."
She just did … not… Abby looks over to Peter, then back to Odessa, lips going into a fierce grim line. "That's it." She pulls away from the bed, hands up and flexing back and forth from relaxed, to a fist before reaching for the ice from Al. "That's it. Odessa you will undo that now, or by god, I will throw you out of this house. You'll not pull those shenanigans in my home, do you understand me? Undo it now," the blonde just shy of roaring demands as she heads to Peter and away from the time stopper.
Odessa actually looks perplexed after she manages to catch her breath and collect her thoughts long enough to be so. "It's not hurting him," she states. "He's just out of sync. He's not aware of it. It's not as if he's panicking in his own mind." Huff. "He's done worse to me. Why are you so upset?" There's a frustrated gesture, an elaborate wave of her hand…
Two things have happened at the completion of the arc. The first being that Peter has been released from the hold Odessa had him under. The second is that the woman's fingers all seem to be set. Sweat coats her brow and she looks a faint shade of green beneath her pallor. Her lips part, she holds her good hand out toward Abby, and when she speaks, her voice is calm. "I would like my Vicodin now."
" —oing to go downstairs and get a drink." Peter says as if he hasn't skipped a single beat, and the fact the he was half turned away from the lot of them is indicative of why he doesn't even realize that anything had been wrong at all. "After I have my drink, I'll draw that blood for you, Abby…" Peter just keeps walking, moving towards the bedroom door before pausing there. "I'm not doing anything else though, I'm drawing the blood and I'm going home for the night."
It's the first time Abby's heard him be so tense, since he's been free of Kazimir at least, and it's not something he seems usually possessed to do. "You just— have your time with Odessa, and I'll be waiting where I won't be tempted to say or do something both of us will regret later." He's totally unaware of what happened.
Which is, God help us, when Al heads for the stairs. He's had the same thought. To the point that he snags Peter's arm as he passes, trying to drag him with linked elbows down for a drink. Whatever Peter's douchery, they have a mutual enemy in the White Witch there.
Make that three going downstairs. Abby realizes what's happened and the white around the corner of her lips, and the anger that's simmering just below the surface isn't hard to detect as she unlocks the case and shakes out two pills. They're passed over and the case itself is carted with the blonde as she turns and heads in the wake of the two men. "You go back downstairs tomorrow Odessa. Till you learn to hold your temper and not use your ability because you're irritated. I expect better control out of you and until you show it, you're on the couch," snapped off to the woman. "Forget it Peter, I'm going out. My head hurts." She's going to go spend the night at Liz's but damned if she'll show up until the last minute because she's still feeling like in the shit house with her dad.
"Fine," Odessa is in no mood to protest. She's swallowing down the offered pills without the aid of water. "I can handle the couch. I just can't handle a room full of bickering, mistrustful people." Not to say that she isn't used to people not trusting her, but she's just usually not so utterly miserable while having to endure such company. There's a small sneer as she rises from the bed on shaky legs. "Race you."
With the snap of her fingers, Odessa has vanished.
Turning slowly, Peter offers a mild look down at Alexander with his arm linked. There's a raise of his black brow, a squint, and then a look over towards Abby with an uncertain expression spread across his lips in lopsided fashion. He doesn't need to really voice his discontent for this situation, but as Peter examines Abby on her way out of the bedroom, and after Odessa's appearance, his expression says everything.
See?