Participants:
| Scene Title | The Best Things in Life Don't Come Free |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Isabella tests her new abilities on an unwilling victim, with Dante's help. |
| Date | July 29, 2010 |
Isabella's and Dante's Apartment
"I went to the support group."
That's Isabella's greeting, as she steps into the apartment and throws her purse on the nearby chair. The support group is— or was, as it was last night— one held at the Suresh Center to help Evolved, and she went at his insistence. But now, she returns to the apartment after a quick and apparently empty-handed grocery store run. "So. I'm supposed to, like…practice. Or someshit. Which means I'm going to practice on /you/." Y'know. Just so you know.
Dante is folding up his newspaper and setting it aside before Isabella even opens the door. He looks impassively up at his roommate, crossing one leg over the other. The compliments Dante was preparing for her return get discarded in favor of the worried question, "You're going to practice on /me/? Practice what exactly?"
"Don't be such a pussy," Isabella snorts, eyes narrowing a bit. She flops down on the couch. "I have to learn how to control it, right? So I have to… find my intuition. And since I apparently have something to do with blood — I don't know — I'll be trying you. I can't do it on myself." Why? She doesn't give an answer.
Dante stares at Isabella incredulously as she goes on, one eyebrow raising. Clearly, he's not buying it. "What exactly do you have in mind?" he asks, "And should I have an ambulance team standing by?" He pulls a magazine off the couch as she comes to flop down, tossing it on the coffee table and turning to look at her. One hand drums its fingers against the knee of his suit.
"I don't know. Intuiting. I don't even fucking have a clue, Dante." Isabella's not exactly pleasant, when it comes to her power. But who can blame her? "What? No. It's not like I'm going to try to kill you or something. Jesus, what do you take me for? Look. My … thing is physical. I have to figure it out. Just cause yours didn't take any figuring out doesn't mean all of us are the same."
"I never said you would /try/ and kill me, Isa," Dante says, carefully and levelly, in a tone designed through years of practice to not incite Isa's temper more than necessary. "Your power has the capacity to do harm, and I wouldn't want either of us getting seriously hurt while you're learning the ropes." He glances toward the kitchen for a moment before looking back to Isabella. "How about we make a stop by the pet store first?"
"Yeah, well. I know better than to kill you." Isabella is rather sure of her own powers, it seems. But she's silent as he goes on, until the diminutive woman finally lets out a breath. "…Fine. But they can't tell me if I'm doing anything. So you're going to get practiced on sooner or later."
Dante doesn't look reassured, but still he shrugs. "I'll help you figure out what their cries and whimpers mean, and maybe I'll be able to tell you what's going on." Oh yeah, that's right. He's /really/ good at picking up details. Standing and snagging his coat off the arm of the couch, Dante ponders out loud, "Should we get a dog or a cat? On the one hand, if we get a pet we like, we might get attached to it…"
"I don't know. Dog. I don't like animals so I don't fucking care. Come on, before I change my mind about this whole fucking thing." She pushes off the couch and moves to the door after him, grabbing her purse on the way.
Thirty minutes later, they return with a chinese crested puppy, supplies to feed it (minimal, though) and a pet crate. Oh, and a toy, that the pet store people shoved into their hands at the last minute. With the puppy now toddling around, Isa resumes her spot on the couch, arms crossed bad-temperedly. "So. Now what do I do?"
"We're the perfect pet owners, then," Dante muses with dark humor as he pushes the door open for her, ready to go make some animal's life miserable.
The trip to the pet store was quietly amusing for Dante. Everyone always thinks a cute girl like Isa is an animal person, so there was much cooing and femininity that likely just pissed her off more. When they get back to the apartment, Dante is smirking mildly. He takes a seat on a chair across from Isabella, joining her in watching the puppy search out its new home. "That's a good question. What have they told you about using your power?" He's not exactly an expert on the subject, either.
"Intuition," is Isabella's sour response. "I don't know. I just…I don't know." She stares at the puppy, sticking out a foot a little violently to keep it from getting near the rest of the apartment, and it recorrects its course to toddle around where they are. After a moment, she leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees, focusing hard on the dog. As near as they can tell…nothing happens.
Dante duplicates Isabella's movement, elbows on knees and his hands laced in front of him, watching the dog with curiosity. As it trots towards him, he just stares at it attentively, not moving when it rears up to put its feet on his leg. Its tail wags for a moment and stops…then wags and stops. Why aren't these people playing with it? After a few moments of no response from Dante, it barks at him, ears perking up to see if he'll talk back.
Isabella focuses hard, but nothing happens. She looks like she's going to pop a vessel herself, until she finally slaps her hands on her knees in frustration. The sound startles the puppy, and it turns towards her, taking it as an indication to come, yapping. "Shut up, dog," Isa snaps. "I'm trying to control your blood!" But the dog just yaps a few more times. It's a pay-attention-to-me! bark.
Dante can't totally hide his laughter as the dog obediently bounds up to Isabella, happy as a clam. Someone's talking to him! YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP! The man puts a hand over his mouth to hide his smile, letting out a few restrained chuckles through his nose. He's not stupid enough to say anything, though.
The chuckling doesn't help. Isabella shoots a sharp glance at Dante. "Shut it, Lupinetti." When she looks back at the dog, she has anger fueling her, but it's still not enough. The more the dog yaps, though, the worse it is, as a headache starts to pound in response to the hard focus and the sharp yapping.
Pain and anger seem to be the right response: there's a push and pull at her fingertips, linked to the puppy's bloodstream. She grabs hold in her frustration, and yanks. All at once, those yaps change to sharp, pained yelps as the dog starts mouthing the air, squirming as it flops to the floor, writhing and jerking. All at once, blood spurts out its mouth, oozing from its saliva glands, and with a gurgling choke, it stops yapping altogether. Or, y'know. Living.
Isabella stares for a moment longer, eyes narrowing, before she slumps back on the couch, arms crossed again. "Maybe we should take up squirrel trapping," she huffs.
Dante's keen eye would catch the sheen of sweat on Isa's forehead, her face paling and lips holding less color. She looks faintly sick.
Dante's eyebrows fly up when the dog flops over, and the laughter on his lips dies to quiet shock. Quietly, he watches the rather expensive "guinea pig" bleed out on the hardwood floor in a moment of silence. He's not about to try and help the poor thing; it's time has passed. "Or at least pick up a cheaper animal next time." His eyes rise from the dog on the floor to Isabella and he frowns. "How are you feeling?" It doesn't sound like a concerned friend asking the question, but more like a doctor inspecting a patient.
Isabella lets out a slow breath, pressing a hand to her forehead. "I'm fine," she snaps. Though, after a moment, she adds reluctantly, "A little shaky. Maybe we should stick to mice or something." A toe reaches out to poke the mostly-naked dog bleeding out its mouth — and now its eyes, as the final effects of Isa's first try are felt. Poke, poke, poke.
"We should probably also invest in some blood pressure cuffs," Dante muses, coming over to sit by Isabella, still eyeing her rather than the corpse that's staining their floor. "Do you feel lightheaded? Like you've lost some blood?"
Isabella shakes her head. "Not light-headed. Just … my head's pounding, but that's from that stupid yappy fucking dog. And there's the nausea and that's it."
Dante hmmms, leaning forwards a little, peering at Isabella's profile thoughtfully, eyes drifting over her face, looking at her pale skin. Pulling a sleeve back, he holds the back of his hand up to her forehead. "What do you know about squirrel trapping?" About as much as him, probably. Which is "zilch".
The petite woman feels clammy under his hand, which he finds out in only the brief second before she swats his hand away bad-temperedly. "I know nothing about catching live squirrels. Maybe we'd do better with mice from the store." She looks to the poor murdered puppy in the middle of the room, unfazed beyond the ick factor. "I guess we should pick a different pet store this time."
"Perhaps. If only there were someone who could speak to animals… we could get a free supply of little dogs for you to practice on," Dante says, completely unironically. Glancing down at the puppy again, Dante rises to his feet to get a shovel and some cleaning supplies. "The mice looked cheap. 99 cents each, I think? We can tell them we're feeding a bunch of snakes."
"Yeah, well. Clearly the best things in life don't come free," Isabella mutters. She watches him get up, and stays resolutely put. "I'll be up in a bit. Have fun without me. And get me some water. Please." Those niceties, always an afterthought with her. Either way, there's been progress today! … Of sorts.