Participants:
| Scene Title | Terrible Teas |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | After a leading dream, Huruma goes to check on one of the cubs. |
| Date | October 4, 2018 |
Delia's place, next to le jardin.
Though she could try to rely on being found, Huruma doesn't usually pass up an opportunity to stalk someone— even if she already knows where they live. It's a false sense of adventure, let her have it. The temperatures outside are a tad too chill for bikes, but that's why she has some other wheels stowed away in the bunker garage. The SUV is a plain burgundy, the wheels made more for those Northeastern winters. It will get her where she needs to go.
And as of right now, where she needs to go is the street where she'll find Delia; the car pulls up with a crunch of gravel, parking caddycorner and spitting out its driver a moment later. Huruma heads onward to the house to knock on the door, coat closed against the wind.
There's no answer although Huruma does hear something particularly awful coming from around the side of the house. The unmistakable sound of Delia Ryans' singing. It's driven away all of the birds except for a few magpies, who seem to chortle with laughter every time there's a pause. Maybe they enjoy it but in all the years they've known each other, it's never gotten any better.
"Papa was a rollin' stone, hey hey heeeeyyyy~"
Then around the corner comes Delia. She's not expecting company because at the sight of Huruma, she jolts and screams in surprise. "Oh my gawd! Huruma!" As soon as the initial shock wears off, though, she's running to the other woman with open arms.
Huruma's study of the inside of the house with psychic touch gets nothing, and then something around the side before she hears it coming. There she i— auhh. She's singing. There is a great love for the girl, but her singing not so much. The dark woman is staring from the shade of the front door when Delia rounds the corner, eyes settling as she yelps.
Of course, Huruma can't hide the initial smirking. It lingers there a moment until she catches the redhead in an embrace, a gentler smile taking over. "Hello there, my busy little bee."
She's always been a hugger and it's a trait that seems to have passed on through her daughter. Right now, Delia's delivering a particularly strong hug to Huruma. "When did you get into town? Have you been here for a while? It's great to see you.. I mean.. here. Not…" in a dream.
"Sorry about that, by the way," she says rather embarrassed, her cheeks flush and she rubs at the back of her neck. Trying not to make eye contact with the other woman. "Hopefully that kid isn't too traumatized. How is Lucille? Still mad at me?"
She doesn't see her sister as often as Huruma does.
"I am back and forth quite a lot lately." Huruma does not seem to be bothered at all by Delia's bearhugging, sturdy enough to take it though she does not return it with the same fervor. Best to keep Delia's spine intact. Huruma's laugh vibrates in her chest, low and short. "No need to apologize. I was more afraid that you were my grandmother come to lurk over me." She can do without that.
"I couldn't say. She has other things to stay angry over, though… so perhaps you ought to ask her yourself sometime." Huruma's reply lacks any lecturing notes, coming more from her heart than her head. "That girl is Avi Epstein's daughter, but you did not hear it from me." Huruma taps at the side of her nose, discretion!
"Seriously?"
Delia hasn't ever had the privilege of spending more than a brief moment across a room from the legend that is Avi Epstein but she remembers a future that wasn't hers. She remembers the agent that Nick left her and his child for. Shaking her head, she heaves a large sigh and lets out a small chuckle. "No wonder she's full of piss and vinegar," the dreamwalker smirks, all she can do is shake her head and roll her eyes. "Poor thing."
Slowly, she stoops to pick up the buckets she dropped and more importantly their contents: potatoes and carrots. Once reloaded, she hefts them up and nods toward the front door of the house. "Come on in, I have tea… and I think Nick left some whiskey if you'd rather."
"She is more pleasant when not in her own head, it seems." Huruma adds in an aside, as if Delia may meet her again sometime sooner than later. Just letting her know. Future note. A hand moves out in silent offer to carry one of the buckets, more out of manners than need. She'll follow the young woman inside and take that usual, cursory look around before breathing in some warmer air than the chill of October. "Tea for now, I think. As far as I know I am driving." If something happens that needs drinking to, well—
The house is almost as cold on the inside as it is on the outside. What little heat is there is provided by some dying embers in the fireplace. Delia doesn't stoke or feed the fire, not right away. Instead she heads for the kitchen and lights the gas with a single match, to put the kettle on.
"I still can't get over that," the redhead is still in disbelief that Epstein has another daughter, finding the first one… the black hole that swallowed Eileen… was strange enough. "Anyway… I'm pretty sure you didn't travel all this way to talk about them."
It's a meager warmth, but it's something. Huruma seems to seek out the embers with her look from wall to wall, and even before Delia is roaming back from the kettle she is feeding just one more split piece of wood to the fire. Just enough to have it going.
"Avi was married once, if you can believe that." Huruma replies to Delia's disbelief, looking up over her shoulder from her crouch. "No. I didn't. I suppose not." She looks back at the log, then stands and sheds her coat. Dark jeans, long sleeves in black, scooped low on both sides. It's as plain as she tends to get. "I came to talk about you. Or rather… with you. I know we've both been busy and haven't seen one another as much as I would like…" She can't speak for Delia- - "So here I am?"
The kitchen is much like the kitchen that Benjamin had in his old house, the one that Mary decorated. It's full of oranges, browns, and yellows, the kinds of colors that were found in most houses built in the 70's. For Delia, it's retro and the palate she hated so much growing up is much nicer to her now, especially when there's herbs and flowers drying all over the kitchen.
Unfortunately for Huruma, kettle whistles and the tea is brought out— it's not store bought tea. It's some homemade loose leaf concoction in a jar. Once mixed with hot water, it's a pallid yellow and almost devoid of taste. Delia doesn't seem to notice and sips her own cup without pause.
"Dad… you know about dad?"
The tea itself is not at all a surprise, given their sister’s vocation; Huruma just supposes that Ingrid must help with such needs. Store bought like it used to be is difficult to wrangle. This aside, Huruma does not seem to mind. She’s had worse things than weak tea.
“Of course…” One hand takes up the tea that Delia has put out for her, and she is quite deliberate in giving the leaves time to soak, palm absorbing the warmth as the embers climb up the new addition. Huruma’s voice starts out quite sober, lips pressed lightly together. She offers a small, sad smile to the redhead, breath moving out and in with a sigh. “He told me earlier in the summer. I think he wasn’t sure how to say it, until your sister caught us in a Parent-Trap situation.”
That part is still a wee sore, but Lucille meant the best.
“Apparently he had something much like this before, and after Winslow gave him those years back- -” Huruma makes a ‘poof’ gesture with one hand, tasting the tea. Her eyes are on the leaves at the bottom as she continues, voice metered low.
“We were out at the Cradle one night and he left on me. I thought I’d done something wrong but as it turned out- - he had a touch of paranoia about that illness. I had no clue. He said he had to find out if his headaches were just headaches…”
They weren’t.
“I knew that he had to tell you girls on his own terms, if you wonder why I said nothing…” Being that Lucille slapped his cards right out of his hand when it came to Huruma.
Delia snorts. “Parent trap? Really?” She can’t help but laugh at the mental image of her grown sister trying to lure her father into anything, let alone a date. But she sobers and nods when Huruma tells the rest.
“I didn’t take it well,” she admits with a bit of a shrug. She doesn’t take things well, she never has. It’s her thing. “But I got over it, thanks to Benji, Sofe, and Iggy.” And the garden, she’s practically been living in it since the news.
Taking another sip of her tea, she uses the cup to warm her hands. They’re thin, like the rest of her, due to not eating as much as she should. There’s always someone that needs the food more and Delia is more than willing to go without if it means an old person or a child doesn’t go hungry. Maybe it’s penance.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do when he goes, Huruma,” she goes on, staring at the pale yellow liquid she’s calling tea. “And I’m scared that Lucille is going to just throw herself into work… or into a bottle. Maybe both.”
At least Delia is entertained by the trapping? Huruma seems to have a mixed reaction to the laughter, trying not to let it get her laughing and at the same time, is it that weird of a thing? Huruma manages to drink half the mug before setting it aside; she’ll come back to it later. Probably. Possibly.
“She is strong, yet puts on a braver face than what she keeps inside.” There’s a small sigh through her nose. An empath always gets to cheat. “There is no easy answer.” Huruma lifts a hand to run her palm across the plane of her head, mouth turned down. “All that I am certain of is that the two of you need to be there for one another. Which means being open. Talking.” Face to face. The hand at her head moves to the back of her neck, fingers kneading against tension in the lines of upper shoulder.
“Once, I had no one. I want to lose any of you as much as I want to lose my own head- -” She puts her hands at her hips, chin lowering and eyes cast down. “I cannot take this bullet for my best friend, and it is killing me. I don’t know what I will do either, Delia…” Huruma will be as honest as she can be. It’s the least she can give. “I don’t think any of us do. I've been trying to pull strings and searching for healers, but…” Her hands are empty.
Delia can't help but wipe her eyes, and nose, and then more of her eyes. Then she bursts into a small, mirthless laugh. "I thought I was done this part," she says, sniffling back her emotions at Huruma's words. "I'm done with it, I am." Done for her, though, has been avoiding everyone until it's absolutely necessary.
It hurts to swallow. When she does, it's thick and her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth so badly that she needs to take another long drink of that weak tea in order to croak out a few more words. "Is it bad that I don't want to help Sofe and Ingrid with … the plans?" They were the natural choice to head up that part of what was to come. The redhead, she just went to do dishes when they tried to talk about it.
Huruma feels everything past Delia’s sniffles to quell her emotions; she looks on with a bent brow, frown soft as can be. Burying family and friends has taken its toll on her.
“It is not bad.” Is Delia’s answer, given with a clear note of something firmer. It eases quickly, of course. “In Sofia’s case… that is what she does. She knows what she is doing, and though I do not know her well, I can tell that she takes great care…” But all of that is not at all what she wanted to think about. Her mind goes back to Eve’s visit several nights prior, a clench in her chest that visualizes as a shadow in her face and a tension in her neck.
It does not quite leave her by the time her feet move virtually on their own; Huruma drifts close to Delia and snakes an arm around her, this time the embrace a comfort rather than an excited hello. “It is okay to stand back. Please do not think less of yourself if you choose to…”
Delia’s long arms wrap around Huruma’s torso and the redhead leans into her friend until the tears dry again. She’s going to be a mess when the time comes, and she knows it. “Whenever I choose not to, I always get the crap from Lu for being avoidy.” Crap from Lu and everyone else… because Delia’s method of choosing not to involves sleeping for days instead of facing reality.
But she’s awake now and has been for a few days, not continuously. “Jasmine said it wasn’t his time yet,” but things have been diverged from that path for a long time. “But I remember he had two hands before he died where they’re from.” Just one way things are different. Here there’s Pippa, over there it was Ingrid… separated by years.
“It is simply your way of surviving. Trust me when it comes to emotions.” Huruma whispers back into Delia’s hair, breath catching a faint laugh. Her next words quiet Huruma again, and one hand lifts away from the embrace to draw a thumb over the corners of her eyes. It gets more and more difficult around the girls, that much is clear.
For Delia, she’s hardly ever seen tears forming at those eyes. It has happened, now and again, but Huruma does her best to keep her own emotions in check. Incidentally, it is usually Megan and Benjamin who get the dubious honor.
“Things have changed much as it is, compared to where they come from. Jasmine- when she was showing us things all those years ago- I had died long before your father did. It was a painful death. Not cancer, but… something like it, from things I’d done years and years before.” Huruma’s jaw tenses, the lines of her cheeks sharp. “I did what I could because I could never stand to see my loved ones like that again. And I didn’t. It never… happened. There’s just no trace of it here.”
“So… I do not know if it is ever really someone’s ‘time’. Else my brain and body could already be beginning to waste away. If there is anything to hold onto, nofiko, it is that nothing is set in stone.”
"Well, I'm glad you're not dead or dying." Delia doesn't remember that part, she had her own share of horrible things she was shown. Now, she's thankful that Jasmine hadn't given her the full brunt of despair from that place she'd come from. All the same, the share earns Huruma another tight hug. "I know all of us are."
Because who else can calm the Ryans clan when the chips lay wasted. No one.
"So…." she says slowly, her eyes sliding to the side as she tries to figure out a way to word the question. "I was thinking that maybe we could all have a righteous family Christmas. Sofe and Iggy had a thing but spaghetti just isn't turkey and I'm sure Pips would want to have a real sit down with presents and everything."
Huruma is glad she isn’t too. The refreshed hug is returned, a bump of cheek to Delia’s hair punctuating her own attempts at a soothing aura. She’s got you, cub.
When Delia starts off with a slow question and eyes all furtive, Huruma leans back a bit to give her a small squint, an open smile lingering. She lifts a hand to play delicately at a curl of ginger hair, an affectionate gesture.
“‘Righteous’ family Christmas?” The choice of adjective might be questioned, but, it seems, it is perfect. At times like this, Huruma still finds it hard to accept she has people. As if the offer might up and turn to dust when she moves to grab it. “I would love that, Delia. So much. Maybe Thanksgiving, too. Or is that pushing my luck?” Toothy smile goes a tad crooked, playful again.
Any turkey time is a great turkey time.
"I think that would be fantastic," Delia says with a large grin. Then looking around, she wrinkles her nose and nods once. "I'll get some extra firewood .. or maybe we should all just descend on Dad at his place?"
Hopefully the surprise won't add a stroke to the tumor.