Sometimes Eavesdropping is Unintentional


abby4_icon.gif delilah_icon.gif susan_icon.gif

Scene Title Sometimes Eavesdropping is Unintentional
Synopsis Delilah and Abigail catch the end of a conversation that neither of them were meant to hear.
Date June 23, 2010

Brooklyn: Crown Heights

Not all of the Ferry safehouses in New York have special designations like Staten Island's Garden or the Brick House in Long Island City. Some are simply known by the name of their current operator. In the case of the decrepit row house at the end of the street opposite an abandoned storage facility in Crown Heights, it's called Kilpatrick's, and at sunset on a humid evening in Brooklyn, a pair of volunteers are going through boxes in a bedroom on the second floor with an open window above an alley behind the property.

Sorting donations is a relatively easy task. Repackaging them by type is a little more difficult, but this is something that Clark Kilpatrick and Damon Wentworth, Moab escapee and one of the safehouse's few residents, will do at a later date and then deliver the entire lot to Grand Central Terminal to be distributed however the Milburns see fit.

Used clothes, baby formula, canned goods, medical supplies— One of the boxes even came with several packages of condoms and birth control courtesy of an operative working at the Planned Parenthood in Manhattan.

If nothing else, the network will never have to worry about running short of kindness.

Abigail holds up the package of condoms in front of Delilah's face and in a teasing tone "These. These Delilah, you use with a man. I'm pretty sure I can find a banana somewhere where you can practice putting it on one. Pretend it's a man" If one thing at least has changed somewhat in the years living, it's that little by little her prudishness disappeared. Even in her own purse, she carries one, tucked away deep and hidden.

She glances down to Delilah's swelling middle then back up. "Woulda come in handy"

"Why does everyone think we didn't use one?" Delilah is first to scoff, then to waggle her eyebrows and pull out a little square package of her own. "I've got more experience with these than with fruit." Well. "I think the one there was just- old- or something. Cause I ain't stupid, just- awkward roulette." Condoms expire!

The redhead did rifle through some of the baby donations, however, finding a pair of little socks with frogs on them to have as a consolation prize.

A breeze rustles the curtains on either side of the window and teases the wild curls of red hair at Delilah's nape and the softer pink tresses that frame Abigail's doe-eyed face, offering both women some respite from the heat that causes sweat to bead on their upper lips and makes palms sticky. There's no air conditioning in the safehouse, which may be why Damon and the other boarders prefer to sleep in the basement during the summer.

It's hard to believe that the streets were still covered in snow little more than a month ago.

Outside in the alley, a door thunders open and the sound of heels snapping against the pavement drifts up to the open window, followed by two pairs of heavier footsteps and a voice that both women will recognize as Clark's. "I'm just saying that I don't like it—"

"I'm just teasing" Abigail points out. "You have more experience with them than I do." But then again, she's the paranoid kind and except for that one time, she the studious kind. Both kinds of available birth control. But then again, turns out that being a fire mimic has it's own as well when the guy your dating can't touch you with out feeling like he's on fire.

The condoms are all shifted through, boxes taken and moved into their own, the pills themselves are put into a separate box where any medical supplies are being put. Like as not, the two are different and the latter will be going to the medical stores for those who with the knowledge and know how, to dispense with them.

The sound of Clark in the alley though, causes her to pause, glance to Delilah before carrying on, but quiet. Sometimes, eavesdropping is unintentional.

Curiosity killed the cat, not the toad. Delilah does the same as Abby for the first few moments of being able to hear outside-

-and it gets the better of her in a few seconds(or less). She shifts in her seat on the floor, scooting closer to the open window. Her hands are still full of various items as they have been sorting them, but for a few prolonged breaths she possesses idle hands. Hmmmm?

"Either you care about the future of this network, or you don't," comes another voice from below, and like Clark's, it's one that isn't unfamiliar. Susan Ball has a very distinct way of speaking, a whisper of an accent that betrays her Irish heritage. "You've known what we were doing from the beginning. Why not voice your objections then?"

Snap is the sound of a lighter being flicked open. "Darlin', you gotta cut Clark some slack," says Damon. "What you're askin' us to do ain't easy. I been to Moab but that don't make me, you know."

Susan is here. One of the others that was nominated to the council. She has yet to tell anyone else about Eileen's privately informing Abby that she had been nominated. Nor had she made up her mind yet. She was giving herself to the weekend. Blue eyes seek out Delilah's in the dimly lit room, a small box of Yaz in her hands. What was Susan and the other two up to.

This is the sort of time where Teo, Francois, Eileen, or really anyone less apt to be a ditz- would probably be silent as a rock, and just as still. Instead, Delilah makes like a movie spy and creeps closer to the window, cue Mission Impossible theme in her head.

"You said your contact would handle it when we talked about it before," Clark says, his voice quiet but not so quiet that it doesn't carry to the second floor bedroom. The earnestness in his tone lends it additional strength. "This— This is something they'll be able to trace. Psychometers, post-cognitivies… Hell, Thatcher's a telepath. What do you think is gonna happen?"

There's a shuffle of feet and the lighter pops closed again, fabric rustling as Damon presumably slips it back into his coat pocket. "So we do to Thatcher what—" he starts, but doesn't get much further than that.

Susan cuts him off with a brusque, "No." From the window, Delilah can see the tops of their heads in the mouth of the alley below. Exasperated, Clark rubs his hand over the coarse, stubbly hair growing out of his scalp, buzzed short. "If it becomes a problem," Susan says, "I'll talk to her. But it won't."

Curiosity gets the better of Abigail too and soon, she's joining Delilah, barely peeking over the window, even as her hand creeps for her cellphone. Ordinarily, when people have issues about Telepaths, it's because they want to hide something and Telepaths are notorious for being able to hop skip and jump inside a persons mind regardless of whether the person wants them to or not.

This is all very interesting, but Delilah is waiting for some context. She ducks her head down against the wall below the sill, able to listen and not be seen at the same time. Better safe than sorry. Brown eyes dart over to Abby, a puzzled expression mixed liberally with wariness.

"We're running out of time," Susan continues. "Seats are already being finalized. McRae hasn't received a nomination, and after that debacle last week, I'm not sure if Sumter's going to accept his."

The men are silent on this point, save for the crackling of Damon's cigarette as the paper peels and curls away around its tip. Susan reaches over, plucks it from his fingers and pulls from it, her lipstick leaving a red smudge around the filter. When she gives it back, her head is bowed and she's unclasping the purse she carries over her left shoulder with her free hand, painted nails shimmering red-gold in the fading light.

"We can't afford to wait any longer for things to take their course."

The older atmokinetic? There's a raise of brows, shrug of thin shoulders with only tank top straps covering them. Was Susan planning to place only those of her choice on the council? Was she planning something else?

Peter's warning, about an institute member, within the Ferry network filters forth in her mind and there's a frisson on fear at that thought that maybe one of them down there might very well be such.

There's a growing heat that has nothing to do with the sun's fading rays heating up the surface of the earth.

With Abby being so cautious about her ability, it does not take much for Dee to notice that there is a strange heat right beside her. Though she tries to listen closely at the same time, the redhead turns her face to the other girl with a gentle gesture of her lips into a hushing shape, one palm lifting slightly in a forced effort to stay silent and try to get Abby to not panic. Just listen- please don't catch on fire or anything! Please?

"I'm going to put Beauchamp's name in if someone else hasn't already." Susan produces a small bundle wrapped in white cloth from her purse and holds it out for Clark to take. He does, but only after a moment's hesitation, and does not unwrap it to glimpse at its contents. Whatever it is, he already knows. "She and Sumter are a perfect combination."

Damon rocks back on his heels, dark eyes fixated on the bundle as Clark tucks it into his coat. "So," he says. "How'd you want us to do this, exactly? 'Sides quietly. Central Park's as good a place as any, I figure."

First Kaylee's name dragged in, then Josephs and hers. Around she turns, easing down onto her ass quietly as possibly when she see's Delilah's hand motions for her to be quiet. Which she had been, very much so. It takes three seconds, maybe more to realize what she means when there's more sweat on the other woman than even she has. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth.

Please dear god, was that a gun in that cloth?

It is hard to listen and keep Abby from going ablaze at the same time, but Dee manages. Her expression gets more and more serious as it goes on. She never really liked Susan much- she was always too pushy, really. Too intent on making sure she gets her own way. Somehow, canoodling about with shady words is not surprising. They are going to have to tell someone about this, that much is for sure.

"However you want," Susan tells Damon. "It's an easy job. Our contact's seen to that already." She closes her purse, turns her head over her shoulder to look out at the empty street in front of the row house, then briefly up at the open window. A cursory glance yields nothing except the drapes tangling in the breeze. "I'll handle the clean up."

Damon, cigarette still clasped loosely between his fingers, gives her a lazy salute and rolls his shoulders off the wall, stepping out into the middle of the alley. "Great," he says in his thick Southern drawl. "Weaver'n Gutierrez'll tag along. Keep watch."

Eyes downcast, Clark moves his hand from his head to his jaw and he scratches at the beard growth under his chin with blunt nails. "I hope you know what you're doing, Susie," he says. "I don't like them any more than you do, but…" Whatever argument he might've been prepared to make trails off into nothing. He turns to head back inside. "C'mon, Damon."

Handle the clean up, Gutierrez and Weaver will tag along. Just go the fuck away, silently pleaded in her mind to the people below, stuffing her phone in her pocket and grabbing Delilah's hand. Abigail's warm, not quite uncomfortably so yet, but warm non the less. They need to get out of here. But just running out would look bad. Conspicuous. "Grab a box. Baby stuff. Grab it now, we'll deliver it to a house. There's uhh… uh… There's a woman, she came in with a newborn over in Chelsea. We need to get out of here"

Delilah only nods once, scooting back over to the boxes and closing them back up, somewhat palefaced. This all seems rather terrible, offhand. Maybe they missed a crucial piece of something, or maybe it is as bad as it sounds. Whatever the case, the sooner that they get out of here, the safer they will be.

Downstairs, the back door opens again. Closes a moment later. Footsteps creak up the stairs, a rough hand sliding along the banister. "You know she'd make you do it if you'da said no, right?" Damon is asking Clark, out of Susan's earshot. "Bitch has a silver tongue."

And crap. There's a look to Delilah and Abigail's parked her ass back on the floor, dragging her bag closer to her, shifting it so the Tazer is right there beside her leg but hidden. Birth control pills back in hand, a pointed look with her face for Delilah to sit. "Walter. I don't know about Walter. I'm partial to an Edward. But then… Edward isn't really a persona grata kind of name right now. So, maybe an Andrew"

Nothing to see here, just a radiation leak, we didn't hear anything. "And if it's over like a year old, you're supposed to trash it and buy new ones" She snatches up a condom, waving it in delilah's face, praying inwardly for her temperature to go down, instead of up.

As Clark and Damon crest the top of the stairs, they come into view through the gap between the bedroom door and frame, and if either of the women are looking, they might catch the latter of the two tilt a look in their direction and offer them a toothy, lopsided grin that isn't entirely friendly. There's no malice in it, either.

The pair disappears around the corner a moment later, and the last thing Abigail and Delilah will hear before another door slams shut is a syrupy leer. "Now's not the time to get all sentimental, old man. There's no tradin' a real heart for a little baby deer's. This ain't a fuckin' fairytale—"

Who the fuck do they go to? Abigail looks over at the sound of footsteps. To not do so would be questionable, and she offers her own smile - sincere enough - to the two men as they disappear out of sight and soon out of sound. Their comment about Susan weighing heavily on her mind. "Talk in the car. Lets go. It's time to eat and I was hungry" Key word hungry. "And if I loose it, I don't want to do it here"

"We can find a good place to chill, I'm sure." Chill as in chill- and of course eat, should anyone be listening past any walls. Delilah gets to her feet, picking up the box with her and giving Abby a somewhat nervous glance before picking up her own bag as well, slinging over a shoulder. Let's go.

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