Tell Me On A Sunday


f_cat_icon.gif django_icon.gif helena_icon.gif

Scene Title Tell Me On A Sunday
Synopsis Cat, Django, and Helena visit the Unity Park Memorial. Django discovers his own mortality.
Date April 26, 2019

Unity Park Memorial

Unity Park is beautiful. It's well into spring now, and it's sunny. It's full of people - old folks, families, young people, all indulging in various forms of outdoor recreation, even if say, the frisbee throwing involves people flying or climbing unnaturally high in trees and the like.

Helena made certain promises, including that she'd remain at least somewhat incognito. So her hair is tucked under a Brooklyn Dodges baseball hat (They got bought back by New York in 2014), and sunglasses. She takes it upon herself to hold Django's hand as they walk and talks softly with Cat while doign so. Some yards behind them a pair of Pinehearst agents in deceptively casual clothing follow along.

Once the initial shock of their sudden arrival in the future had passed, a few days after the accidental timeslip, Django started becoming more and more scarce. It was rare, these days, to actually find him in the apartment that Cat had given him use of, except perhaps before noon while he's still asleep. Sometimes he'd be gone for two or three days at a time, without a word about it, and if asked where he'd been he'd just shrug and respond, "Out and about." Today, it was lucky for Helena that he happened to be hanging out in Cat's kitchen, raiding the refrigerator. It didn't take him very long to make himself at home.

And lucky for him that Helena found him. Dressed silk shirt and fine slacks that he shouldn't have been able to afford, and a shiny new pair of boots, walking along hand-in-hand with Helena, he's grinning like a fool. It's a beatiful day to be out with a beautiful girl. He stays quiet for the most part, just enjoying it, with occasional interjections into the conversation. There's not much for him to add to the topic, but he's more than happy to throw in a vaguely facetious comment in the spirit of humor.

For her part, Cat hangs back a few paces; letting them have room to take it all in without the semblance of her being right there at their shoulders. To perceive and form memories unfettered by her voice. She has her own which are stirred to the fore by things seen and the persons in her company.

But one thing does inspire her to comment quietly with a slight smile forming. "I was there for the opening, place is beautiful. The new Ebbets Field."

Helena looks across to Cat. "So which way," she asks softly, "To the Memorial?" It's what she primarily came to see after all, and gives Django's hand a companionable squeeze.

Django's smile slips a little bit at mention of the Memorial, but he doesn't say anything about it. Does Helena really want to go see the monument to her own messy death? Though she hasn't shown any real distress over that particular concept where we could see, so maybe she's okay with it. He wouldn't be. But he firms up his grip on her hand, returning the light pressure, and nods. "Yeah, native guide. Where's this thing everyone keeps talking about? I been here for over two weeks and ain't seen it yet." Not that he'd been looking for it. This was the first time he'd even stepped into Unity Park. Just not his sort of place, but he'll make an exception for a lovely blonde.

"This way," Cat answers with a tilt of her head followed by moving in that direction with her whole body. She seems to have little words still, as this place is walked through and the memorial approached. It all draws back a flood of her own very potent and clear recollections from being present for events the other two haven't been. Yet.

A short time later it'll be just some feet away. At that spot, Cat just sits on the grass and stares at it, her expression held to a forced poise. Keeping back the flood of whatever wants to rise to the surface and burst free.

Helena is perhaps oddly calm. She approaches the memorial, seems to spend a good deal of time considering it. Absently, she wishes she could take off her sunglasses. Instead, she looks at the names etched on the memorial, briefly brushing her fingers on Alex's name and her own.

Django follows along with the two women as they make their way through the park to this Memorial, remaining silent up until they actually reach the thing. "Hey, not bad," he comments, lowering his own sunglasses to peer over them at the marble stairs. "I was expecting some kind of, like, epic statue, but you could do a lot worse. Some folks just get a plaque nailed to a wall."

Releasing Helena's hand, he wanders over to the opposite side of it from her, and begins reading the names on it from top to bottom. It's simple curiosity, rather than an actual desire to see if anyone he knows is on it, since it's unlikely that anyone he knew before Moab would have been involved. He reads the names aloud as he goes down the list, one by one, until he gets to one that apparent begins with 'Jan-' and ends with a strangled noise and an abrupt coughing fit that has him thumping his chest.
Seated on the grass still, Cat doesn't read the names on the memorial. At least, she doesn't seem to. She knows them all, can play it out in her head anytime. But…

The voice is hushed, if anyone hears Cat it'll be Helena and the audiokinetic among the watchers Arthur assigned to her. "I still come here from time to time, to sit and talk, just talk, tell you about things I'm doing with your mantle. Explaining myself, as it were."

Her eyes raise to rest on the blonde, and her voice increases just slightly in volume. "Come sit with me, Helena?" she asks.
Helena starts to smile to Cat and accede to her request, when Django makes his unhappy sound and sudden cough. Helena frowns, changing her gesture to indicate she'll go to Cat in a moment, and instead gently touches Django's arm. "What's wrong?" she asks him, reaching out to pat him on the back.

The Russky straightens when Helena's attention turns to him, trying to stifle the fit that took him lest it ruin his image. His face is white, though, all the blood gone from it, and his expression is stricken. He tries a few times to speak up, to no avail, and finally gives up on words, opting instead to simply point at one of the steps where a name is carved.

"Django S. Reed"

With his sunglasses fallen halfway down his nose, he turns his eyes to Helena, brows raised in worry. He finally manages to speak, albeit quietly. "I've only got two years?"

She just nods toward the blonde, continuing along her path of recollection. Cat's attention doesn't settle upon the man as Helena aids him, or when he speaks. There's not a word of comment on his death having been witnessed by her, she having been present at the time. Shielded by a concrete block that kept most of the blast away from her.

Helena lets out a soft sigh. "Maybe?" she says, trying to keep her tone gentle. "Time's a funny thing, Deej." It would break her heart to have to try and explain the whole river metaphor to him right now. "If it's any help, I'm in the same boat." She indicates her name. She takes a breath. "Some things in the flow of time can't be gone around. Other things can. Maybe this is one of them for you, but I don't know. Let's go sit with Cat," she tugs on his arm gently, "Come on."

Not a word has been said while the two are at the memorial reading names. It stays that way until Helena has joined her. Cat's voice, then, is hushed and laced with emotion of a sort she rarely shows. A few tears start to leak out and course along one cheek. "I'm sorry, Helena," she starts. "Sorry I couldn't save you. Sorry I failed."

Django closes his mouth while Helena talks, realizing that he'd left it open, and scowls at nothing in particular. Two years. That's a terribly sobering thought. It's one thing to know that you'll die eventually, and another to see the exact date it will happen literally carved into stone. He hopes Helena is right about that whole 'going around it' thing, and follows her over to sit in the grass by Cat.

"Shit. I mean, it's not like I had plans or anything. Not a lot going for me. But two years? Fuckin' ay." He appears not to have heard Cat speak, caught up in his own issues and talking quite a bit louder than she is. "Bet I fuckin' died single, too. Be just my damned luck."

Helena puts a finger to her mouth to hush Django, and seizes Cat's hands. "No." she says firmly. "You didn't fail anyone Cat, least of all me. Look at the state this world is in, it's everything we hoped for, isn't it?" She forces her smile. Well. Most of it is everythign Helena would hope for.

"Thank you, Helena," Cat replies, her hands taken without resistance. Survivor's guilt, throwing herself into work, promoting those close to her who fall at enemy hands. Helena's seen this in her before with Dani, and in this future if she's read those essays published under the name Courtney Danielle Hamilton. "It is."

It seems, for just a moment, as if Django is going to keep right on talking, but he notices the gesture from Helena a beat late and closes his mouth mid-sentence. He raises a brow, then cranes to look past her at Cat, and mouths a silent 'Oh'. Without saying a word, he stands up and wanders back over to the monument, where he stands with his hands in his pockets, staring at that spot where his name is engraved as if trying to burn it off with the intesity of his gaze.

Helena looks between the two of them, each in crisis (and truly in crisis herself). It's almost more than she can juggle. She nods gently to Cat. "Then you've done everything you could, everything you were supposed to do. And you'll keep doing it. I wouldn't expect any less of you." She looks over to Django and calls out, "This is going to seem like a really dumb question…are you okay?"

"I'd say I'm doin' pretty good for a dead guy," he responds, eyes still locked on his graven name. The thought briefly crosses his mind to erase it from the monument in hopes of erasing the event itself, but it's a ludicrous idea and quickly quelled. "At least I got my name on something other than a headstone. I guess that's better than most people get, eh?" Which is quite true. His name is on one of the most well-known landmarks in New York City, on a monument to an event that helped shape this bright and beautiful future that they're enjoying. In some small way, he contributed.

That thought eases his mind a little, and he sighs. There's not a whole lot he can do about it either way, so he might as well get comfortable with it. "Guess I've got a lot to do in the next two years," he comments, turning to wander back towards Helena and Cat, pausing just outside of easy listening range if they should lower their voices. "So… does this mean I'm a zombie?"

"It's what I do," Cat replies softly. "Pick up, honor the fallen, and push ahead. We've done a lot of good. But it doesn't make the cost hurt less." She goes quiet there, for a stretch of seconds. "Carpe diem, both of you," she advises. "Seize the time you have, enjoy it, make it count."

Then back to Helena, offered with a weak smile. "At least you won't have to write your speeches. They're all ready for you to take back."

Helena can't help grinning at Cat. "True. That does pose some relief, except I can't exactly take a binder with me to the past." She then turns to Django, solemnly holding out her arm, inner side turned upward. "Do you want to eat me?" she inquires cheerfully.

Django opens his mouth to respond, then closes it again, hesitates, thinks. Then he smiles and leers at Helena over the tops of his shades. "Well, not your brains." He takes a step forward, assuming a rather Elvis-like posture with his shoulders back and feet apart, removes hands from his pockets, and begins snapping his fingers in steady rhythm. A short phrase of humming follows, building a melody. and then he starts to sing.

The western wind is blowing fair
Across the dark Aegean Sea,
And at the secret marble stair
My Tyrian galley waits for thee.

He takes another step closer with each line he sings, until he's close enough to reach a hand down to Helena, the other laid over his heart.

Come down, the purple sail is spread,
The watchman sleeps within the town.
Oh, leave thy lily flowerbed,
Oh, lady mine, come down.

She just listens to the man's spoken poetry, eyes closing. Cat opts to not disturb the composition and recitation of his art. Her guitar is absent, if it were with her she might well be composing music to go with the lyrics. When he goes back, there may definitely be a non-thieving way to make a living for Django.

Helena blinks in surprise as Django begins to sing, looks around a few moments - they're not supposed to be drawing too much attention to themselves. The Pinehearst thugs are frowning. And when Django takes her hand, Helena starts to blush, cheeks flaming. "Um…" she says, flattered and completely flabbergasted as to how to respond.

Django gently pulls Helena to her feet and close enough to himself that he can wrap the other arm around her waist. He begins to lead her in a slow semblance of a dance, but it quickly becomes clear that he's about reached the end of his knowledge so far as romantic gestures go, and the dance is a dance in name only. Not nearly so nice as the singing, but hey, he's trying. At least he manages not to step on poor Lena's feet.

The poem has ended, he's leading Helena in some sort of dance, this is what Cat reopens her eyes to see. The watchers are frowning, so she glances their way and gives them an it's all good sort of gesture. Fortunately there aren't many people around at this particular hour to notice.

Helena can't help herself, she laughs as she's tugged into dancing. She's a little awkward at it, this not being the normal sort of dancing she does. But she lets Django twirl her over the course of the song, before whispering with a delighted expression, "We should probably behave ourselves, Big Brother doesn't like it!"

Having finally run out of lyrics, Django simply hums the tune as he and Helena dance, smiling brilliantly, glad to see that she's enjoying herself. The humming is interrupted briefly for a reply of "Pff, fuck the man," and he shows no sign of slowing down. This is the most fun he's had in a long damn time, and he's not gonna let a couple of suits put a damper on it unless they come over and do something about it.

It's not long, though, before he devolves into helpless laughter and has to stop, realising the absurdity of it, and releases the lovely blonde from his arms. "I, uh. Heh. Sorry about that," he offers without losing the broad grin from his face, and runs a hand through his hair. "Must be something in the water. I don't usually like to, uh, draw attention in public."

Letting them enjoy the interaction, Cat's eyes have begun to wander. She draws in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the park and enjoying it, even though she's done so many times before and remembers each with full clarity. To see Helena happy, and him with her, causes a smile to bud on her lips. So much is coming, so much already survived; she won't begrudge them any such moments they can snare.

Helena drops down to sit next to Cat once more. "There's more to the park, isn't there? I kind of wish we'd brought food, had a picnic." She's been robbed of such simple pleasures, and even since before being brought to Moab. Django is grinned at, as she beckons him to sit down with them.

"Never been on a picnic," Django admits, leaning against a tree near the girls rather than sitting, prefering to remain on his feet for now.. "Had kind of a shitty childhood. It happens." He doesn't sound terribly upset about it. His gaze wanders downwards a bit, and he toes the ground at the base of a large dandelion. "We could go out to lunch or something, though. Or… would that be a bad idea? With the whole lying low thing. I mean… we're supposed to be dead, right? People'd just figure we looked like us or someshit, wouldn't they? It'd be kinda weird if someone looked at Lena here and said "I thought you were supposed to be dead," don'cha think?"

"Who says I didn't think of that and plan ahead?" Cat asks with a chuckle. She nods toward the two watchers, one of whom already heard them, and his comm gear is spoken into. From somewhere nearby two young women approach, carrying baskets which they set near the three of them before retreating. "Bon appetit," Cat offers.

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