Participants:
| Scene Title | The Ocean Calls |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | The ocean's calling, but more than one person isn't willing to let Lucille answer it. |
| Date | November 8, 2010 |
Docks of Pollepel Island
Thanks to the awesomely awesome Jaiden Water Man and Smedley's awesome skills at being a captain. The boat indeed did reach the island safely. As the refugees were ushered off of the boat and into warmth. Lucille went along with them, the young biological manipulator had to at least wash and change some clothes.
Which explains why she is now dressed in a fresh pair of dark blue jeans along with a fresh black tank top. Her boots are the same and she doesn't wear her dark brown jacket. Lysandra is sitting in her room, not on her either. But a ankle holster holds one of her pistols. A bandage was applied to the gash on her forehead and her other cuts tended too.
Lu's footsteps can be heard as she walks down on the docks to the boat she just left a little bit ago. The moon shines down, it's really late tonight but she can't sleep. Can anyone really sleep right now?
Wes Smedley hasn't gotten off of What Jenny Thought, even though Carson has. The island holds a host of new smells to investigate, and it is rare than an old dog is afforded such a pleasure. There are also children to play with - children who suffer the same sleepless fate that Lucille does. So even if their "play" is restricted to Carson lying down and enjoying small hands giving him scratches and belly rubs, he'll take it over sitting on the boat with his master.
Still dressed in his oilskin coat, Smedley sits on the edge of the deck with his back to the docks. His coat blows in the breeze that comes in off the watter, the thick fabric knocking against the side of the small yacht from time to time. As it twists and moves, it exposes the twin six guns at his sides, resting in the heavily tooled leather hip holster.
The bolt-action of the Mosin he holds clacks as he clears it, the brass round falling onto the deck and knocking between his boots. His face is wrinkled with worry as he looks between the rifle in his hands and the haze that rises up from the burning city across the water.
You paged Jaiden with 'Jaiden was radioed by Delia right? Saying that she made it?'
"I wonder how many people are dead over there." Lucille wonders softly as she climbs into the boat and sits down next to Smedley, she's pretty cold. But the chill is reminding her, she's alive. The former model kicks her feet up and watches the city burn across the water.
"I'm Lucille, by the way." She offers a hand to Smedley before going to stare back at the city. "This really is a fucked up, shitty mess." The young woman says and her lips tighten into a straight line. There's been a lot on her mind, how long are they suppose to stay on this island and tough it out? Will the government find them?
Wrapping her arms around her middle, she shivers a bit and then takes a deep breath. The wind whips her short hair do into her eyes and she brushes the strands away. "End of the world type." She states flatly and shakes her head.
Smedley tenses when he's joined on the boat, but even more so when the young woman sits down right next to him. He grunts in general reply, standing to stow the rifle with the others in a long, cylindrical storage locker on the deck. It was probably intended to hold fishing gear that needed to stay dry, but it works just as well for firearms.
"Try not to think about it," he says with a slight shrug, his voice gruff from a combination of stress, smoke exposure, and the salty air.
"Won't do'yuh any good t'dwell." When he stands again, he keeps his back turned to her and his eyes fixed on the city in the distance. "Name's Smedley," he adds. He doesn't have a reason to be impolite, so he struggles to find a middle ground between cordiality and civility. "Wes Smedley. You folks end up needin' anythin' other than the basics, you just let me know." After all, being in hiding can get boring.
"Just because you say it isn't good to dwell.. doesn't mean you won't ever once in a while." Lu says softly before she's standing and leaning against the railing. Shrugging, she looks over her shoulder at Smedley. "But you're right, shit happens." Her gaze narrows as she looks down at the water below, her sliver locket swinging.
"Nice to meet you Wes, thanks for helping everyone." She responds to the older man and then she's turning to look at him, an idea striking her. "I have a favor to ask." The dark haired woman tilts her head and places a hand in her pocket. "If you do get asked to go out and get other stuff that people need.. mind if I come along to help?" Lucille can already feel claustrophobia setting in. She won't be able to sit on this rock for very long. She knows herself.
"If you got into a tough spot, I'm an okay shot and.." she looks down at her hands. Still not gloved, she's not sure why she left them in the room. "I can really, fuck someone up with these." She lifts her hands for Smedley to see, they look so delicate.
Wes turns his head to look at Lucille, his chin lowered to press against the rolled edge of the ribbed charcoal turtleneck he wears. But he doesn't look her in the eye - instead, his eyes move from her right cheek to her hands, his frown only gaining strength. "That ain't up to me, miss," he says, glancing back toward the island.
"Seems to me your dad'd have somethin' t'say about that, and I'm followin' orders. I ain't about to end up leavin' y'all high and dry on uh'count'uh somethin' happenin' t'you or a misunderstandin'."
With a shrug, Smedley slips his thumbs into the wide leather belt of his holster, taking a moment to swallow back something. "I'm sure you're plenty talented," he says, looking across the water once again. "But it ain't up t'me."
Lu nods her head and closes her eyes briefly. There's no way in hell her father will keep her on this island. "Don't worry about him. I'll talk to him." Which basically means.. she'll tell her father. They've had this discussion before, she's not ten anymore.
"Did you have an overbearing father?" Lucille asks with a chuckle. "I swear sometimes I forget that I'm not a kid anymore." Thinking of her father and their relationship puts a frown on her face. "He'll worry himself into his grave if he's not careful. I mean.. what if I had died back in the city? I could have died walking down the street from work a few months ago." She throws her hands up in the air.
"The world's dangerous and daddy's girls can be protected forever, right?" she gives Smedley an exasperated look. He can probably tell this argument has happened quite a few times. Grown up daughter fighting with overprotective father. "I'm sorry, I don't want to drag you into family drama." She ruffles her hair a bit and looks up towards the sky. "But he pisses me off most times."
Smedley arches an eyebrow at the question about his family, and for a moment his frown is replaced by a look of blank surprise. "I wouldn't say so," he answers, not committing the words to any one question in particular. But a strange smile twists onto his face as Lucille describes her father. "Don't hold it against him," he says in a lower tone of voice. "It's part of his job to care about you. And it ain't like you'd be running out t'get a loaf 'uh bread.
"What I do? It ain't easy. Don't let how we slipped by easy-as-you-please get you the wrong idea. You saw your friends, right?" It would be hard to ignore those wounded on other boats as they all came into port. "We got lucky. That's all."
"Yeah, I know he wouldn't be a good father if he wasn't how he was, it's just damn frustrating." She grins softly and she stretches her arms out. Not sure how to really feel about her father. There are too many conflicting emotions and not enough time to process through them.
"Well, I figure it's gonna be dangerous as shit." Lucille says softly and she stares at Smedley, "But.. I can't explain why I just wanna do something. It's not some petty daughter's way of getting back at her father. Ya know?" She folds her arms across her chest and tilts her head, strands of hair flying in the wind.
"It's for me.. for me helping people if I can. And I guess not having people dictate to me how I can help people. I want to help people in my own way." On her own terms, she doesn't want to be a medic, or a doctor. That's not for her, that's her sister's gig. And the thought of having her sister accuse her of taking something else from her makes Lucille cringe. "I know I probably sound, stupid and whiny to you." She chuckles and shakes her head. For someone with such self-confidence. She sure doesn't have that high of an opinion of herself.
"Look," Smedley says with a deep breath and a grunt, his frown returning in full force. "The way I see it, you're on this rock for a reason. That reason bein' that where I took you from ain't save any more. So you're here. You're safe. Y'can't think backtrackin' s'gunna be good for you or anyone who came with you. This ain't my only gig, darlin', and I can't watch your ass when I'm on th'other side, and I can't be responsible for you." Because no matter what Lucille may think, he will be held responsible for her by her father and Eileen. He knows how this works.
"You want to help? You've got a place here. Helpin' ain't all about bullets. Trust me."
Light grey eyes stare into Smedley's. A smile lifts one side of her mouth and she nods her head. She stands and walks by Smedley to get off of the boat. No point in talking about it anymore for right now. "I understand where you're coming from." She shrugs and looks to the docks as she begins to climb down. "But to be honest," she jumps a little and lands on dock. "Everyone is making their decisions, before ever thinking to come to me." Delia and her father.
Lucille puts a hand on her hip and winks up at Smedley. "And Wes honey, bullets are nice and all. But I'm not all about them at the moment." Firing a gun is fun and all but she's not a trigger happy person.. yet? And with that the woman is making the walk back towards the inside. Not going to where she's sleeping but at least getting away from the boat. For now. This isn't over, not yet though. And Lucille makes that statement with the look and grin she gives Smedley over her shoulder as she walks away.
As soon as Lucille meets Smedley's eyes with her own, he looks away from her, bending to rearrange the arms in the storage compartment. He bristles as she speaks, staying silent and letting her leave without any retort or comeback. In the end, it's his boat, and he can keep her off of it even if her father and the mysterious woman who hired him give her the go-ahead.
The bottom line is that he doesn't want her blood on his hands.