Sucks You Back In


abby5_icon.gif joy_icon.gif leonard_icon.gif

Scene Title Sucks You Back In
Synopsis Leonard returns to New York City, where he meets Joy at Old Lucy's before being spotted by Abby.
Date February 6, 2010

Old Lucy's

Old Lucy's has a vibrant and lively feel to it, from the dark wooden floors to the black and cream risque wallpapered walls lit up by neon lights and many times, the flashing of cameras from the oft-crowded floor. The mirror behind the bar reflects prices of various drinks, bottles lined up, as well as the entire saloon as seen from the bartenders; bolted-down stools line the other side, and there are loose tables and chairs placed all around, though many times they find themselves pushed back for more space within the center of the saloon. A few speakers are placed at strategic places and around a raised stage to the far corner from the bar.

Above the counter, an obviously well-used bar is hung; it is this that the girls working will use should there be dancing, which is one reason many patrons choose to come aside from the drinks. Across the bar and near the back, there is a door that leads to the back room and owner's office and a stairwell that leads the residence above the floor above the bar.

It's been more than two months since he left….and less than a day since he returned. Leo's been at the bar a few hours, nursing a beer and looking utterly exhausted. He's in his worn and patched army parka, fatigue pants, boots, and t-shirt, and generally looks just one step up from 'homeless'. But there's a peacefulness to him, at least, as he gazes down into that ale.

Joy Saint-Jacques has seen better days, by far. Morphine withdrawal is weighing heavily on her already, and being the brainy medical professional that she is, she's decided to trade one vice for another. Entering Old Lucy's, she's quick to approach the empty seat next to Leo at the bar. "Do you mind if I sit here?"

"Not at all,' Leo says, glancing over. That slow drawl is back in place, though it's still faintly edged with Brooklynese; he lifts his bottle to her, fingers wrapped loosely around the neck, as if to make more room for her.

Leo recieves a smile as Joy settles in next to him. "Whiskey," she tells the bartender on duty, a girl with blue hair. "Not from around here?" Her gaze sweeps Leo up and down once, a curious sort of look rather than one of true appraisal.

He ponders that, giving it far more consideration than a reply really should take. "Originally no. Lived here for years, just took a break, came back," he explains, offering a grin that seems oddly unpracticed, and tentative.

Joy can relate to taking far too long to think about how to answer what most people consider simple questions. It just makes the man next to her that much more intriguing. Sipping at the whiskey set in front of her, she pulls a bit of a face. It reminds her of happier, if also terribly tumultuous times. But when hasn't a time in her life been full of tumult? "I've only been here about a year myself." That's even somewhat close to the truth. "I've tried to leave, but something about this city just sucks you back in, doesn't it?"

Leonard rolls his eyes. "Man, does it fucking ever," he says, with a sigh. "I mean, shit. I was out in California, pretty, pretty country. But I left too much behind here….and had to come back." He lifts one shoulder, rolls it in a half-shrug, looks both aggrieved and amused…apparently at his own stupidity.

"California? I've never been there. I think the closest I came was Nevada." The wince at the thought of why she was in what she thinks was Nevada is covered up with another sip of whiskey. God, that burns. "Ever been to the Midwest? It's quiet there. Deceptively so. After living here, it gives you this false sense that the people there are kind of slow - like in the head." Joy's brows hike up in tandem with the roll of her eyes, "Boy was that a false assumption."

"I'm from the southeast. People make that assumption about us, too," Leo notes, tone a little admonishing. "No, not that I can think of. Well, that 's not true. I've driven through it. Didn't linger."

"Driving through doesn't count," Joy concurs. "And yeah, I've noticed that. I grew up around people who drawl, as it were, so I don't pay it any mind." The blonde shrugs and then offers a smile. "I'm Joy, by the way."

Again, there's that weird hesitation. Like it takes him a moment to decide what to say. "Leonard Shelby. Call me Leo," he says, offering a hand to her.

Joy takes the offered hand and shakes. Again, that hesitation is something she understands well. Who am I today? Each time you lie, though, it gets a little easier. And the more you lie, the more the lie becomes the truth. "A pleasure to meet you, Leo."

Painfully obvious. Leo's grin turns a wee bit sheepish, as a result. "M'pleasure, ma'am," he says, lazily, and looks as if he were tempted to tip an imaginary hat.

The unmade gesture still causes a breath of laughter to escape Joy's lips. "All you need is a cowboy hat," she observes, taking her hand back and smoothing down the napkin under her drink.

"That's a little further west than I actually came from," he says, a little regretfully. "Nothing so cool. More like some beat-ass baseball cap, for me."

Joy laughs at Leo's assessment of proper head apparel corresponding to his geographical location. "I did see a lot of those," she admits. "Not a bad look, all things considered. I do have a soft spot for a good stetson, though." The inital shock of the liquor having finally dulled some, the blonde takes a deeper pull from her glass of whiskey now, settling it back on the bar with a tink! accompanied by an audible intake of breath. She turns her attention from her glass and back to Leo sitting next to her. It's his move.

There's a familiar figure at the bar, nursing a beer as he has been nearly all afternoon. Leo's in faded t-shirt, fatigue pants, worn and patched army parka, and while clean, more or less looks like he's been homeless for a little bit now. Weary, but not unhappy. Almost peaceful, in fact. "I don't blame you. I do myself. I mean, hell, who doesn't like cowboys?" How….exactly does he mean that?

Francois is coming home - she knows this cause she bought his plane ticket with great enthusiasm and guilt - Sleep has been a elusive thing, or at least quality sleep is and from behind the bar, emerging from the back room and as Leonard knows from upstairs, Abigail's got her keys, re-usable grocery bags and was getting ready for stocking up the fridge with the things that she knows that Francois enjoys.

That was until she had seen Leonard on the screens in the break room from the security feeds. So instead of rolling for the door and getting on with the things she needs to do before picking up Francois from JFK, she's standing at the doorway and staring at Leonard like a ghost has parked itself at the bar.

Somewhat naive about such things, Joy isn't quite sure what Leo does mean by that. A smile will suffice in place of understanding, right? A habitual visual sweep of the room allows the woman to spot the healer. - Well, at least she knows Abby as a healer. The corner of Joy's mouth quirks upward ever so slightly, and she turns her eyes to her glass instead. It's not polite to stare, after all.

Leonard turns to peer over his shoulder, and says, mildly, "Don't just stan' there with your mouth open girl. You gonna catch flies. C'mere and gimme some sugar, huh?" With that, he's slipping down from his stool and holding his arms out to her.

"You had better be here cause you're ready to set your feet down for good again and not just running into my life and back out again" Abigail growls out as she skims around the bar and descends upon Leonard like a cat 5 hurricane. There's even a little hop up before her arms wrap around her errant walk-a-bouting roommate with a squeal. Sure, Teo might be pouting or grumpy in the near future cause now that means he's gonna either share Abby's room, or Francois's, or take the couch. But she's squeezing the life out of Leonard, eyes closed and a smile on her face that means she's near blissful. She knows how her mother feels when she finally gets down to Louisiana.

Joy fishes some cash out of her pocket and sets it on the bar. More than enough to cover the cost of her whiskey, leaving a generous tip for Blue. Without saying goodbye, she slips out of the bar.

"Well, the geographic cure didn't work so good. I saw some pretty country, made it alla way to the west coast, but let's face it, the asshole who steps off the plane is the asshole who gets on it. There's no help for me, not even there, and I can't stay outta the fight any longer," Leo says, into Abby's hair, as he sweeps her up into a hug, twirls her around. "Things've gone to worse shit though, haven't they?" He sounds oddly matter of fact about it.

"And back again twice over but we're all still here and living, have a pulse" Abby murmurs into his ear, a blissful look on her face since she's in his arms and he's back here in New York. The sound of someone leaving has her open her eyes and a glance to Joy's retreating form but no recognition flaring.

"I need to do some groceries if you wanna come, that way the stuff you want gets picked up too. Lordy Leonard, the further away from home you go, the more you realize that it's where you gotta be. Lord I'm gonna cry"

Leonard kisses the top of her head, tenderly. "No cryin', darlin'. Been enough of that. So, I hear the jig is up, and this face is known. So I should be figurin' out how to get my old one back. I miss that poor Doc more than ever," he says, with a faint sigh. And then he brightens, as he puts her down. "I gotta show you what I got out in California." Without further ado, he drops his jacket on his stool, and just strips off his t-shirt. Leo now has ink - an old-fashioned swallow tattoo done in red, blue, and black, on the left side of his chest near his heart.

"I'll cry if I want to Leonard" Though she wipes at her eyes, no tears having fallen, but they were still damp. "Yeah, your board is clean, they gave everyone free slates but.. but short of going under the knife.. I dunno how we're gonna get your face back" Sonny woulda done it, but Humanis First saw to that and there's a purse of lips at the thought of one of her friends six feet under. She'd worn heel and pearls to his funeral more as an homage to him than a jab at him. She'd endured the unhappy look his mother had thrown her too for being there.

But there's a new tattoo and Abigail's tracing it with gentle fingertips, trying to gauge how long ago he got it. "Why this?" There's a few woman who whistle appreciatively in the background and Abigail's cheeks go pink on his behalf. "I don't have any other new ones"

Leo blushes, too, and looks at the spectators. It's been on long enough to have lost the red flush around the edges. "Swallows are a symbol of safe return, and I wanted something old school. How's Teo? How's Helena?" he asks, with his usual bluntness. "We'll figure something out. It's not urgent, but if there's no point in being Leo, then I wanna be Jesse again."

"Helena's been busy, I presume. I don't see her much, don't see others much. Teo's been… Teo, listen Leonard" She passes him back his shirt. "Teo's staying upstairs and stuff happened out in Russia. He's been a little disfigured so go easy on him. Okay?" That's a request, and an order. "It's Saturday, I don't think that we can get much done on the front of getting your new ID and all that but we can at least get going and I can explain stuff best I can. There's …. been stuff"

The telekinetic flinches, and goes pale, before the blush returns in force. Now it's just shame. "I understand," he says, though clearly, he doesn't. "You want me to sleep on the couch? Or, uh, on your floor? If you don't have a room-mate right now?"

"Leon- Alexander. Your room is still your room. Teo's been sleeping in the spare and Francois can sleep on the couch, or he can sleep in my room and I'll be on the couch" It is how it always is. Either the place is just her or it's bursting to the rafters. "Flint won't be around I think. We uhh, we parted ways. Get your shirt on and meet me in the car"

Leonard grunts at that. Flint Deckard, still owed a beating. And it's gathering interest. But he nods, skins into his shirt. "Thank you," he says, quietly. "You can always sleep in mine, if you want, and that 's how space works out."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License