Participants:
| Scene Title | Short-Term Security |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | April and Quinn share a quiet breakfast before wading back out into the less-quiet aftermath of this November 8th. |
| Date | November 9, 2010 |
A Nondescript Apartment
It's an unassuming little apartment, this one; a bedroom and what may be a half-sized study, the living room not much to speak of after the hideabed has been unfolded. The kitchen is only distinct from the living room by courtesy of a counter and the transition from carpet to linoleum. Inexpensive, but neat, the kind of place someone cared about enough to remodel in a plebian but sturdy fashion. Not, however, a place that its current occupant(s) have filled with sentimental bric-a-brac; in fact, it gives the impression of being recently moved-into… but there are no boxes hiding around corners or in closets, waiting to be unpacked. Of all things, the paucity of stuff most resembles the residence of a new safehouse tenant — someone whose life has been pared down to not much more than their own person.
James stayed long enough for the first cup of coffee this morning, but left not long ago, to good-natured rebuke from April; apparently breakfast wasn't in his plans. The menu this morning is pancakes and eggs, and an abundance of coffee; dressed in an olive-green sweater and faded blue jeans, the cook is still preparing the former, around working through her second cup of black caffeine.
It hadn't been rustling from sleep, the sounds of mumbling, or any of the like that had indicated Quinn stirring from sleep not long ago. Rather, it had been the sounds of sniffing as she caught whiff of April cooking breakfast. What had followed was a whirl of activity as she sprang from the hideaway bed, getting ready for the day as best as she could in someone else's house, barely a word said. Reemerging into the living room slash kitchen dressed in clothes borrowed from April — something somewhat fortunate, given the small tears and little splinters of wood still stuck in her own shirt, she steps tiredly back in — she hadn't had nearly as much sleep as April or James, in large part due to how late she got up yesterday.
"Heya," is spoken quietly as Quinn approaches where April stands, her hand bandaged up much like her torso had been for the past several days. "How're you feeling?" Which is far from the top question on Quinn's mind, but certainly the one she knows she should ask first.
"Tired," April replies promptly, casting a smile at her guest that almost belies the statement. Almost: fatigue is only banished to the edges of her expression, and will no doubt march forth in force later today. "We'll skip the aspirin tally," she adds with a rueful twist of lips. Removing a batch of pancakes from the pan to a waiting plate, the woman nods towards Quinn's hand. "Your hand holding up all right? Did you ever manage to get ahold of your friends?" Equally important questions to ask first.
There's a momentary pause, and a gesture with the spatula towards plates, pancakes, and eggs. "Help yourself. I can offer coffee, water, or milk to drink; cups are over your head."
Quinn replies with a bit of a rueful chuckle, shaking her head as she looks upwards at the cups, grimacing as she reaches to take one. "Coffee will do fantastically," she replies with her own somewhat tired smile, moving over towards where breakfast waits. "M' hand's as fine as it's going t' be. It hurts a lot less than it did last night, at least. I think all the little splinters of wood are out now at least." To make a point of it, she flexes her hand a bit, only wincing a little as she does so. "It'll make playin' a little hard for a bit, that's— better than what I thought was going to happen," she admits sheepishly.
Filling up the cup of coffee, she lets out a bit of a sigh. "No. I'm really worried about it too." Her eyes close for a moment, before Quinn takes a sip of the coffee. Black isn't her first choice normally, but it seems fitting this morning. "Tried, but no one answers or I can't get bars." Another beat passes, before Quinn looks over at April. "What about you two? Have you… been able to reach friends?"
"James went looking for some of them," April answers as she pours the last batch of pancakes into the frying pan. "Phones seem pretty well jammed still, everyone trying to call someone. After yesterday —" It's not surprising. She turns off the other burner, beneath the eggs in their skillet; brushes a hand through the short strands of her close-cropped hair. Turns to face the younger woman squarely. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you need," April offers, sincere though her expression seems slightly guarded. "Just — don't bring anyone else in, all right?"
Quinn gives April a smile at the offer, letting it linger a moment before she shakes her head. "I… would like to, if I could. I appreciate the offer, but at the very least I have t' find my girlfriend. I think, at least, I have an idea where she might be." Quinn frowns, taking a plate and beginning to fill it up with a few pancakes. "She's probably worried sick about me, we were supposed t' get out of town early but I kinda screwed that up." Reaching up and scratching the back of her head, she rolls her shoulders in a shrug. "I know a lot of my friends were in trouble, if… things turned out like they were supposed to."
April nods at Quinn's reply, though her expression doesn't relax; whatever the slight tension's cause, it remains uninferable. "If you don't find her," the woman responds, " or a place to go — who knows what's still standing out there — offer's still open. At least short-term." The flicker of a self-deprecating smile passes quite quickly. "Hard to promise anything long-term." She doesn't elaborate why, but it could easily be as simple as the chaos of yesterday. Flipping the pancakes, April claims a second plate for herself and adds both pancakes and eggs to it. "I wish you luck finding them," she offers quietly.
Quinn quirks her lips side to side as she cuts and begins eating the pancakes. "Thanks," she responds quietly, looking back up at April with a grin. "I'll keep that in mind. It's… impossible t' know how things are going t' be out there, I guess." She does give April a bit of a raised eyebrow, curious as to the lack of a long term commitment, but she doesn't inquire — no reason to violate someone else's privacy. Which is probably why she hasn't asked about the scar on April's neck, even though she can remember what Melissa had to say of her own. "I'm sure she's fine, though. She knows good people. We both do."
What Quinn doesn't ask, April doesn't volunteer. Instead, she brings her own plate over to the table, sitting down across from the younger woman. "That's pretty important," she agrees, on the subject of good people. "It helps things work out." And on that positive note, it seems time to change the subject — for each to apply themselves to their food, and to discuss less consequential subjects for a little while, delaying their return to the practically war-torn city outside just that much longer.