The Bridge to Unenlightenment


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Scene Title The Bridge to Unenlightenment
Synopsis While visiting the sites of major incidents from last Thursday's blackouts, Rebecca is happened across by Tamara. Rebecca unfortunately comes away with few useful answers — from either place or other person.
Date June 14, 2010

The Williamsburg Bridge (between Lower East Side and Brooklyn)

Wanting to do her part, Rebecca has taken to the streets to try and see if perhaps any flashbacks could give any clues for this blackout. Speculations aside, really all that is just theory. A damn good theory, but theory none the less. For Rebecca Nakano, former forensic investigator and current PI, there has to be proof. She has been mulling over everything she's been told this past weekend. Most of it seems incredulous — but what can she do but believe?

It's after lunch time and this is the fourth site she's visited today. Her reflections have revealed very little except that, in almost every case, there were some very brave men and women stepping up to help each other out. Rebecca is dressed far more casual than she typically is, with just a t-shirt and cargo shorts. She has on a pair of simple running shoes, and a grey ball cap on her head that secures the ponytail that she has tied up. She is just now putting her mirror back into her bag and reaching up to wipe her forearm across her sweaty brow after pulling off her cap. She reaches into her bag for a map to see where the next major site is so she can head in that direction.

Metal jingles, chiming accompaniment to the muted tick tick tick of claws on pavement. A pink nose snuffles at the black surface of a tire, then the metal edge of the well encasing it; the pale-furred dog that nose belongs to looks young, not much more than a couple months old, some sort of mongrel mix. Part chow, at least. She wears a dark green collar, the tags on which rattle with her movements; but isn't leashed, and her eager puppy's gaze spots Rebecca next. The puppy plants her feet, ears perked forward with intrigue, and snorts something that could mean come play as readily as wait, who are you?

The bus has been removed from the bridge, but several of the cars haven't been cleared out yet; they aren't hazards, just inconveniences, and the city's planners rate them rather lower in priority. The young woman who works her way around one in the puppy's wake is a face Rebecca hasn't seen in quite some time, and never with her blonde hair cut so short, the ends just brushing against her shoulders. She carries the broad strap of a black leash coiled loosely in her left hand, sneakers scuffing against the bits of glass which litter the street and sending several of them skidding erratically away. Sea-green shirt and khaki-colored shorts make up most of her ensemble, a broad-brimmed hat with a silk lily pinned to it providing the final touch. Tamara pauses beside the puppy, looking down on her pricked ears. "Well? Are you going to say hello?"

Correctly interpreting the girl's tone as permissive, the puppy mouths silence in something which would've been a bark for any other dog, and scampers towards Rebecca with considerably more enthusiasm than skillful coordination.

The metallic sound and the clattering of claws onto the pavement attract Rebecca's attention as she stands up with the map in hand, putting her cap back onto her head. At the emergence of the puppy followed in tow by Tamara, Rebecca does smile. "Hello there, Tamara."

Rebecca kneels down to pet the puppy as it appraoches. "And hello to you too." She lets her finger play against the canine's ears giving it lots of attention, and glances up at Tamara, setting the map down on the ground next to her. "I haven't seen you in forever, Tamara. You look really good. How have you been?" If the past is any indication, the answer she receives may not be all that useful for her.

Misty lands practically on Rebecca's knee, an ungainly sprawl of not-exactly-sitting puppy who snuffles curiously at the edge of her shirt and the fabric of her shorts, curled tail sweeping a small arc of pavement free from glass dust. Walking closer, her steps slow and unhurried, Tamara smiles down at the kneeling woman and shakes her head. There's a tension lurking beneath the warmth of her expression, but it doesn't seem relevant to the present moment. "The sun is warm and the flowers are waking. You almost forget the dark's just over the horizon." She stops a little bit before Rebecca, leaving ample room for the dog, sinking down in a crouch with her elbows draped over her knees. "Do you find what you see?"

Meanwhile, the puppy discovers that Becca's shorts have pockets! Big pockets. Her nose promptly disappears into the nearest one.

There's always been some speculation from Rebecca that Tamara can see what others can't really see. So the the jumble of words that come from the woman is something that Rebecca has gotten used to in the few times they've met. She continues to pay the pup close attention, scritching all around the dog's collar. She winces slightly as she feels that Tamara is referring to her vision or dream or whathaveyou. That darkness, Rebecca is well aware, could be right around the corner. Of course, it's just speculation on the part of the investigator.

As she pets the pooch, she finds the tags and notes the pup's name as Misty, and there's a serial number of sorts. Perhaps a tracking number. That number is placed somewhere in the back of Rebecca's mind, as most things are. Some for later use, others just because it's what she does. Collect information. She lifts her eyes back up towards Tamara and shakes her head. "No. I haven't really found anything. Honestly, I am not even sure what it is I'm looking for. I'm hoping that when I do see it, I'll find it."

Nothing in the pocket. Especially now that Misty's pulled her muzzle back out, the better to clear her nose with an abrupt huff. She wriggles out from under Becca's hand to pad over and nose Tamara's knee, the seeress sliding fingers into the ruff on the puppy's chest, scratching beneath her collar. "Good luck," she replies. "There was the whole world out to find, and it just kept getting bigger." The girl smiles, as if realizing that some sort of assurance might be in order after that statement. "But it's about looking, anyway. It's nice to walk when the weather's good. And it's better than having to run when the weather's bad."

Well, most of that makes some sense, though probably not in the way that Tamara has intended. The seer is definitely a godsend for Rebecca who lives and dies by trying to decipher puzzles, and Tamara is a walking, talking puzzle to her. She stands back up, grabbing her map, as the dog finds nothing in the pocket for the taking and scampers away. "I guess I just need figure out where to look then."

There's some sense in Tamara's statement. If Rebecca could just pinpoint it a little, she'd be happy. "Well, I'm hoping that I don't have to worry about bad weather any time soon. I've lots of work to do, and I've no real idea how long I have to get it done. What are you doing out this way?"

Pausing briefly to snap the leash back onto the dog's collar, Tamara also straightens, then shrugs nonchalantly. "Take as long as you need," she assures the investigator. Misty plops a paw on the length of black nylon, where it droops on the pavement; shortly thereafter, her attention is diverted by a rustling bit of paper, at some previous time blown up against the tire of a crashed vehicle and now fluttering in the marine breeze. Meanwhile, Tamara looks down at Misty; ponders the fabric of the leash; considers the bridge she stands on and the distant horizon described by undulating waves. "…Walking?" the girl hazards, blinking over at Rebecca.

That response is more than puzzling to Rebecca, who was under the impression that she hasn't all the time in the world. She watches the girl with the dog for a moment, then reaches down and picks up her bag. "Well, mostly walking. Though when I have a ways to go, I will hop on the bus." The bag is slung over her shoulder as she glances at the map to figure out the direction she needs to walk from the bridge to the next location. "You can tag along if you like."

The warmth of the sun is getting to the woman, so she takes out a bottle of water from her bag and takes a drink, pulling a second one out to offer to Tamara, if she so inclines for a drink or even to give her puppy something to drink.

Tamara wrinkles her nose — although she takes the water happily enough. Doesn't promptly open it, but she takes it. "I don't think buses like fog," she remarks. "It didn't seem to go over well. Walking wasn't trouble." Swinging the bottle idly back and forth by her side, leash looped around her wrist, the girl begins walking along the closed bridge, glass crunching underfoot. Misty doesn't exactly follow at her heels, but she keeps pace in an erratic what's this? can I go sniff that? sort of way. Despite her interest in practically everything they pass by, she seems too inherently polite to pull on the leash. "What did you tag by?" Tamara asks curiously. Whatever that question is supposed to mean.

There's a soft chuckle at the antics of the dog as well as Tamara herself. There's nothing about anything she just said that Rebecca can make heads or tails of at the moment, so she just walks along the bridge towards the other side. As they reach the other side, Rebecca is already putting her map away. She's plotted the route she needs to take and hence the map is no longer needed. Unless of course, she finds that the map is too old to reflect any current changes that may have been made.

Then that very bizarre question is tossed her way and Rebecca pauses for a moment, stopping and turning towards Tamara with a look that probably comes across more as 'huh?'. "Sorry, I didn't quite understand that question the way you phrased it. Can you ask me in a different way?" Perhaps if she rephrases the question, Rebecca can find out what it is she wants to know. The ground crunches again under her feet as she begins to walk forward once again.

Tamara pauses in turn, brows slowly gathering in a bewildered echo of Rebecca's expression. The leash hangs limply from her hand, Misty padding back over from the side of the road to see what's so interesting that they had to stop for it. Blue eyes flick to the side, down, up; silence stretches out, like putty pulled thin. "I don't… no?" the girl finally replies, or perhaps it's I don't… know?; they do sound the same. She hesitates for a moment more, glancing back over one shoulder, then resumes walking. Misty, also bewildered but good-naturedly cheerful about inexplicable people things, moves ahead of them. "It won't be important," Tamara assures, "it's okay." Hard to say whether she's reassuring Rebecca, or herself.

The confused nature of Tamara's response draws a curious glance from Rebecca, but decides not to press it. Apparently it's not important. Though, like a riddle, it tugs at the back of Rebecca's brain as they continue down towards the other end of the bridge.

"Did you have a dream last week when everyone else did?" Well, not everyone, but.. The lack of traffic on this bridge due to the closure means that every sound is much louder than typical as two sets of feet brush against the ground and the clatter of canine class fill the air in an off-tempo percussion-type rhythm.

Tromping along at Rebecca's side, Tamara lets out a sigh that sounds so much like a sound Misty might make, the puppy tilts her head back to peer questioningly up at her person. The girl pauses, leaning down to ruffle her ears soothingly, then resumes walking — if only just long enough to step in front of Rebecca… and stop, pivoting to face her. "What was a dream?" she asks the investigator, reaching out to gently set fingertips against the older woman's face. "You, or I?"

Her fingers brush down along Rebecca's cheek and the side of her jaw, until they fall away and return to Tamara's side. "Just the ones that hover, whispers in the river, reflections in the glass." Shaking her head again as she turns, the seeress scoops up the puppy, cradling her against her chest. "Don't be sorry. Little dreams were good days. They're everyone else's too."

Rebecca abruptly stops when Tamara hops in front of her and she looks at the woman, wondering what's going on. Then the touch comes and Rebecca's eyes narrow just a little, not for anything other than curiosity. Then the series of questions come and Rebecca really has no answer to respond with. Glass. Water. Reflections. She's talking about her ability. Rebecca's ability. Or so it seems. Then Tamara talks about little dreams and good days. Rebecca's dream was not so great for her, she'd have to admit. If there's even the remote possibility, as has been speculated, that these may come true. No. Not good.

She does smile down at the woman before the touch is removed and watches as she picks up the dog in her arms. It appears she's not going to really answer the question asked, or at least not to the extent that Rebecca can understand, so all Rebecca has for an answer is:

"I hope so."

Rebecca starts starts moving forward again, glancing to make sure that Tamara is following.

She isn't, this time, standing there with the puppy in her arms. The wind tugs at her shortened hair and ruffles Misty's pale coat; both watch calmly as Rebecca walks away. When the investigator looks back, it's to see a hint of rueful smile on Tamara's face, the girl shaking her head just slightly. Even that is more of a farewell than she habitually gives — it becomes clearly such when she turns away without any gesture for Rebecca to follow, turning her feet upon a side road.

Rebecca stands there for quite some time, seconds anyway.. maybe a full minute watching as Tamara wanders off on her own again. Same as it ever was. As she watches her leave, waiting for her to disappear from sight, Rebecca is reminded again of what she's here for, what her mission is.

Turning back to the road, Rebecca starts to walk again and despite the warmth that comes to her from walking, there's a sudden chill that tingles up her spine. She stops for just a moment, then takes a deep breath, a drink of water and continues on her way.

She's places to go, it seems.

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