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| Scene Title | The Worst and Best In All Of Us |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Some people bring out the worst in others, while others strive to only see the best. Abby gets a visit from a Company Agent in mourning, who suspects someone from her past of being the one who brought about his loss. |
| Date | March 25, 2010 |
Old Lucy's has a vibrant and lively feel to it, from the dark wooden floors to the black and cream risque wallpapered walls lit up by neon lights and many times, the flashing of cameras from the oft-crowded floor. The mirror behind the bar reflects prices of various drinks, bottles lined up, as well as the entire saloon as seen from the bartenders; bolted-down stools line the other side, and there are loose tables and chairs placed all around, though many times they find themselves pushed back for more space within the center of the saloon. A few speakers are placed at strategic places and around a raised stage to the far corner from the bar.
Above the counter, an obviously well-used bar is hung; it is this that the girls working will use should there be dancing, which is one reason many patrons choose to come aside from the drinks. Across the bar and near the back, there is a door that leads to the back room and owner's office and a stairwell that leads teh residence above the floor above the bar.
Less people working, means Abby's pulling some shifts herself to help cut down on costs and make it easier in the next month or so. Business isn't in jeopardy by any means, but Abigail is a practical woman. So 10:30, she's at the door to shoo out the last customer, bid them a good and safe night, make sure no teenagers bearing bombs are waiting outside so as to make good on revenge. Not hard to miss who's at the door to someone who's worked in the newspaper business. She's been in the papers before, and television. THe benevolent blonde southern healer. Lacking any kamikazee teenagers, she's letting the door go so that she can step back in, prepare to lock it. Brenda's gone into the kitchen to quickly grab stuff.
Abigail Beauchamp. Seeing her in person, Corbin thinks he may have been in charge of editing a story about her, during her time as one of the few known registered evolved healers. Whether she wanted to be or not. Her identity released, she became an immediate spectical, people talking of the miracles that Evolved could be capable of, even if they just wanted to be left alone. But there are many things not leaving her alone, and unfortunately, today…
A dark figure approaches the door, compact and not tall, not even reaching six feet, hair visible, scarf around his neck to block some of the wind and cover his ears a little. But his beard is thick, and not really hiding the distinctive cleft in his chin. "Abigail Beauchamp?" Any guards around the building that confronted him got a flash of a badge that he rarely uses. It's not even under his real name. It's just an ID. He's not here to do physical harm.
"My name's Corbin— Ayers. I work at Ichihara Bookstore— Teo Laudani has told me about you— can I come in?"
A homeland badge is enough to get by, get to the door and stand between the plate of glass that seperates the blonde from the .. dirty blonde. She parts her lips so that she can say by rote that the bar is closed, they'll be open at three tomorrow, sorry for the inconvenience, as if the curfew is all her doing.
But he's Corbin Ayers, worked at Ichihara and Teo has opened his mouth about her. Figners tighten on the bar that runs across the door and after a moments hesitation, she's pushing the door open enough for him to come in with a nod to her watchers. He's okay, no, don't need you to come in with guns blazing. "Come in, please. Out of the cold at least. Can I get you anything?" Other than your dead boss back?
"Thanks," Corbin says, moving in out of the cold and closing the door behind him, well aware of the fact the bar should be closed, but glancing around the room anyway, as if expecting to see someone lurking in the showers— perhaps in a gas mask. When no one pops out, he makes sure the door is closed and begins to unwind his scarf as he walks deeper into the room— what's that on the walls?
He shakes his head and focuses on the young woman. "I know that there's someone after you— trying to hurt you. And that they hurt Hokuto to get to you." And they got to more than her.
"But— A name came up when I was investigating, I used to be a reporter, and while I quit recently, I still have my sources. But I was doing some research and a name came up and I wanted to ask you about it…"
There's a shrug of his shoulders, a darkness in his very pale blue eyes. It almost seems as if he's steeling himself for the question. "Flint Deckard was staying here a while ago. I'm wondering who he is. To you."
That was not the name she was thinking he'd bring up. Logan maybe, or some other name. But Flint. She moves over to the bar, a silent invitation for Corbin to come in fully. "Every time I turn around, there's someone after me Mr. Ayers. Just this time, they're going after family and friends for once. I'm sorry, about Hokuto. Really, I am. She was…" what was she?
"She was a special woman with a big heart and very giving and the world is a darker place for the lack of her" Around the wooden structure that is the bar, she skirts, reaching for the coffee pot and then on second hand, reaches for the upscale whiskey and brings it down, offering it towards Corbin to see if he wants some.,
"Not many people come in here asking what he means to me. Flint that is"
The words she said are met with a rapid blinking, and suddenly Corbin's looking down, turning away a little. There's tears running down a cheek before he pushes them away. She wouldn't know he'd managed not to really and truly cry since everything settled in the freezing cold. After she was gone for some time, after the paramedics finally arrived, too late.
"I— you're right. The world is a darker place…" And he doesn't care much for what it's turning him into. Rubbing at his cheeks, he cleans off his face and moves to settle down onto a stool, taking the upscale whiskey and throwing it back with a lot more zeal than he might have before. He'd never been a heavy drinker, but he needs it right now.
"Yeah— I can imagine. And you don't even know me, but… I want to know who he is."
A black cocktail napkin is slid across, no comment about men crying. Just a silent agreement that maybe there might be dust in the eyes. "He and I used to be together. Not many people know that. He's a good friend now, and he's a guy who has.. had a bad lot in life and has been trying to clean up his act, last I knew. Why did his name come up? If I can ask. Does.. he have something to do with the bookstore?"
One more fill on the glass for him and she caps it. Two free on the house for him. "He met her once. I brought him with me and she read his cards out in the alley, at the iron table"
Together. A friend. Trying to clean up his act. Maybe it'd been a lie. Corbin shakes his head, another tear rolling down despite himself. Once it started, it's hard to stop. Especially since he's held them in so long. Another tip of the whiskey, not downing the whole thing this time, he starts talking in a whispery voice, "She never did a reading for me. Well— not a full one. She started one once. Thens he started laughing and… she didn't finish. She refused to finish… But…" He met her. He got his cards read in the alley.
"What did the reading say, do you remember?"
"Shoulda heard mine" The young blonde murmurs. 'His though.. I was only around for part of it. But what I did hear and see, it had to do with travel and making hard decisions. No more no less. They uhh, he spoke harshly with her at the end and the reading was cut short, because he can be… difficult at times" But nothing untoward it seems, appeared in the cards. Not anything near hers.
His last card, he didn't know, she didn't know that I was listening but… The last one said that he would bring out the worst in everyone. I was around the corner in the doorway with tea, listening to them. Mr. Ayers, what does Flint's name have to do with any of this?"
Bring out the worst in everyone.
Corbin lowers his head a bit, eyes closing again as he pauses and hesitates. It's probably a very good thing she never had been a telepath, cause the thoughts running around in his head are confused, angry, furious— and also concerned. When he finally lifts his head, it's to finish off the whiskey. "He came up as having a criminal record. And when I was questioning someone else in connection, his name was mentioned. I think he might have… he might know something about… what happened to Hokuto." Her murder, her death…
"Since you were close, do you think the people trying to hurt you might go after him?"
"I wouldn't put it past them. They went after Hokuto Mr. Ayers and she was a friend, someone who helped me out after a bad time. She helped me get my mind in order and help me get half a good nights sleep. Teo didn't even know I was friends with Hokuto. I don't even know how they found out about Hokuto, I hadn't seen her since…" Wrong, she's stayed with Hokuto all those nights, post Mexico when the curfew dipped to 9 and who knew how long Kozlow and friends had been in town. "No, not they would have known about him. Because they killed one of my bartenders the night I came back from Mexico after i'd gone down there to talk to him"
"They found out about Hokuto, they could have found out about Deckard," Corbin says quietly, trying his best to work through all the details in his head. Just what little he knows of their situation tells a horrible tale. It's one of betrayal, murder, intrigue, and the worst pain of all. Heartbreak. The heartbreak of seeing the darkest side of someone that you love— something he'd just recently seen in Hokuto. "Listen, Abigail, you can just call me Corbin. But I think— " How can he say this? How can he break a piece of her, based on the hunch of a known snitch and criminal? Suddenly he's sliding off the stool, reaching into his pocket for his wallet, to pay for the drinks. "I think I should go."
Abigail's hand is coming down on Corbins before he can reach for the wallet, having to go on toes to grasp and anchor. "It wasn't him" The blonde is pretty good at reading faces. "Flint doesn't kill. Hurt yes, he's not above beating the ever loving christ out of someone who hurts him and his, but he's not a killer Corbin." How little she actually knows about him, about that side of him. "I'd swear on my life, that he had nothing to do with Hokuto"
"I hope you're right," Corbin says, stopped in his tracks, and surprised at how easily she read him. Then again, how else would he be connected to it. "It could be a game, to hurt you more— or if— I don't know. I don't have any evidence. But if you see him… take his shirt off. Make him turn around." That's probably not what she should be doing with a man she's no longer with, unless it were for paramedicy reasons, at least. "And see if he has a new bullet hole, or bruiseing— he may have been wearing a vest, cause I didn't find any evidence of blood…" Blood that wasn't hers.
"But I really do hope you're right."
She'd do it, if only to prove Corbin wrong, even as she's taking her hand away from his. "It wasn't him" She echo's, fingers curling over the glass and looking at the Company Agent. "I'll look, but… I wouldn't be him"
Once he can, Corbin takes out a few bills anyway and sets them down on the counter. Maybe not enough to handle the drink, but a tip or a donation all the same. "Be careful. Maybe talk to Teo first. But make sure that you have somewhere to go, or someone to help you, like the guys outside." The ones he had to flash a badge at, the ones who will probably tell her that this guy who said he was from Ichihara Bookstore happens to have a HomeSec identity badge.
"It was nice meeting you. There will probably be a funeral sometime next week— I doubt the snow will clear up by then, but you should come." Of all the people he's spoken to, she was one who saw Hokuto as a light, a gift— she should be there. There's those tears in his eyes, on his cheeks. He winds his scarf around and rubs at them again. "I'll let you know where and when as soon as I know."
"Keep it off Roosevelt Island, I'll be there. What are you doing with the bookstore?" IT's quietly asked, unsure of what he plans to do with it.
"It won't be on Roosevelt. I'm hoping she can be buried with her parents," Corbin says quietly, wincing at the words he's avoided using too often. Buried. It's so final. "I don't really know what I'm going to do with the bookstore yet. Sorry for interupting your night," he adds, before crossing to the door and heading out.
He really does hope she's right, because then the masked man will become faceless again— something he can just hate. Rather than a man who brings out the worst in people, who happens to have at least one person still seems to care for him.