Participants:
| Scene Title | See Something, Go Ahead and Say Something |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Rue questions Devon about the night of the Yamagato gala. |
| Date | April 9, 2018 |
The Bunker: Rooftop
Rumor: Rooftop, 20:00.
Message Sent: April 9 09:07
Consequences time. Wherein consequences include Rue lounging in a chair on the rooftop with a flannel blanket over her lap, her black skinny jeans-clad sticking out underneath, resting on an ottoman. A chunky black cable knit sweater keeps the chill away from her upper extremities. There's a cooler between herself and the empty chair, a six pack of something called Sweet Baby Jesus porter on ice.
The sun's well on its way down by now, so when she hears footsteps on the rooftop, her mirrored sunglasses are perched on top of her red hair so she can look over. "Right on time, Dev. Grab a seat." Rue tips her head back and slightly to the left. There's a rush of air the accompanies the ejection of a wad of gum from her mouth. It lands in a trash bin not far from where she's sitting. It's possible she's practiced that a few times. It's a kind of high school party trick. "Let's chat about that gala, huh?"
"Hey," is Devon's greeting as he eases the door back into the Bunker closed. Old habits, from a time just before the war. He takes a second to pull in a breath of air, skirting away from vague apprehension to adolescent reluctance. The Gala. What a fiasco that was, and he's still not sure why it was. His hands shove into the pockets of his dark grey hoodie rather than blue jeans pockets, and he crosses to the appointed chair.
"Yeah, I'm sorry for …I don't even know." Because he really doesn't. Dev sinks into the other chair, gaze settled off across the roof rather than at Rue.
She isn't sure if it's okay yet, so she doesn't tell him that it is. "I get that. Sometimes we say the wrong thing and we just don't even realize it. Why don't you walk me through it? We'll see if we can figure out what went wrong and how to prevent it in the future."
The sound of melting ice slipping through water and hitting the sides of the plastic tub and the glass bottles accompany Rue sliding a porter out. She pops the cap and offers it out to the Amarok member.
After a glance toward Rue, the noise and movement requiring a brief look, Dev takes the proffered bottle. The question requires him to chuckle in some dry humor. "I saw Luce and that girl at a table near the bar. I know Luce. With so many people, the bar was busy. I sat down with her and Luce and said hi. I can only guess something else was said before I got there, but the girl got all angry. I just followed trying to fix the problem." Which is where Rue came in.
The bottle is tipped back and he pulls a long swallow from it. One eye squints half closed as he looks at the label before continuing. "You saw the rest. I tried to defuse things, lighten it up, she was like a cat that'd been thrown in the bathwater."
Chocolate peanut butter porter is probably not what he expected, but here they are. Retrieving her own bottle, Rue takes a drink while he talks. "Well, Emily seems to be on guard," is what she offers for an explanation as to why the woman might have blown up at him. Or anybody.
"What did Dearing tell you about her?"
No, no that wouldn't have been his first drink of choice. Dev takes another swallow of it anyway, then shrugs and half slouches in his chair. "Not sure why I'd have given her reason to freak the way she did." But then Devon Clendaniel is not now nor has he ever been a man who understands women.
Dearing? "He came off kind've creepy." Which isn't an answer, but an observation. "Like that one uncle who always shows up to Thanksgiving in sweats and a wifebeater. Greasy comb-over?" He shrugs. "Said she might've been Papa Avi's kid and that he'd play wingman, give me a chance to apologize properly."
Rue understands women, mostly, and still doesn't understand what Dev or 'Cille did to set Emily off. She suspects they never had a fair chance in the first place. The woman seemed to be watching the shadows for something to jump out at her.
There's a quiet huff of laughter at the younger man's assessment of her partner. "Oh yeah?" Rue looks sidelong to Devon and takes another sip of beer. "What else did he say?"
"Called himself Uncle James." Which is probably where creepy uncle came from. Devon pushes his shoulders upward, shrugging, and casts a sidelong look at Rue. No side eyeing, looking at whom he's speaking with while not really turning his head. "That's basically it. Just trying to give me girl advice which… Maybe if that was my intent it would've made sense. All I did was say hi."
Uncle James. She is definitely bringing that up later. "He might have been trying to downplay what happened for any onlookers. It wasn't the most quiet situation of the evening." But not the most exciting one, either.
"Nothing else about Emily? Or her connection to Aviators?" Rue turns her head fully then, to give Devon the impression that this answer means something to her beyond simple curiosity.
"Just that she's his kid or something." Which he'd said already, and kind of knew before the whole misunderstanding took place. Devon's eyes squint a little and he tilts his head to face Rue. "Why? What's the deal with her anyway?"
Rue shakes her head. "Couldn't tell you on her part. For my part, just something about the Uncle James bit kind of pinged me funny." Her lip curls and she waves her beer in the air dismissively. "Don't worry about it, yeah? Any of it. I think she was having a rough night and being vigilant about her safety. As long as you didn't observe anything fishy, then we're good." But if you did… goes unspoken.
"I'd appreciate it," Rue adds, "if you can keep this between us. I wanted to make sure you weren't facing any trouble. And you shouldn't be, but if you are, I've got your back."
"Uncle Creeper's more fitting," Devon murmurs as he brings his bottle back up for another drink. He's had limited occasion to talk to Dearing, but from the start the guy has seemed… odd. The bottle tips back and he gulps down the remainder of the… beer? "He's weird, and if this conversation's staying between us, I'm not sure if he can be trusted."
A shrug follows, dismissive of the whole weird evening. "Nothing else happened, s'far as I know. Just …whatever it was. I'll never figure it out."
"And that's okay sometimes," Rue assures Devon about not figuring certain things out. "I'm glad it didn't get any worse than it was. I don't know what set her off, but I'm not mad or anything. I'm sorry I had to go all pitbull on you there." Another swig and a shrug of her shoulders. "I could tell she was kind of freaked out. She looked like she needed an ally. I figured I could apologise to you later, and you'd understand. You took it like a champ. Thanks for not what the fuck, Lancaster'ing at me."
"If I knew what was going on," Devon points out, "or if I was legit trying to hit on her, I might've said something." Depending on the situation. "All I've got to say about it is you women are beyond confusing. But thanks, water under the bridge and no hard feelings." And Rue probably saved his face more than he realizes.
"Hey, I've never seen you try to get with a woman," Rue points out. Or she's never bothered to pay attention, because it's not her business if all parties are consenting and no one's causing a scene. "I'm glad it wasn't as bad as I was afraid it was, really. Do me a favor and don't warn Lucille that I'm coming for her next, okay?" After all, she seemed to be first on the scene. Maybe she knows what set off sparks around that powder keg.
"And hey, if you catch him pulling that Uncle James act with anyone else, let me know, okay? Don't step in, don't let him know, just… tell me. It's probably nothing, an act he was putting on for eavesdroppers, but… You know how it is."
"Yeah." Devon takes the requests as a sort of dismissal and pushes himself out of the chair. "Thanks, Rue." For the talk, and the beer. And for not being particularly confusing. At least not this evening. "I'll see you around."
"Sure. Take care, Dev." The sunglasses are slipped back onto her face like Rue might be about to sunbathe. The beer is lifted to wave, then she leans back in her lounger again.
"And if you see Epstein? Tell him he owes me twenty bucks."