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| Scene Title | Time For That Now |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | After a scene at the market two people with much more in common than they realize make a connection. |
| Date | August 29, 2019 |
Eleanor’s is a rustic, defiant little shop wedged between a ceramics vendor and a vintage jewelry merchant in the Red Hook Market. The tiny five-stool bar horseshoes around an ancient espresso machine that looks like it comes from the same era as its owner, the eponymous Eleanor Ridgeley. The good natured and gray-haired old barista serves up steaming cups of coffee in mismatched and kitschy mugs and cups, and somehow has one of the only supplies of fresh coffee beans in the Safe Zone.
Seated at the coffee bar, Jolene Chevalier has looked better. Her crutches are leaned up against the bar’s wainscoting, her purse hung over the armrests of one. The way she straddles the backless stool looks a little awkward, legs crooked as they are, but she seems comfortable enough. Physically. Certainly not emotionally.
“I'm… sssso sorry,” Jolene mumbles, head in her hands and eyes closed, fingers twisted in locks of brown hair streaked with the remnants of burgundy dye. “I forgot my money and…” Jolene gently covers her mouth with one hand and exhales a sigh into it. “I just got so mad.”
So, technically, she did steal the book.
Emily settles her crutches down against the bar before pulling herself onto a seat more or less across Jolene. Eyeing her warily as she sets her hands on the bartop, one hand creeps forward to snake around the side of something that looks suspiciously like a coffee mug … but is shaped like a curled-up fox. Her fingers hook around the extended tail of it, twisting the handle into a better position to pull the mug closer.
Jolene's admission that the misunderstanding with the book was more than just a misunderstanding goes casually unaddressed as she takes a long drink from the oddly-shaped mug. It's the first real brew she's had in months, and she enjoys the sip while it lasts.
"Have some coffee." she suggests, her tone implying it'll make her feel better. Afterward, she glances across the bar to her, and a little less certainly to Rue, not entirely sure why she's here still. "And then tell me who you are, and how you know who I am." Emily concludes back to Jolene, her voice soft enough as she delivers the demand.
Having taken up a seat on the other side of Jolene and paid for their coffees, Rue is content to let the other two women talk at their leisure. She’s here because she can’t bring herself to walk away from her fellow veteran until she’s sure she’ll be okay. Okay can come in varying degrees.
Lifting her cup from the bartop, Rue takes a sip to taste. Frowning thoughtfully, she slides her arm out of the sling gingerly and reaches into her purse. She is not surreptitious about the flask she removes, pouring some of the contents into her coffee. She’s in a do not fuck with me mood, and it requires brandy.
To her credit, Eleanor does her best not to eavesdrop, cleaning the espresso machine and it's tiny mismatched cups, making another pot of coffee and quietly tending to essential work while her younger customers talk. Nor does she remark about the brandy other than a briefly raised eyebrow at Rue and then a secret, knowing smile shared with her.
“I can't drink coffee with my meds,” Jolene explains with an awkward expression, resting one arm on the bar and settles her other hand firmly atop it. There's a moment where it's clear the fingers of that button hand are moving subtly of their own accord in small twitches.
“I'm…” Jolene looks over to Rue, then where Eleanor is cleaning, then back to Emily. “My name’s Jolene, but… but most people just call me Lene.” Looking down to the bar, she tries to remember when that habit started. She's left wanting. “I'm— ” She stops herself, closing her eyes and shaking her head.
“I shouldn't be talking to you,” Jolene suddenly backtracks, and as her eyes open there's a look in them that's a mixture of guilt and embarrassment. “I shouldn't — I'm sorry I — ” She fidgets, either unwilling or unable to get off her seat.
There's a defeated slump that comes to Emily's shoulders as she looks at Jolene. Man, she wishes the other woman would have said something before they sat down at some place she literally couldn't imbibe anything to calm her nerves. She gives Eleanor an apologetic glance, and then directs it as well to Rue. She's the one buying too many cups of coffee, after all.
"Okay." Emily announces as Lene introduces herself, trying to wade through the conversation as admirably as she can now that she's clearly distressed Jolene by existing, and then dragged her to some place she can't even take the edge off. "Well…"
And then she goes on to say that they shouldn't be talking. That's usually the point where Emily would check herself out of the conversation without saying anything else herself, but God, Jolene looks like she's falling apart. She has no idea if it's her fault, or more likely… her dad's fault … the fact Jolene appears to be a war hero makes her believe it's more likely than not HIS fault.
It doesn't sit right with her. She doesn't know what to do about it yet, but she's determined to make the woman not look like she's seen a ghost.
"Well, I'm Emily. And we're talking." she looks down at her cup, hand settled over the handle of the fox mug again. She doesn't know what else to say, so she picks the mug back up again with only one hand this time, her hand trembling. It gives off the impression she's more nervous than she actually is — or maybe she's just that flustered herself now. "And I'm sorry I've upset you." is said, more or less into the mug.
Rue returns Eleanor’s smile, dipping her chin a little to thank her for the lack of harsh judgement. She definitely shouldn’t be mixing her medication with what she just put in her coffee, but she almost got crushed to death by a Hunter last month, so.
“It’s okay, Lene,” the redhead says gently. “My name is Rue. I’m friends with Noa and Adel.” Hopefully that provides a little bit more context for why she seems to recognize her better than she is herself recognized. “Benji too.” Which is how Rue knows she is nothing to the time travelers. She was long dead before they were born.
Emily gets a nod as well. There. Now we’ve actually been introduced.
The pointed referencing of Noa, Adel, and Benji has Lene closing her eyes and nodding slowly. She rakes fingers through her hair, looks down to the bartop and then up to Eleanor who has her back to everyone, quietly cleaning cups. “I…” Lene closes her eyes, then blinks a look from the bartop to Emily. “I used to… be able to see the future.” It's an easier pill to swallow than the much more fantastical truth. It's also only kind of a lie.
“Before I… lost my powers during the war,” Jolene admits and seems to have difficulty saying, “I… I saw the uh, I saw a future of… if we didn't win.” It's the best way to describe where she came from, too. Again, it's not quite accurate, but it's better than the longer explanation. “I've seen you before, there. But it… I don't remember it too well.” Which is harder to explain than I was five years old in a future that never was, but such as it is.
“I recognized you and— and I forgot— ” Lene looks down to the bar, embarrassed. “I forgot where— when I was for a second.”
Lene's explanation of what caused the episode is, well, a bit shocking. The future? Seriously? Hearing about people with abilities like that is one thing, sitting across from someone as they explain you caused them to freak out because they saw you from an alternate future? That's an entire other story. This was going to take Emily a minute to chew on.
Which brings her to Rue. Rue, who apparently didn't know Lene either. So what was her stake in it? Before her suspicion can run wild and run back to the Emily-centric conclusion that Rue was there to spy on her again, there's a nagging thought at the back of her head: maybe she really is just a friend of Lene's friends, happened to be in the area, and wants to make sure Lene's okay. She didn't fully buy it, but she'd roll with it for now.
The shift in thought gives her distance from the current conversation enough to backtrack to what everyone was shouting when Lene had first fallen down: that she'd punched people right into the sky during the war. What, with her clairvoyance? She didn't doubt that Lene somehow knew her or of her, as she clearly did, but something wasn't adding up here…
Emily lifts her hand away from the mug to rub the back of her neck as she considers what to do. Probably isn't productive to go picking everything apart and laying into her for more information when she's right on the verge of a breakdown.
"Um." she says to fill the dead air, a moment later looking back to Lene. Her look is skeptical, uncomfortable, but she nods. "So, what book did you get?"
Maybe the segue will be healthy for the conversation. "I, um, They went to a bookstore down in Bay Ridge the other day and got something myself." she supplies helpfully, so it's not all just Lene here. "Something I'd not read since before the war."
None of what comes out of Emily’s mouth is what Lene expects. There’s a brief look to Rue, quiet and uncertain, like she wants to say something to her but thinks better of it in mixed company. Instead, she looks back to Emily and manages a crooked smile.
“Reading for history class,” Jolene says, pulling a copy of a book with a stark black and gray cover depicting a stylized wolf, and a red banner diagonally across the cover that reads: Wolves of Valhalla: The Rise and Fall of Kazimir Volken’s Vanguard. “The author works at Brooklyn College, I wanted to… brush up on things. This stuff’s all way before my time.”
Sliding the book over to Emily, Lene’s brows furrow and she leaves her hand on the cover. “Have you ever read it before?” The question seems quite pointed.
There are only so many sideways looks a person really wants to endure. With the coffee cool enough now, Rue takes a long drink from her cup. Enough to make sure this wasn’t an entire waste of brandy. Reaching into her purse again, Rue slides a business card in front of Lene. “I’ll be in town at the Cat’s Cradle tonight if you’d like to chat. If you don’t, that’s fine too.” But she figures she’d offer.
Emily gets another nod as Rue slides her right arm back into the sling hanging from her neck. “Enjoy the coffee.” She’ll leave them to their discussion. She doesn’t need to intrude any further.
So Rue may not be a private eye hired by her mother after all. It might've helped if Emily hadn't just given her lots of suspicious looks and actually talked to her directly to ascertain it, but that's life with Emily sometimes.
There's one last lingering look at Rue as she gets ready to go, replacing her arm in the sling. Then she returns her attention to Lene, still intent on trying to be kind and conversational for a change. As the book's slid toward her, she tilts her head slightly to get a better look at the cover, her hand lifting up to take the book — if Lene will let her. She wants to read the blurb.
"No… can't say I have." she says, voice crinkled with thought. Kazimir Volken? She's only familiar with the name on paper, and the name is synonymous with would-be world-killer. And with her lack of knowledge about Vanguard's history, the only thing she can think is Wasn't this all pretty recent, though?
'Stuff's all way before my time.' bounces around in her head, and Emily resolves to also check the book's publish date if Lene will let her see the book. "It looks like it's still relevant material. Trying to make sure nothing like that ever happens again by keeping it top of mind sounds admirable."
“There's stuff about your father in here,” Lene says quietly, finally moving her hand off of the book. “Not a lot but, it's interesting.” As she settles more carefully on her stool, Jolene checks to make sure her crutches are nearby with a backwards reach of one arm. “I… I’m not sure if you really want to hear about it, but…” Lene motions to the book with a shaky hand. “It isn't the book I mean um, my— the visions.”
Her green eyes settle down on the empty space between her hands where a cup would be were she drinking, then up to where Rue is departing to. Quietly, she reaches inside of her purse and pulls out a phone and keys in a search for the Cat’s Cradle and then sets the phone aside while the slow internet does its work. She's heard of her sort-of Aunt’s business, but she'd never really been there before.
Even as Lene's hand pulls away, Emily doesn't pick up the book immediately. The mention of her father is almost enough to make her leave it on the table entirely - brow furrowed deeply. Why would he be in this particular non-fiction? And where would his name be written? A conflicted feeling knots up in her stomach.
After Lene shifts back to grab her phone, Emily finally flips the book over to skim the blurb, and open it to check the publishing date before flipping through to stop on a random page, reading the top line absently.
"Tell me about it." she asks, not looking up. There's a weight to the request. "I'd like to know."
There’s a noise in the back of Jolene’s throat, a rumble of uncertainty, and when she sets her phone down on the bar, green eyes level on Emily. “You didn’t need those,” she says with a look to Emily’s crutches. “I don’t— I don’t know if you got hurt in the war or not but… but what I saw was before the war started, maybe— maybe seeing a time where it never came to pass?” Lene’s mouth creeps up into a grimace. “Or happened differently.”
Letting her weak hand rest in her lap, Lene pivots on the stool to face Emily better. “It was a short glimpse,” is how she chooses to frame it. “You… you were with an older woman, blonde like you. I didn’t catch her name. Your dad was there, too. You were moving to a safe house.” Her green eyes settle back down on the bartop again. “I didn’t see a lot more than that… But I just… I knew your family by reputation.” Which seems to happen whether Emily is taking to a seer or not.
As it's implied there's a time where Emily's condition never progressed to the point she needed mobility aids, even as Lene tries to explain it away, she knows that whatever the 'seer' saw, it certainly wasn't the future. Her expression is blank, eyes slowly shifting from the book to the woman across the bar. She's oblivious to everything else suddenly, even Eleanor standing so close by.
When Lene adds that her mother and father were together — with her — Emily forgets that what the woman is describing is supposed to be an awful thing. A future where the war was lost.
Because the envy she has for that other self is crushing. Aching. She feels dizzy even considering that aspect of that future, and knowing it existed in more than just her dreams.
Before she knows it's happening, her eyes are blurred from tears. It's slow, the emotion hurting as it intensifies, and then she's lifting a hand to cover her mouth in an attempt to stifle a sob before it can take form.
Her eyes close hard as she takes in a breath, hoping to steady herself out. She has to talk, try to focus, lest she fall apart. Her eyes open, a tear streaking down before she stammers out, "I— don't know what you saw. But I've had to use these for…" Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Her hand balls into a fist against her mouth as she fights back another sob.
"I don't understand." she confesses, looking away and wiping at her eye with the side of her thumb. "H-how could that have…?"
Guilt paints itself over Jolene’s features, color drains from her face, and she first withdraws in on herself, then clenches her jaw and slides off of the stool, using her good hand to steady herself along the bar. Covering the short distance between herself and Emily isn’t an easy feat with the nerve damage she’s suffered, but she covers that small distance and rests a weak hand up on the blonde’s shoulder.
“It… it could’ve been anything,” Lene says in a small, shaky voice. “A healer, an illusion, I…” she shakes her head, reciprocally tearing up out of having done what she feared she would do — hurt people with a knowledge of the things that never were, unintentionally taunt Emily with a possibility that couldn’t come to pass. “I’m sorry,” then again, “I’m sorry.”
Lene's attempt to comfort her isn't shrugged off, though Emily can't bring herself to look at her. She tries, for some reason, to explain that that's not what's upset her this badly, but words fail to adequately come. Throat tight, she reaches across her chest to place her hand on top of Lene's instead, trying to impart in some way that she'll be fine. There's no way Lene could have known.
Maybe it's better like this, anyway. Better to let her believe she's only caused one kind of emotional devastation. There was no easy way to explain the thought of a whole, unified family and what that did to her. The special kind of longing and despair it caused, and the cycle of grief it required going through to put it behind her. She wasn't looking forward to another cycle of it, now that it's come back to the surface so strongly. This was the reality they lived in, though, and the last thing she needed was to dwell on something that never was, would never be.
Every time I think I'm fucking done feeling like this…
She squeezes Lene's hand for her own support as much as her own, shuddering as a fresh wave of tears come from both eyes now. She's got to distract herself from those thoughts, even if it's by saying something stupid. "Was I badass at least?" she asks, voice threatening to break. It cuts through her, deliberately steering the conversation away from what makes her heart heaviest. You don't want to know. It's only going to make things worse. She forces a grin, still holding on tight to the other woman's hand.
Posing the silly question does make her think of something, though, causing her brow to twist up into a furrow. There's a strangled laugh that escapes her at the afterthought, and she sniffs to try and clear her sinuses. "You see me using my ability or anything?"
“I didn't know you had one,” is Lene’s unfortunate response, turning her hand around to let her palm touch Emily’s. “I… I didn't see much. Just you walking around, you… you seemed confident, strong, even.” Jolene’s brows furrow together, her attention shifting to Emily’s crutches, then back again.
“You're… unmanifested?” It's a guess, one Lene feels is at least reasonable given the circumstances, and it lets her move away from the topic of the world that never was. “Maybe you manifest some kind of healing ability, or regeneration? Maybe you're indestructible, and just don't know it yet?” She manages a weary smile, guilt still evident in her tone. But she doesn't move that reassuring hand away, doesn't disengage.
“I'm sorry I— shouldn't have told you. No one’s ever happy with— with how things might have turned out.” Though for all that she says she's a seer, there's something about Jolene’s story that has a hitch only Emily seems to be aware of. Back during the altercation, she said she'd punched people into the sky, and Rue seemed to back that up.
It's weird — the combination of sincerity and hesitation in everything Lene says. She seems genuinely compelled to make connections somehow, even if she keeps saying all the wrong things, but there's still the gaps in what's been said. Now that she's had a few moments, Emily's coming back down to earth to be concerned about them again. She's not forgotten about the discrepancies in her story, and no longer clings to the inclination to be unquestioning about them.
"Unmanifested, yeah." she confirms. Her gaze settles back on Lene's, and she tips her shoulders up in a shrug. She swallows, clears her throat, and lets out the end of a short sigh. "Lene?" There's a serious shift in her tone, becoming more direct. She squeezes her hand — This time more for the other woman's sake. Her voice is quieter this time. "My experience with seers? Non-existent. My experience with reading between the lines is a little better, though."
"Seers generally don't 'punch people into the sky'." she's kind enough as she points it out, being sure to continue right along with: "But I'm also inclined to believe you about everything you said, about seeing me… and my family." Exactly whatever Lene experienced or is is for her to tell, but it was time to let her know she saw through the charade.
"So I want to ask you if there's anything else you feel like sharing. Because you don't act like someone who's just seen that future — you act like someone who's lived it." People don't say things like 'I knew your family by reputation' in the context of an alternate future they've only briefly glimpsed, after all.
Lene brings a hand up to her face, scrubbing the heel of her palm against her forehead, burgundy-streaked brown hair spilling between her curled fingers. She admonishes herself with a quick whisper of “fuck,” and then sits like that for a moment before she swiftly brings her hand down in a slap to the bartop that elicits a look from Eleanor, then a sheepish look in response from Lene, and the old woman returns to her busywork.
“Ok.” Lene exhales the monosyllabic response. “Okay,” feels like she takes longer to say. “Alright,” even slower and calmer. “I…” Lene's green eyes find Emily’s bluer ones, searching them for something, but that's more a vestigial move than anything else. “Synchronized mimicry,” is the half-answer Lene finally gives, and doesn't give much of a description for it right away.
“I used to— before I got hit with a chemical weapon during the war— ” Lene looks down to herself, brows furrowed. “I used to be able to mimic the abilities of everyone around me. So long as they stayed close, I could do everything they did. So, yeah. I could do that— punch assholes into the sky.” Her jaw tenses and trembles. “I could do everything,” she says with a crack in her voice.
“But now?” Lene’s hand on the countertop gently digs nails into the old wood enamel. “I can't do a goddamn thing.” She says nothing of the future.
Synchronized mimicry? What, so she… Emily starts to try and work it out herself, but luckily Lene helps to fill in the pieces. There's a sympathetic wince as she says how she lost her ability… and how she likely ended up in the physical state she is now. Wow.
Her lips press into a firm line. In an entirely different way, she can relate, but… "It sounds stupid to say 'I know how you feel' when it's completely different, but I didn't always have to walk around using these." she gestures with a glance to her crutches. "I have MS. It's progressed over time to the point I can't get around unassisted anymore, and when I'm having bad flare-ups, getting around at all is…" there's a small shrug as she glosses over it. "It's something that'll likely keep getting worse, that I don't have any control over. It's fucking frustrating, because I'm finally striking out on my own, but I still have to be constantly tethered down somewhere, because I never know how it's going to be from day to day."
She gives Lene a smile that's not quite sardonic, but doesn't radiate hope or comfort. "Who knows, though, Lene. If there's a healer out there for me, maybe there's one out there for you. If I run into a miracle-maker, I'll be sure to keep you in mind."
She turns to pick up her mug again, taking a long, grateful sip of it. Thank god for coffee. After she lowers it, she glances back to Lene again. What else could she say, though? Because 'it sounds like your ability was amazing' felt a little like rubbing salt in an already raw wound, although a comment like that was on the tip of her tongue.
"That fucking sucks, though." is as much as she allows herself to say.
“Thanks,” Lene manages in a hushed, humble tone. Moving her hands to her lap, she fidgets with her fingers, staring down at the backs of her hands. “I… I didn't want to ask what yours were for. I get— people are so fucking rude sometimes.” Briefly distressed, Lene looks away and focuses on a point in the middle-distance. “I didn't exactly have a normal life so… I'm trying to get my shit back together.”
Eyes closing, Lene exhales a sigh and then blinks her attention back to Emily. “Healers have been in short order since the war. I used to know one but… I don't know what happened there. I used to hold out hope that I'd find one, or my mom would know one, and— and that everything would go back to normal.” Brows scrunched up, she shakes her head. “After a few years went by I realized that was just holding me back. I had to start… living. You know?”
When Lene finally makes that assertion, there's a faintly offered smile with it. “I haven't really ever known peace. I was born in bullshit and I always assumed I’d die in it. So… being like, normal, has been hard.” She sighs again, looking over to her crutches. “I never even graduated high school. I'm— trying to get my GED right now. I feel— so— ”
Lene shakes her head again and looks up to Emily. “I'm sorry if I freaked you out earlier.”
"Yeah, well," Emily says as she shrugs one shoulder, looking at Lene out of the corner of her eye. "You made me cry, I made you forget when you were — maybe we call it even and try to stop causing each other heartache for now." A faint chuckle escapes her as she spins the mug around on the table before her to get a look at the front of it. Her physical attention remains occupied on the object, though her mind clearly wanders. And not just on the continued breadcrumbs Lene continues to drop that highlight her mysterious wartorn background, one that involves an aborted future.
"Where…" she starts to ask slowly, thumbing the ceramic. "Where are you taking your courses at?" Her voice takes on a hesitant edge, brow furrowed. She swallows again, even though she's not taken a drink. "I… need to look into it to, is why." she confesses.
"Getting off my ass and bearing through it is going to make my skin crawl." Emily's voice starts to quiet, getting closer and closer to a mumble. "I haven't been in a classroom in a fucking decade. I don't know if I'm going to…" have the patience for the process if takes an agonizingly long time to proceed past subjects she's already mastered, or with herself if she runs into something she knew but has forgotten. Her gaze grows more distant and distant until she stops herself, blinking and pulling herself back to the moment. She stops fidgeting with the mug, turning to face Lene with a brief, forced smile. "Dealt with plenty of other difficult things, though. Not about to let some stupid classroom best me."
In that, Lene finds some measure of comfort. The similarities shared between them both, and that for once her own inexperience might be a blessing. “Never set foot in a classroom once,” she says with a misplaced sense of pride, “until after the war. I was homeschooled, if you could call it that, by my moms.” Green eyes flick down to her hands at that, then back up to Emily. “I'm taking my GED courses at Brooklyn College, and a couple of electives.”
Fidgeting a bit, Lene looks over to Eleanor who only briefly glances up, then looks back down to cleaning and tidying up. Though another customer comes walking over; a broad-shouldered man in a stained white tan top and camouflage pants, tightly laced boots and a shaved head; ex-military type like so many around the Safe Zone. He takes a seat on the far end of the bar from Jolene and Emily, drumming his hands on the bartop.
“Hey Grammy,” the stranger says with a fond smile, and Eleanor goes over with a delighted smile to visit with a man that must be her grandson.
Jolene watches the exchange, smiling faintly that such a grubby, hardened looking man could say Grammy like that, then turns back to Emily.
“My mom runs a library in town.” Lene says with pride in her voice. “She helped me get my textbooks, and…” she reaches inside of her light jacket and pulls out a business card for the Eric Doyle Memorial Children’s Library, which has contact information on it for someone named Gillian Childs. “If you talk to her she might be able to give you a hand.”
Seeing and hearing Lene finally settle down— even perk up!— is a relief. Taking the card, she scans the contact information before flipping the card over, and then rightside up again after that. "Seems like Brooklyn College is just a hub for all levels of learning lately. There's that school for SLC kids that's opening down there, too. Winslow-Crawford Academy?" Emily twists in her seat, sliding the card into her back pocket. As her fingers brush against her phone, she pulls on it with her index and middle finger while keeping the business card shoved down with her thumb.
The phone is slid onto the bartop, the lock screen brightening to display a selfie of herself and Julie, the two of them making faces and laughing at the camera. She frowns at the white '21:38' that's superimposed over them, and the image is quickly swiped away to reveal the homescreen. The stock-image-backgrounded screen is visible for just a moment as she pulls up the phone app, afterward nudging the dialpad toward Lene.
"I need to get home and get started on dinner, probably. Here — give me your number, and I'll shoot you a text so you have mine. We can… I don't know, study buddy or something."
Jolene examines the phone for a moment, her expression inscrutable for a few moments. Her brows furrow, and she hesitantly reaches for Emily’s phone, then stops and curls her fingers against her palm. Her hand still hovers there, tentatively over that phone, as green eyes flick up to the woman seated across from her.
Finally, Lene reaches down and drags the phone over to herself, programming her number in with a nervous smile. “I… I don't think I've made much in the way of new friends since the war ended.” When she looks up there’s a warm smile replacing the hesitant one, and as Jolene turns the phone back around and slides it over to Julie, she seems surprised when she admits:
“I suppose there's time for that now.”