Participants:
| Scene Title | To New Beginnings |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Two old friends try to start over again. |
| Date | April 3, 2018 |
Bay Ridge
Rose and Trellis is always a bright change of pace among the streets of Bay Ridge, flowers litting the windows, the outside, and inside. The smells of spices, incense and more wafting out on the street can calm even the most stressful of passersby, and on a mostly cloudy day like today, it can do a lot to lift the spirits and draw the attention of anyone on the street.
In some cases, it doesn't need any of that. People just feel drawn to the flower shop.
For Robyn Quinn, that is the case today. She hadn't been meaning to visit the flower store, and she wasn't someone who could discern the remarkable array of colours. The smells are downed out by the scene tof recently rained upon pavement, dull and slightly acrid. Still, as she'd passed by it on her way home, she couldn't help but duck in.
At first, her thought had been- well, maybe she could adopt a kitten. She'd heard about such a thing from Richard last week, and it had certainly appealed to her. It was only once she was there that the infeasibility of such a thing - with her current work assignment - really caught up with her. Plus, she wasn't sure any kitten could replace Inger in her heart. She hadn't left empty handed, though, a bouquet of red and yellow flowers in hand (so she's told) as she steps back out to the street side.
A moment to adjust the cap she wears, as well as the band over her eye, before casting it up towards the sky. It's always grey for her, but the clouds that hung overhead made it a bit darker than usual. She lingers, other hand idly adjusting the lace accents at the cuff of her blazer.
There was something peaceful about looking up at the sky while smelling the flowers in hand.
A little way down the street, laughter accompanies a merry hubub of voices - one of them distinctly educated and British. "Yes, just throw it in the gutter, why don't you? That was the technique you've been practicing? That you wanted to show off? I should disown you as a pupil, now."
A pair of youngsters are laughing at (and to some extent with) a third of their number, who is grinning sheepishly as he hands a trenchcoat to the British woman cheerfully chasisting him. She has her back to Robyn, and to the former photokinetic's damaged eyes looks to be an even starker study in monochrome than most people: her clothing is either black or extremely close to it, consisting of flexible boots, tight leggings, and a sleeveless top that shows off the sort of toning of arms and back that only comes with obsessive exercise. Her hair is hip-length, and for the most part seems to match her attire, though the last 18" have been dyed something more vibrantly reflective.
The tattoos might join the voice in snaring the SESA agent's attention, however: something elaborately steampunkish wraps clean around the right biceps, while the left arm sports more decoration - masks, perhaps, on the brief glimpse visible - in the same place. Around and through the cross-hatched back of her top, a pair of Celtic and Anglo Saxon dragons can be seen looking straight at Robyn Quinn.
The sound of non-American accents always catches Robyn's attention - even in New York, even these days. Her gaze is drawn in the direction of the voice, her head tilting to the side as she listens - there's children too, apparently. It's the sight of the tattoo though that, after a moment, causes Robyn's eye to widen in recognition.
She averts her gaze, the pace of her breathing quickening as she realises who is near by. Another long lost friend of yore. Her hand trembles, and she continues starting off in the other direction as quickly as she her feet can carry her as her anxiety rises, feeling like she sits on the edge of a panic attack.
But, then, she remembers how seeing others has gone as of late - always at a disadvantage, always left feeling uncertain. Straightening her hat, she takes in a deep breath and tries to quell her nervous shaking, turning and making her way in the direction of the voice, waiting until she's nearby to speak up.
"Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle FitzRoy?"
Draping her coat over one arm, Ygraine laughingly waves off the attempted explanations of her 'pupil' - then finds herself being addressed from behind. "Saved by a foreigner. You'll have to save your next attempt for the next session," she playfully informs the teenager, flashing a grin at him before she turns around to let him effect an escape while she focuses upon the new arrival.
"Oui, je suis… Ygraine." The smooth French stalls, then lurches into her forename as she blinks and peers and blinks again at the woman before her. Mind racing, she attempts to simultaneously compare this appearance with what she saw on their last - night-time, rain-drenched, poorly-lit - encounter and with older memories, of the Island and farther back.
"It is you." Robyn stares up at the Briton's eyes, trying her best to appear unwavering. "Tattoo gives you away. Hello, Ygraine." Robyn is dressed for business - a blazer, black slacks, button up shirt and white tie, hat short brimmed and classical - almost more like an old gentleman's hat, something she found at the Red Hook Market and took a liking to.
Her one visible eye stares into Ygraine, a hesitant smile forming on Robyn's face. "It's nice to see you," she says quietly, before finally looking away and off to the side. As always, she means it, even if it's not believed. "Didn't know you were living in the Safe Zone."
Because, it seems, once a part of New York City, always a part of New York City, regardless of what one might actually desire.
"I've come and gone a fair amount." Ygraine sounds rather dazed, but as usual can manage to find a factual response to a question. "I chase information and leads when they come up, and visit Canada a lot. But, umm, yes. Officially a resident of the Safe Zone now. Liberty's budget stretched to a building in Jackson Heights. Graeme and I live there. Been renovating it…"
Her voice trails off again. She blinks, then gulps audibly, before blinking once more. "I, ahh… Special Agent, huh? I'd never have expected you to become The Man." Another gulp precedes a hoarse half-whisper. "You… nice to see me? Really?"
Robyn's eye narrows, not sure what to make of Ygraine's comment - until she remembers how she's dressed, and she can't help but give a small chuckle in return. She can run with this. The flowers are gripped tight in one hand, lowered as the other reaches into her purse, withdrawing a little folded wallet.
She flips it open, revealing her SESA ID to Ygraine. "Yes. Agent Quinn." Special is debatable depending on who you're talking to and the context.
The question makes her small smile waver, dipping a bit into a frown. "That's fair," is a quiet reply. It seems to be the way of things, lately. "I am. Promise." Glad to see her. Also, wait. "Liberty?" She'd heard the name before, on occasion, but it had never quite… sunk in. Not in relation to the project Ygraine had once asked her to be a part of. "Huh."
The wallet is slipped back into her purse, and she shares her vision back with Ygraine's. "Let's walk." A familiar suggestion, given to her last time. But, still it was better than standing here. "Don't live far. Have to walk anyway."
Ygraine blinks again, this time at the ID, before rather dazedly lifting her eyes to Quinn's face once more. She listens, looking skittishly uncertain rather than confrontational - and appears genuinely surprised when the invitation-cum-instruction is delivered. "I, ahh, walk? Umm. Oh. Ah, yes."
Her coat is clutched to her, muscles shifting under the tattoos - a gorgeously elaborate heart-shaped lock on the right arm, wholly covering the angry scarring of the old wound cored through her arm, while the outer side of her left arm bears the mask of comedy of the classical Greek tradition of drama. Remembering how to get her feet to move, she starts into motion: unsteadily at first, but soon settling into a graceful, predatory gait as instinct manages to assert itself over emotional turmoil.
Steeling herself as best she can, she peeks sidelong at her companion. "I'm, ahh, the Director of Liberty," she says softly. "Able to emerge from the shadows, after the War. Adelaide's in Kansas City, as our 'face' in the capital. And she's better-suited to a much safer city, anyway. But I've set up shop in the most 'exciting' one of the Safe Zone's officially-inhabited districts. Never thought I'd have to worry about feral dogs or wholly-unconcealed criminal activity around anywhere I lived. But… pleased? Really?"
One hand comes away from her coat, to wave in frustrated incoherence in front of her. "The only time I've seen you in years, I… that night. I still miss her. I visit Charlotte's marker every time I'm in Toronto. But I thought… after… after everything. Well. You know. That there'd be nothing you wanted to get away from more than me."
Ygraine's own uncertainty and consternation gives Robyn pause - maybe, like usual, this wasn't the best idea. Maybe getting ahead of the curve isn't where she belongs.She stares at Ygraine briefly, walking when she starts to walk. She's silent for a long moment, probably an uncomfortable one.
"I miss her too," Robyn says quietly, holding her hands - and the flowers - behind her as they walk. "I will never not miss her." She stops there. Any more and she might start to tear up, and she's had more than enough of that lately. Instead, she glances up at Ygraine.
"I didn't want to see anyone," she admits. "For a long time. Had Nicole, Gillian. Dirk, Eve. A few others. I… didn't want what I used to have." She swallows, looking back ahead as she meanuevers around a person coming towards them. "Didn't feel right anymore."
"Still doesn't, but…" She huffs out a breath. "City doesn't work that way. We never get out. Started catching up with me, after a bit. Started seeing people and realising…" She pauses, taking a deep breath before she look up at the Briton, nodding. "So yes. Pleased."
"She… she was… Charlotte was one of - was someone I could relax with." Ygraine peeks sidelong at Robyn, expression a complex tangle of longing, apology, guilt, and hope. "When I was with her, I could sometimes forget about the War. Even if for nothing else but that feeling, I'd miss her. But there was a lot more than that." Her gaze flicks up and away to the side as she blinks back tears, before nervously finding its way back to Robyn herself.
"But pleased? Really?" The repeat of her earlier queries sounds astonished rather than as if she's intentionally accusing her companion of deceit. "Wow. Honestly, I figured that… well. I sent emails to the old addresses I had for you. Over the years. Well, before long it was clear they were for me, and much of the time I thought you might be dead so they were even more a matter of me writing letters that could never be read, but… I, ahh, I thought that after… after everything, that you'd be glad of a clean break. That you'd chosen one."
The talk of her mother, draws Robyn into quiet contemplation. She knows everything Ygraine is saying well - she felt the same way, and had. It was one of many reasons she came to America with her mother, rather than remaining in Ireland with her father. She purses her lips and nods, trying her best not to let a year slip out herself.
"Haven't checked anything from… before the war in years." At least in terms of email. Even with this knowledge, she doesn't plan to. She COULDN'T check mail back at her old home - and she's almost upset that that joke escaped her when they were in Manhattan. "I did," she says quietly. "Not just from you." In case Ygraine is worried.
"Just spoke to Elaine for the first time not too long ago. Adel too." She knows it's not a name Ygraine might fondly remember, but it drives the point home. "Sable… no idea where she is. Rue, Colette, everyone…" She shakes her head. Most everyone from her life before the way that she was close to, it's clear she's not anymore. That includes Ygraine too.
Adel, Ygraine has never had a problem with. Her name is one of those that prompts enough surprise to merit the arching of one brow: that Quinn would turn her back on those who felt close to her is not overly surprising to Ygraine, of all people. Still, that she did so this broadly….
The Briton shakes her head a touch. "Rue and Sable, I helped to train," she says dryly. "For the War. They also became two of the people providing us with documentary evidence, since they were willing to take a camera into combat zones. Sable, I've seen off and on, over the years since the War. We bumped into each other a few times, while touring the country for our different purposes after the violence officially ended. I actually performed on-stage with her now and then." The last comment is mildly astonished, rather than boastful.
"Good for her. And you." Despite the kind words, Robyn's expression falls just the slightest bit - she's happy to hear her former friend got to live her dream, but between that and last night's events, it also stings a bit. "Haven't played since before the war, myself," Robyn admits, eyes cast down at the sidewalk ahead.
"I don't keep up with that. Documentaries, memories. Already lived it." She couldn't even really handle a visit to the Brick House. "Didn't know that's what anyone was in to." Much less Rue. She seems surprised at Sable's involvement as well. "Good cause, though." Not that that's surprising. "Don't pay much attention to anything outside of work these days." She looks back up to Ygraine, arching an eyebrow.
"Is it really that strange?" That she would be pleased to see Ygraine, even despite of everything she's said so far.
"I spent the whole of the Albany Trials period collating, assessing, and presenting evidence." Though she tries to restrain it, Ygraine's tone is again somewhat dry. "And the touring I was doing… that was to gather more survivor testimony. Still trying to reconnect people, among other things. There are so many who have no idea that friends or family might have survived, or that there's anyone out there who wants to know they're alive."
Forcing herself to look straight at Robyn, she takes a deep breath, then nods. "Honestly? Yes. It is strange, in some ways, that you're pleased to see me. I came to the conclusion that Miss Quinn wanted nothing to do with me, or my ideas. That she had an active desire to avoid having me do anything to shape her life. That you initially seemed pleased to see me, last time we met… that astonished me, in all honesty. I'd thought I might have to leave a note and hope you'd read it, or something. That I didn't was… a huge relief, I can assure you."
Robyn is quiet in response to Ygraine's comment, failing to recognise the incongruity of her own words and how it justifies the other woman's surprise. Miss Quinn is a strangely distant - and painful - way to hear herself referred to. No one else had fall back on something like that when they had come into contact again, and to Robyn it speaks volumes.
"I see," is a quiet response, and is only partially true. She can see that she's done something to warrant this response, but if it's anything beyond the distance she put between herself and her old life, well, that escapes her. "No, it wasn't you." The traditional way to continue that is it's me, and while true, she keeps that to herself. "Pushed everyone away. Thought it'd keep them safer. Didn't want to drag anyone down with me." This is probably the quickest she's been this honest, but she's also gotten used to explaining this. "Worked, in some cases."
Ygraine searches the Agent's face - including the longest look she's yet given that scar. She thinks in silence for some little while, before offering a sad little smile. "Part of the reason I and Charlotte got on so well from the start, I think, is that we each saw a very similar Robyn," she says softly. "Someone in whom we invested our dreams, and whose life we wanted to help to guide onto the best path possible. Everyone else saw Quinn. No one else I ever met saw Robyn. I should have let myself think about that a long time earlier than I ever did, but I was so happily blinded…"
A shake of her head accompanies a frustrated gesture with one hand. "Sorry. Veering off onto yet another of my self-indulgent tangents. But it became very clear that the person I had tried to turn you into was a figment of my imagination, and wasn't who you wanted to be. So when you cut the last link, after the Siege? It literally never occurred to me that you were worried about dragging me down. I thought you were just finishing the job of freeing yourself."
"I-" Robyn looks at Ygraine for a moment, before looking back to her own feet as they continue to walk. In the direction of her and Dirk's home, but also directionless. She doesn't offer any further comment at first, a look of frustration on her face.
"After the Siege, I left with Colette, Avi, Rue. Few others. Going back home didn't seem like an option. Wasn't really. And Colette…" Robyn sucks in a deep breath. "She made me realise I couldn't just… stay in Canada, like I'd thought about. So… I became a smuggler." None of this should be news, after all, Robyn Quinn's Albany Testimonies were fierce and well documented. Plus, Ygraine saw her.
"After mum died, traded smuggler's hat for a rifle. And then, SESA." She spreads her hands a bit. "So yes. Was worried, about everyone else. Thought I was doing the right thing, this time." Stepping around a lightpole, she shakes her head. "Seems like no one else thinks that."
"Why wouldn't you want to talk to me? Because I was a lunatic who spent the better part of a year trying to turn you into someone you weren't," Ygraine says softly, coming to a halt to study Robyn - and her supportive tree - from beneath half-lowered lashes. "I think that some of what was done to me in your name was beyond pretty awful… but it took me far, far too long to wonder about some blindingly obvious things. I was… wrapped up in my delusions. And wanted you to be, too. Mostly, I sincerely believed you really were part of my crazy 'reality', which must sometimes have been, well, truly horrible for you. Having someone push you to become their fantasy partner rather than be yourself…. I truly am sorry. There're a few ideas I can be proud of - getting you to put the Glass Wonderland concert online as a live stream, for one - but so much else…. Well. I can say my heart was in the right place and I never set out to cause harm, but it was still me doing it. That you avoided all contact with me was unpleasant… but not a surprise, once I grasped something of what I'd done to you."
Robyn studies Ygraine for a moment. She looks down at the ground, and then back up at the Briton. "Got a lot of people telling me that I need to stop trying to push away the past," she remarks, tilting her head to the side slightly. "But you never hurt me, Ygraine. You weren't crazy. Delusional. I made choices. They…"
She takes exhales sharply. "What's done is done. The past is the past." She steps away from the tree, looking up at Ygraine. "So unlike everyone else, let's forget it. Start over. Square one." Burn it all down, like she's done before - but maybe this time, with a more noble goal.
She squares her eyes with Ygraines, and then takes a step back, offering her hand out. "Bonjour," she starts with a mile, head still cocked slightly to the side. "Je m'appelle Robyn Quinn. C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer." A symbolic first meeting, to go with her previous statement.
"I'm… terrible at forgetting." Ygraine sounds guiltily apologetic, presenting a personal failing rather than a hostile response to Quinn's proposal. "Paranoia and depression both feed on endless repetition and recall of 'relevant' events, so…." She spreads her hands, gesturing to herself. "And… if what you're saying is true…."
A sigh, and she angrily shakes her head to try to dispel at least some of the thoughts whirling within her skull. Then she blinks at the offered hand, before remembering to extend her own and shake - the grip unintentionally firm, more power behind it than Quinn ever encountered from her before. Bonjour. Je m'appelle Ygraine FitzRoy. Je suis egare et confus. Mais heureux de vous rencontrer, je pense.
"Yeah. Me too." Robynn offers that back in a low voice. With the handshake, she tries to make it as firm as she can - also likely a tougher grip than Ygraine remembers. She looks the Briton in the eye. She remembers the path Ygraine tried to put her on. Helped put her own. And it had meant the world to her, even if the taciturn agreement to begin anew prevents her from saying so. But still.
"You will always be my friend, Ygraine," is what she does settle on. Who she is now is vastly different from then, and the same can probably be said of Ygraine. "So, to new beginnings. A pledge to be better, if I can muster it."
"I'm… badly at a loss," Ygraine admits in a small voice. "I don't know how to make sense of… well. Some of the most important events of my life. I've had to try to come to terms with the fact that the best friend I've ever had was actually a delusion I imposed on a victim, and now…." She sighs, then musters a shaky little laugh. "Even once I concluded she was quite unreal, I missed my beloved Robyn so very badly. Now… now you're telling me she was real after all, and…. I'm lost. But if there's some real bit of Robyn around now, then I'm glad. Only Charlotte and I ever seemed to see her, but we thought she was rather wonderful."
Robyn's expression wavers a bit at the mention of her mother, and she looks away and at the ground. "Can't bare to think she'd be disappointed in me, now. Always wanted me to make a difference, however I could." Her mother had never known she was in the Ferry, or that she was out smuggling, not unless someone else told her.
A click of her tongue, once, twice, and she looks back up at Ygraine. "So am I. Lost." Apparently. She didn't used to think so. Now she's not so sure. "I was always me. To everyone, at one point or another. Don't doubt it." As if it's that easy. "I'm not her now," she states, rather finally. "Who I used to be. But I am me."
That 'someone' might well be right there in front of Robyn, of course. "I'm surprised you're working for The Man. I think she would be, too. But she wouldn't be disappointed by you taking the gamble that this organisation'll live up to its professed ideals," Ygraine says quietly. "She and I both wanted Robyn to make a difference in the world, and thought that she could if she tried. We both thought that Liberty would have been a good match for the Robyn we believed in, for example. She was proud to tell me she'd bought the album, one time…."
A wistfully sad little smile lifts the corners of Ygraine's mouth as she blinks, then looks down. "Sorry. I'm doing a shitty job of forgetting. But at least I can say I warned you I would, huh? Buuut… I can try for as close to a fresh start as I can manage. With you, I mean. Everything I do is about using the past to piece together a less crappy future, but with you I… I can try to look for signs of the best friend I used to trust more than anyone in the world. And try to learn who you are now."
"I get that a lot," Robyn half grumbles in response. "I always wanted to make a difference. Got an offer after the trials. Cat saw them, me… so I took it. Was, still is, the best way I can keep making a difference now." A smile comes up on her face. "Enjoy it a lot. In truth, it's the most fulfilling thing I've done in my life." Maybe not the most fun, or the most glamourous. But it's at least as fulfilling as her first big concert was. More so, given the longer timespan.
"Don't play anymore," she notes. The phrase is a common refrain these days. "SESA is my life. So, besides donations, I'm afraid I'm limited in how I can help now." At least with liberty. Her last statement earns a wrinkle of her nose as she turns, and resumes their walk. "No one knows who I am anymore. Always learning." This, it seems, may hold true for herself. "But I do want to be that person. The friend."
“The only serious job-offer I got was from Raytech.” Ygraine’s smile and voice are wryly amused as she matches pace with Robyn. “And I doubt that had anything to do with my efforts in Albany. Admittedly, I’ve steadfastly refused to become a US citizen, which rather limits options. I, ahh, sent you congratulations after seeing your speech. They still stand, even a few years after I first tried to get them to you. And, umm, I admit that I find it hard to imagine you as a government agent. What you do. What you enjoy doing. ‘Agent’ covers so much…. But I’m, ahh, glad you found a role to suit you.”
"Richard is good people," Robyn replies thoughtfully. "They all are, the Rays." Well, the ones she's met anyway - though that assessment might conflict with what Ygraine might remember Quinn's thoughts on Cardinal were. More things change than just names, as time goes on. "Did you take it? The offer."
An honest question, but Robyn is quick to move on. "Thank you," she remarks on the note of congratulations. "Sorry I didn't see them then. Never thought to… go back to old stuff like that. Or didn't have access, for a long time." Dipping her head in an apologetic motion, she finally musters up another smile. "I always wanted to help people. Now I have the means, the clout to do it how I wanted. Not like the Ferry, above board this time." A small chuckle. "And now I get paid for it."
A few paces of silence before she speaks up again. "Field Agent," she clarifies. "Partners, cases, response teams. It was good work." After that she shakes her head. "Now? Special Agent Robyn Quinn, SESA Liaison to Wolfhound. Observe, report, coordinate. Good work, but with a lot of… complications."
"It's always nice to be reminded of how many people kept up with anything I was doing." Ygraine's tone is ruefully teasing, rather than challenging. "You're far from the first to have missed the fact that I'm able to openly be Director of Liberty now. I take the pay of a data tech for the servers in Sweden. It's not a lot, but the multiplying effect of the exchange rate has a big impact, thankfully. By Safe Zone standards, I make a very good living. Raytech could pay a lot more, offer many more job perks, and so on… but Liberty had a role to play. Still has now. There are people who'll talk to us who won't deal with law enforcement, government, or corporations. So… I'll collaborate with Richard on pretty much anything he's ever likely to suggest, but Raytech can't get mixed up in missing persons cases or collating survivors' testimony. But you as an Agent? I admit that I wouldn't have guessed that'd be a path that appealed to you."
"Didn't miss it," Robyn contests with a shake of her head. "Didn't know how they might intermingle. Or if you took it while you got Liberty up and running in earnest." A half shrug follows that. "Liberty has heart," is Robyn's assessment of it. "So does Richard, and Raytech, but not the same sort." She nods her head at Ygraine's continued explaination, holding the flower she has tight, shifting them a bit in her grip. "You weren't there," is said very matter of factly, "the last… half of 2011. Not with me, at least." A beat. "Sorry about that. But…" She takes a deep breath. "Studio K, recording, the Ferry. My entire life those days." She purses her lips, thinking on it for a moment. "I always went to great lengths to help people. Or, I thought so at least. After the war, I just… couldn't go back to how things were. Wasn't right, didn't feel right. Staying active, helpful, watchful did. SESA lets me do that. Sometimes I wonder if that's what I really wanted my life to be, all those years. And now? Don't have to worry about getting hung for it."
"I was the one who recommended you as a recruit to Eric; he agreed, and he and I jointly pitched your recruitment to Cat; that's why she set bringing you into the Ferry underway," Ygraine says quietly. "I had faith in your good intentions, and in your capacity to put them into practice to help the people I was trying to help. Just as I had faith in the Ferry. 2011… it gave me some new perspectives on a number of things. And a new family, that sought me out, offered me a meaningful role and then a sanctuary, and… saved my life. Liberty as it is now, is in many ways a product of the reasons why I wasn't in your life in 2011 - from the Dome onwards, it all helped mould my ideas on what was needed. I wanted to build something people could trust. Every now and then, I feel I have."
Robyn looks back up at Ygraine, and then on ahead again. "Supposed to be a new beginning," she remarks with a small smile. "We both know that's not the only reason. But it won't be the case anymore." Looking up at the buildings around them, she nods. "You have. Dunno that the trials would've been quite what they were without what your and yours did. Or the… memorials." The Brick House, which she still hasn't gotten through without almost breaking down. "I do more than just SESA," she notes. "Money, time, resources to wherever I can. The libraries Gillian's been helping to get up again, for instance."
The next thought comes without hesitation. "I work in Rochester most days. With Wolfhound. Should come up sometime. Not for me, but… there's other people there I know wouldn't mind seeing you." She pauses to think. "Adel, Colette. Devon. February. Others, I'm sure." She shrugs again after that. "I can't if you come up. Conflict of interests."
"You brought up me 'not being there' in 2011," Ygraine is unable to resist pointing out… though her tone is dry instead of angry. "And I admit I'm not quite sure I follow - either what reason we both know, or what it's a reason for… or why me visiting Rochester would be a conflict of interest for you. If anything, I'd think that a civil rights campaigner would be rather unwelcome as far as the Hounds were concerned. Though I suppose that being seen to associate with such a campaigner in any way while you're the oversight on-duty could be taken as a sign of bias…."
The Briton sighs, shaking her head and pinching at the bridge of her nose. "Gah. This would all have been so much easier if you'd joined Liberty, eh? And we'd both quit the Ferry. And the Feds had never used me to set a trap. And… everything else had been different, too. So I suppose I'm lamenting how much easier totally different people's lives could have been. Which is about as productive as my usual wittering and worrying. Sorry. I… this… I struggle to make sense around people even when I'm not caught off-guard. I'm… my thoughts are in a whirl, at the moment. So I'm making even more of a fool of myself than usual. But they say that you should practice what you're good at, eh?"
"You're fine," is an honest assurance from Robyn as she walks alongside Ygraine. "I… don't think I would've wanted to be that person," she admits in a low voice. "No offense. Quitting the Ferry, and so many other things… sometimes I wonder. In broad strokes, I'd change nothing, though." She's been steadfast about this when confronted about her choices in the past, and truly believes it. "Bits and pieces, different maybe. But… I like where I am now, for the most part." Her smile wavers a bit despite that. "You're fine," she repeats, voice a bit lower. "We're almost to my place. I rent with Dirk Dickson. I don't know if you ever met him. Studio K."
"What you do won't matter, up there. It's who you are." Well, that's not entirely true, and Robyn herself is a perfect example of that. "I know Adel'd like to see you. Imagine others wouldn't be too upset. Just leave work at the door. Be just another person." SHe shrugs. To her, it seems that simple - and she wishes she could do it too. "As for conflict of interest… I shouldn't be their oversight. TOo much potential bias. Having another friend in the premises, for any purpose… it may not reflect on me. I mostly keep to my office there, anyway."
"I don't believe I ever met any of your media contacts, either before or after everything went to shit. Closest I'd come to any of that is Sable… and we eventually found our way to a modus vivendi. Then more. She asked to join the Chessmen. Became one of our photojournalists, alongside a combat role." Even the better part of a decade later, Ygraine sounds a little dazed as she makes that statement. "And yeah. Without my life going to total shit, then being saved - on multiple levels - by Liz and Richard bringing me into Endgame, I very much doubt the Chessmen would have existed. Or that Liberty would, at least in anything close to its present form. There's a fuck of a lot I'd like to change on a personal level. Giving myself a damn clue about anything other than bikes and books, for a start. But I've somehow blundered my way into doing rather a lot of good every now and then. So…"
She warily eyes the nearby buildings, as if trying to determine precisely which windows might belong to her companion's current residence. "I'd need to check in advance what the rules were. Timing, too. I can't justify either the time or the expense of getting out there and not seeing anyone. But there're two old Chessmen and Adel there. Lucille, I taught Savate. Colette… I honestly don't know. She told me I was 'family', once. Shortly before yet another of her without-warning disappearing acts. I honestly have no idea what I might possibly be to her now. The Chessmen and Hana's group collaborated at points in the War, but it wasn't exactly a good basis for making new friends, so most of them I can't really claim to know…. Sorry. Rambling nervously yet again. I should, ahh, let you get into your place."
Robyn purses her lips as she listens to Ygraine. "Fair enough," is a smile response - far be it from her to argue when she herself has gone out of her way to avoid the people she cared about in her life for much lesser reasons. "No use in thinking about what could've been," is an honest answer. "Just drive you mad." And make you do arguably questionable things. The dreams she once had had potentially led to some of that, in so many different ways.
"We're here," is a note as she stops in front of a building, flowers still held in front of her. "Dirk's still at the office. Would invite you up, but I have to work on reports." About the Hounds, as usual. It's that time of the month, after all. "But… not in a rush to go up, either." She smiles at Ygraine. "Visit Rochester," is a repeated insistence. "I think you'll be happy."
“I’m honestly not sure there’s much else I know how to do, other than dwell on the past and mull over possibilities,” Ygraine answers - sounding tired, guilty, and sad all in one. Then she forces a smile, and gestures awkwardly to the flowers. “So, who’s the lucky girl? And no, you don’t have to answer my unsubtle attempt to deflect from the terror I feel about heading out there. But… I’ll try to open contact. See if they’re even willing to let a civilian visit. Let alone a civil rights campaigner prone to taking photographs and reporting on things.”
"They are," Robyn assures. "Just… act appropriately for a place like The Bunker." For a military establishment, basically. "They won't mind." At least, she know Adel won't, probably some of the others won't either. "You're overthinking." Robyn looks back up at Ygraine, offering her a reassuring smile. "Say the apparently chronic overthinker," she notes. "But still. Just do it."
With that, she rolls her shoulders a bit, moving so sit on the front stoop of her building. "Dirk," is an initial answer. "Dirk's the lucky girl." She has a good laugh at that, unable to keep herself from chuckling at her own joke. It fades, quickly, eye half lidded as she look at the flowers she holds in hand. "No one," she answers more seriously. "They're for no one." There's a bit of a forlorn tone to her voice, and a sigh follows to match it. "Don't even know what colour they are. Just… wanted something that smelled nice. Like Rose and Trellis too. The owner is delightful."
“Still? Oh, I’m so sorry.” The response is involuntary, and heartfelt in a way that leaps past the intervening years and pain, Ygraine clearly having hoped otherwise - and evidently remembering the joy that her companion once took in light-play; perhaps also the training sessions she designed to foster her ability… including, very specifically, new forms of colour control.
“I’m… well. I’m sure you’re sick of pity,” Ygraine says quietly. “But I truly had hoped for a change for the better by now. And… Dad’s colour-blind. Not to compare with what happened to you, but I grew up with things like ‘pale’ as a descriptor for the whole range of things where all he could describe reliably was tone rather than whatever colour the rest of us might see. I… ‘get’ a little bit of how different the world can seem, when it doesn’t look like it does to other people, thanks to him.”
She grimaces, holding up a hand. “Sorry. That’s probably like telling someone who lost a limb that you know just what they’re feeling because you stubbed your toe once upon a time. I’m… flailing, as ever. Just… if you didn’t comment on the new tattoos because you thought they might have colours you couldn’t see: they’re black, white, and a little bit of silver. You’re seeing what you’re supposed to there, at least. A couple of bits of art you’re seeing as they are.”
Her free hand - for the arm without the coat draped over it - comes up to rub at her face. “Gyah. Sorry. I… I’m floundering. As I suspect you can tell. But… I’m glad you’ve got somewhere to go home to. And somewhere to sell you some beauty, even if it’s scent rather than sight.”
Robyn looks up at Ygraine from where she sits, and doesn't initially offer her any sort of real response. Instead, she just gives the other woman a weak smile, patting the spot on the steps next to her - and implicit request to join her.
"You have the right of it," is what she remarks on, rather than pity or disdain for how Ygraine rambles on about a similar condition. "It is what it is. Used to it, by now. Just how it is." She offers a glance to Ygraine, a hesitant smile tinning her lips. "The new old normal. Me." With that, she closes her eye, and lifts up the flowers so that she can smell them, and then offers them over to Ygraine. "Fresh. Like a new day."
See? Symbolism.
"I see beauty all around," she notes after a moment, leaning slightly against Ygraine. "None of it's mine. Not in years. But… that's fine too."
There’s distinct hesitation - Ygraine’s perennial fear bubbling to the surface - before she manages to force her heart to return to its proper position (rather than the back of her throat), and take a nervous perch. Her coat is folded atop her lap, new tattoos shifting in response to the motions of the muscles beneath.
“I still draw,” she says softly. “It’s… one of the few things that sometimes helps me find a little quiet, when things get… awkward. People occasionally say nice things about what I produce, but I’m not sure I could say I created beauty. It tends to be about trying to get something out. Or to keep it in. Remaking the world for the better… I want to recapture that. Lene… Lene told me a little while back, that I ‘used to have a really sweet philosophical edge’ to me. I… I don’t really have a clue how to find it again. But I’d like to, if I can. Maybe sweet-smelling flowers from Rose and Trellis would be a start. They’d certainly make a difference at the headquarters.”
"I liked your drawings. I collect art and antiques now. Wouldn't mind having some of yours to hang up." It'll be a nice change from the assorted mix of Eve Mas and also some other people too. "Might have to rent another place at some point…" And that would defeat the point of having a roommate, wouldn't it?
She smiles, though, at the mention of Jolene. How could she not? "Giving you advice too, huh? She's too smart for her own good," is a teasing comment, Robyn closing her eye as she leans against Ygraine. "I wish we'd been here for her, when… everything happened. Glad Gillian was." There's some other comments that float to Robyn's mind, jokes at all of their expense - but this is about leaving the past behind, right? Starting new?
…yeah, but not when it comes to this.
"She… helped me realise that I need to figure some things out," Robyn says quietly, and it's part of why she's even having this conversation now, instead of just walking away and taking the long way home after she left Rose and Trellis. "Her and… Elaine." A long sigh. "That's a long road, though."
Ygraine pauses, eyeing Robyn sidelong as the smile prompted by the word ‘too’ gradually fades… and is now replaced with fearful wariness once more. It takes a few seconds for her to manage to find some sort of gear into which to shift mind and mouth.
“I… from what she said, I think that Lene herself hid from people for some time,” she ventures quietly. “But yes. I’ve long wished that I had been there. I feel guilty that I wasn’t. Too busy saving strangers to face up to helping someone who saved me. I hope that we can reconnect now. Hearing her first broadcast on my birthday… that was as wonderful… it was simply amazing.”
Having awkwardly avoided saying as wonderful as my first dream of her, Ygraine shifts self-consciously. “As for my drawings? I… the last time I saw you before going into hiding” - a meeting seared into her memory, at least - “I gave you a sketchbook. Containing the things I’d drawn for you, and the best work I’d done of you. But I guess that’s long gone.”
There's a moment of silence from Robyn as she continues to look down at the flowers she holds. "I actually… was back home, recently. The old home. The Verb." In case that wasn't clear. She rolls her shoulders, letting out a weary sigh. "It's all gone, yeah. Even… if I'd wanted otherwise, it's all gone. The Verb, Pollepel… I don't think I actually have anything from before 2015 anymore."
A small shrug follows that. "Ultimately fine with that, but…" She turns, looking back up at one of the windows in her apartment. "Still wouldn't mind something to put in my art room. Can go between the paintings I get from Eve and the drawings I get from Pippa." Not that Ygraine would know who Pippa is. "Actually, yes. I'd like that a lot."
If she’d wanted otherwise? Well, that would seem to suggest that the courage it took for Ygraine to commit such things to ‘safe keeping’ immediately before she went into hiding was wholly misplaced. Turning her gaze up and away, she hazily studies the skyline for long moments.
“I have a fair amount from back then. More than a little of it on my skin, of course,” the Briton says softly. “And one of my major goals for the Liberty building is to be able to get my library down here, and safely installed. I thankfully managed to get it out of the city, courtesy of my family. With the Feds not formally moving against me, they were still free to act to salvage things well before it all went completely to Hell in a handbasket.”
Dragging her gaze back down to Earth, she refocuses upon the scarred remainder of the woman onto whom she used to project so much. After a moment, she finds a smile and manages to reduce the intensity of the gaze with which she was studying her companion. “Who is Pippa?”, she asks gently. “And… did you just commission me to draw something for you?”
"Nicole's daughter," is a quick response. That's an easy question for Robyn to answer, at least. "Just the most absolute adorable. Almost would wish she was mine." A small shrug follows that, like it's no big deal at all. "And yes. I did."
And that's that.
"I got a tattoo myself. Finally." She motions to her right shoulderblade as best as she can. "Can't… show you, but… at least finally managed to do something I always said I would." Slowly, she rises back up to her feet and lets out a sigh. "You're welcome to come up, but I'm going to put these into a vase at my desk, and then tend to reports I need to be working on. Won't be terribly entertaining."
It’s a close-run thing but Ygraine does succeed in biting back a self-flagellating urge to ask whether any of her own designs for body-art for Robyn came into consideration. Kicking herself where it hurts can at least be saved for a more private venue than this. Instead, she digs deep for another smile.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” is neither platitude nor excuse. She darts a glance upwards, as if searching for signs of occupancy - not that she knows which windows Dirk might be unsuspectingly present behind. “But… if you do want a commission, then I should at least get some details for what you would like. Maybe have a look at the space available, for an idea of size. But… Colette’s an aunt? I first saw a picture of Nicole, oh, way back in another age. When Colette was asking random strangers if they’d seen her sister, missing since the Bomb. Not sure we ever actually met, but that picture lodged in my mind….”
Colette's an aunt is not a way of looking about it that she's ever thought about - it makes her laugh almost as much as the idea of Old Colette. "Yes, and Pippa is wonderful. Always look forward to babysitting with that one." A smile thins her lips, a small laugh following. "Work with Nicole at SESA. Helps keep me sane there. Love the work, not the red tape or politics. Helps me navigate it."
But, that's Nicole, and she's talked a lot about Nicole lately. Her response to what the picture should be is a small shrug. "Whatever strikes your fancy," she declares, sounding rather definitive. "Far be it from me to dictate what an artist creates. Just…" Her smile shrinks a bit, but doesn't vanish. "No colours. I wouldn't know anyway. Pippa does her drawings in black and white too. It's sweet."
“Monochrome specifically for you, or always?” Ygraine sounds genuinely curious. “How old is she? And… no guidance at all? Hah.” Her free hand runs over her hair as she glances up at the building again, before rising to her feet. “I think I better had come in, see the space you want it to go in, and see if anything strikes me. Either as a possibility or to rule out. But, umm, I’m glad you have someone to help with battling the bureaucracy and the backstabbing.”
"For me, six, and none." Three quick answers to three questions. Robyn stares out at the street for a moment, before turning to Ygraine and offering her a hand. "It's nothing special, the room. But if you'd like to come up, that's fine." She certainly has no issue with it, as indicated by the offered hand.
Robyn is silent the rest of the way inside and up the stairs. She has - pretty much literally never really - had someone up to her place, not since she moved in with Dirk. So that, in and of itself, is an unspoken gesture of trust. The living room they step to is, in some ways, a more spartan mirror of the living room in her place in the Verb - couch, TV, rack of DVDs, dining room table at the back.
Robyn passes by two doors - bedrooms - before arriving at a third. Silently, she pushes it open and steps in. The room is seemingly devoid of furniture, but not of stuff. The walls are lined with paintings, by various painters in various styles, though most prominently belonging to Eve Mas. Some are hung up, others lean against the wall in frames. Ominously, one prominently hung painting in Eve's style depicting Robyn, older, scarred, dressed for business and in an office with a freshly fired gun held out sits mounted on the wall straight ahead from the door. Mixed in between them are a few black and white drawings, childish but sweet, each with a "P" in the corner - a "signature" Robyn had once jokingly insisted on.
The floor of the room is littered with a myriad of antiques and odds and ends, scavenged or bought at places like The Vault. A piece of a bench sits on the floor of the south wall, between an odd shaped sculpture and a stack of paintings, and under the painting of herself sits a record player, a single flashing red light on the front of the console. The one corner not occupied by antiques or paintings contains a small collection of musical equipment - an old, faded white Telecaster guitar, and acoustic, a cherry red Gibson semi-hollow bass, and two amps - one of which has a blinking red light on the front as well - and a small set of tools, mostly screwdrivers and soldering equipment. A notebook sits on the floor, open.
Trust is love was both a declaration of faith and an explanation of how Ygraine’s mind worked, back in the days when she’d have been actively eager to take that offered hand. Now, her heart turns a couple of somersaults on its way up to block the back of her throat - and only after she’s forced it back down does she manage to reach out and close her fingers around Robyn’s. Even then, her grip is light; very much so, given the evident power in her bared arms.
But in spite of the terror inspired by both literal and figurative reaching out to this companion above most (all?) others, she holds on for as long as her guide seems to wish the contact to last.
Entering an unfamiliar building would have the half-paranoid war veteran on-edge anyway; as it is, she uses the pause provided by the opening of the front door to quickly focus upon her less-conventional senses, to gain a little reassurance that there really aren’t crowds of enemies posted in ambush around (or above, or below) the entrance. Clinging to that as confirmation that this isn’t a hostile site, she moves inside when invited… and thence on into the apartment itself.
Once upon a time, Ygraine also had a three-bedroomed home in the city; Miss Robyn Quinn had been one of the first invited into it, too. But there, the third room had been turned into a little gymnasium: here, it evidently serves to provide a different kind of exercise for other parts of the self.
The startlingly grim picture opposite the entrance does earn a distinctly lingering look, but after a few moments Ygraine pulls her gaze away to survey the rest of what is on display. Her mundane senses are momentarily suppressed as her ability is brought into play to let her feel the mass of that strange sculpture, but for the most part she focuses upon sight alone. Drifting to and fro, she studies the assorted offerings - and can’t help but compare this collection with her own smaller, but arguably as eclectic, one at the Liberty headquarters.
Not that she’s at all sure that she’d want a Mas painting of the sort of scene shown in that pride-of-position image facing the door.
But she tears herself away from eyeing it, to instead focus upon Pippa’s contributions… and whatever spaces might exist among or adjacent to them, as possible sites for something that she might create.
However, preferably not something in line with her first thought: fun though it might be to create, there’d probably be a poor reception to a stick-figure cartoon providing a step-by-step explanation of why it’s not very nice to keep a secret girlfriend behind your official one’s back. Instead… a dragon, perhaps? Something symbolic of its creator, for those who know her, without being an overt identification to those who don’t…
Robyn doesn't release Ygraine from her grip, not until they're inside the apartment. She doesn't say anything on the way up, not once her invitation has been accepted. Her expression is impassive but the pace at with she moves maybe betraying some sort of excitement about- something. Or it could just be that she wants to get Ygraine in and out before Dirk comes home, lest she have to deal with his questions.
Who knows?
As she holds the door to her spare room open for Ygraine, Robyn looks around herself. She doesn't pay much mind to the grim picture across the entrance - after all, she's been looking at it for years now. Rather, her eyes fall on where her tools and instruments sit, the bass she had picked up early this morning to fix sitting next to that notebook. She's quick to make her way over and kick it closed, before turning back to Ygraine.
Wordlessly she watches the other woman as she moves and looks around the room, and it doesn't escape her the attention that's given to the picture of her that hangs opposite the door. "Eve Mas painted that one," she remarks, eye flicking over to it. "Years ago. This is a copy, I think the original is long destroyed." She turns to it, walking up to it and eyeing it carefully.
"I let this be a reminder to myself. To just…" She rolls her shoulders. "Be."
And that's that. She turns back to Ygraine, hands folded behind her back as she regards the other woman with curiosity. "Small space. Tried to fit in as much as I could though. I'd rent out a second place if I could. Or a storage unit." Which may have to happen soon anyway, given how full this room has gotten at this point. Head canting to the side, Robyn offers Ygraine a small smile.
"Does it help any?"
“I can’t say that I’ve instantly figured out precisely what to do,” Ygraine admits, flashing a self-deprecating smile at her hostess. “But yes, this should help. Both for the specific space you want to put it in, and what it’ll be next to. And what else is in the room.”
She darts a glance towards the Mas grimness, before shrugging slightly. “I’ve never picked up any of Eve’s work. Not that I know her terribly well, admittedly. I did wind up with a Mendez, but that’s not nearly the same as having one specifically of me. Still, I can understand that one… prompting you to try to, ahh, adjust things. It doesn’t look like a good place to wind up.”
Glancing around once more, she then cocks her head, studying the federal agent - rather than the paintings - with evident curiosity. She had accepted the extended hand-holding on their way up and in, and now seeks to understand a little better. “You seem… excited?”, she ventures, somewhat uncertainly. “Can I ask why?”
Robyn gives a slight grimace as she looks back to the Eve Mas painting. "She's one of my closest friends," the faux Frenchwoman states plainly. "She… saw this on Pollepel. During the lockdown. But really, I just like her art." Even when it's grim paintings of herself. "I pick up batches from her every now and then. For my personal use as well as safe keeping." Because, for people who know what Eve Mas does, those paintings have a whole other kind of value.
"New art is always exciting," Robyn offers back quickly, as if it were a well practised response. It isn't, she just happned to be on top of things for once instead of lost in her own thoughts. Her lips quirk side to side, stepping away from the painting, from her instruments, and beginning to mill about the small room.
"Told you already," she notes. "Lots of people on me to…" she trails off a bit, before shaking her head. "I won't say it again. Seems like every other day lately." She turns back to face Ygraine with a small smile and a nod. "But it is nice to see you again, Ygraine. Excited, not quite the right word. Nice." A reiteration, though it's punctuated with a small shrug.
Ygraine once again provides a demonstration of what might be considered one of her more characteristic expressions: serious thought combined with a distinct touch of confusion. Then she nods slowly. “People pushing you not to dwell in the past?”, she checks. “It’s… well. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without the past to obsess over. I’ve always been better - felt safer - when I don’t have to think about dealing with anyone in the here and now. Other worlds, other times, or the pursuit of perfection on a bike… those I could cope with. Making sense of people here in front of me?”
She flashes an apologetic little smile at Robyn. “So, ahh, nice as a reaction to me being here… I’m still trying to get my head around. Adjust to. I honestly thought, well.” She gestures to the Quinn-as-shooter painting. “That would have been a bit extreme as a response, but I was expecting something close to that sentiment. So I’m babbling like even more of a fool than usual. But, umm, yeah. You as an art-collector, huh? And I’m worthy to have something added? I’m, ahh, flattered. Have you taken it up at all yourself?”
"No," Robyn states after a moment, looking off to the side. "The opposite." To not forget the past or the people she lived it with. To stop pushing it away like she has. To open back up. To do- well. Anything like she used to.
The last part doesn't entirely interest Robyn, but she's proven willing to at least try the rest.
"But I learned, recently, that sometimes pasts are meant to be buried. Nothing can change that." She squares her gaze with Ygraine's, taking a deep breath. "So, the middle ground. To be friends, and put the past behind us. Best as we can." Because clearly it won't be easy for either of them. "So yes. Nice."
She looks around the room, at the paintings, and musters a much more genuine smile. "Junk collector who happens to like art." Her eyes drift to the bench piece seated across the way. "And random bits of streetside furniture, I guess. But yes. I'd love to have you up here with Eve, Pippa, and everyone else."
Near-constantly aware of the chaotic swirl in the back of her partly-repaired mind, Ygraine’s not at all sure that she can connect to people while burying the past. Let alone to find a fresh start with a woman who looks and sounds so much like the best friend she (n)ever had and still misses. But for so much of the twelve years since the Bomb, and the nine years since she first killed somone, she’s tried to persuade herself that her actions can prove she’s actually a nice person rather than just a fraud with high-sounding excuses.
After all, if she can kill to ‘save the world’, she can surely try to give someone a second chance. One thing ought to be so very much easier than the other.
So Ygraine draws in a slow and unsteady breath, then finds a shaky little smile of her own. “One self-portrait coming up, then,” she says - and immediately dreads that it might not be taken as a joke. “Or a dragon, far more likely,” is hastily added. “But I’ll have a think. See what I can come up with. Working specifically in monochrome could provide some interesting challenges. Might open up some paths I wouldn’t normally consider.”
"Whatever inspires you," Robyn replies with a small smile and a shallow dip of her head - even if the self portrait was a joke, she clearly doesn't seem o mind either way. "You don' have to do monochrome," she notes, stepping around some of her things and over towards Ygraine. "Just… don't expect me to notice any lovely shades of green."
A small shrug follows, and she turns and looks back out at the room. Second chances aren't something that come easy for her either, not anymore - but Ygraine isn't the one who needs the second chance. Robyn's on her second chance with most people at this point - so she's clearly being careful not to jeopardize it.
"Just… whatever strikes your fancy," she repeats again, before turning back to Ygraine, smiling wide and genuine. "A good place to start, for a new beginning."
“Something that inspires me, huh? Definitely more likely to be a dragon, then….” Ygraine absent-mindedly runs a hand over her hair, then freezes - looking rather as if she just realised she said given voice to her thought.
“Ah, hrrm. Well. A near-monochrome palette could be interesting to work with. I was thinking of trying out something like silver: a metallic sheen, that’ll be visible without need for colour, but isn’t just the standard ‘shades of grey’. See if I can create something that’s more visibly varied for you. Were I a real artist, I could experiment with varied textures in the surface itself… but I should be able to manage something with paint. Or ink, perhaps, come to think of it. That might be interesting: the gloss on a wash of ink might yield a clearly different effect for you…”
As she spoke, Ygraine’s gaze gradually unfocused - disappearing out somewhere through the wall. Now, she hauls it back to blink sheepishly at the point Robyn had been standing in. A moment later, she manages to locate the woman herself. “Oh. Ahh. Yeah. New beginning would probably be an appropriate theme for something, of course. If I can come up with something suitable for that, I can think of someone else who might like one… but yeah. I’ll, ahh, have a think. I can certainly promise you that.”
Robyn's smile widens considerably at that, nodding twice as she winds her way back towards the door to the spare room. "So it is, then," she states simply, slipping back out into the living and towards the kitchen. Immediately, she turns to the refrigerator and pulls pulls out a bottle of wine, white from the looks of it. "I look forward to whatever it is that bring to me, Ygraine. I know it'll be lovely."
With that, she turns to the cabinets opposite the fridge, opening them and pulling out two wide wine glasses. She doesn't even hesitate - or ask - before she pours a half glass into both of them before setting the bottle aside. Gingerly both glasses are picked up, and she makes her way back over to Ygraine. One glass is offered out to Ygraine with a dip of her head.
"To new beginnings."