Participants:
| Scene Title | Two Scorpios |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | After hours, Warren and Gillian discover something else they have in common, in the form of close birthdays. |
| Date | October 24, 2010 |
Once upon a time, the New York Public Library was one of the most important libraries in America. The system, of which this branch was the center, was among the foremost lending libraries /and/ research libraries in the world.
The bomb changed that, as it changed so much else.
By virtue of distance, the library building was not demolished entirely, like so many others north of it; however, the walls on its northern side have been badly damaged, and their stability is suspect. The interior is a shambles, tattered books strewn about the chambers and halls, many shelves pulled over. Some have even been pulled apart; piles of char in some corners suggest some of their pieces, as well as some of the books, have been used to fuel fires for people who sought shelter here in the past.
In the two years since the bomb, the library — despite being one of the icons of New York City — has been left to decay. The wind whistles through shattered windows, broken by either the blast-front or subsequent vandals, carrying dust and debris in with it. Rats, cats, and stray dogs often seek shelter within its walls, especially on cold nights. Between the fear of radiation and the lack of funds, recovery of the library is on indefinite hiatus; this place, too, has been forgotten.
It's getting late, around 10PM, so it looks like Warren and Gillian will be staying the night in the library. He doesn't do sleepovers lightly, he's spent the past hour with his tools and four of the tables in the large area they've been working in. He built a small wooden shelter, very sturdy too, far back into the corner. He's even made a bed and two pillows using the stuffing from the ruined couches, and pieces of fabric long abandoned for one reason or another. His reasoning for the mini cabin was simple: If anyone breaks in and somehow gets by security, Warren and Gillian won't be exposed.
The large bed is already nailed to the floor of the little cabin, no larger than a tent, and he's putting the finishing touches on as he hammers in the last few nails. He's in his black tanktop, blue jeans, and boots tonight, having made it a habit of dressing down for the work they do. Those jammers are coming along nicely, a few laying on the tables across the room, while others are still being enhanced. With each one made, they can churn out an even beter one from what they've learned.
"You're really good at making things, even if you're not so good with computers," Gillian says, peeking into the opening of the makeshift cabin, and glancing at the single bed again with a quirk to her eyebrow. Just as she's assisted with the jammers, she's assisted with this, having decided that the shelter was a good idea for more than just tonight. They might need to spend the night at the Library more than once over the next two weeks, the final weeks in which to do what they need to. Work as late as they need to, without worrying about the curfew. Stepping in, she drops a backpack with some clothes and other things down against the wall, though she's dressed down as well, with small grease and dirt stains on her work clothes, which amount to cover-alls.
"Tomorrow I'll connect a shower into the bathroom." Warren added a curtain for an opening, so they can easily get out and not be trapped. "I'll make more of these little cabins tomorrow too, in case the others want to stay here." He finally finishes his hammering, then watches her, as if in thought. "You can use the blankets, I'll sleep on top of them."
"That's a waste of a big bed," Gillian says with a shake of her head, seemingly amused at the prospect of a guy sleeping on top of the covers. "It's warmer if we're both under them, and it isn't exactly warm this time of year." It's not as cold as it could be, but it's certainly getting crisp enough for jackets and jeans and long sleeves. "Unless you intend to sleep naked, I'm not planning to, so there's nothing wrong with both of us sleeping under the covers tonight. I've slept with guys without any funny business going on under the covers, believe it or not."
"I'm not worried about you seducing me, I just thought you'd be more comfortable if I was on top." Warren is silent, then suddenly smacks his hand against his face. "I mean, on top of the blankets, not…" He is a very exhausted person, he cannot be blamed for his strange Freudian wordings.
After he smacks his face, Gillian is unable to hold back the laugh that she was practically choking on. It's full, amused, nearly to the point where tears would be falling from her eyes. On top of everything else him slipping over the a Freudian phrase and noticing it is the best thing imaginable. To recover, she has to drop down onto the bed and rub at her face. "You're a very funny guy, you know that?"
"Hey, I just haven't gotten much sleep lately." Warren crawls into the little shelter, removing his boots so that he's just in his socks, then crosses his legs. "So, here we are." he says a little awkwardly, then just lays back and stares at the small ceiling. "How old are you, Gillian? I'm twenty-five, last time I counted."
"I'll be twenty-four on Friday," Gillian says, laying back on the bed to look at the makeshift ceiling. She's still on top of the covers, and she's not looking as if she's quick to move. "Though according to your dad I wasn't supposed to live to see twenty-three."
"I'll be twenty-six on the fourth of next month." Warren looks over at her, then the ceiling, then over at her again. He seems a bit restless, and suddenly pulls a little metallic pin from his pocket, starting to poke at the cracks in his robotic arm. "You're like a flapper out of the fourties."
"So you're a Scorpio too," Gillian states, seemingly amused by this idea, even if she doesn't say why she's amused. Perhaps because he doesn't actually seem like a Scorpio— but then she recalls all the warnings she's had about fractured personalities. Maybe some part of him is very much a Scorpio. "What do you mean by a flapper?" she asks, as she sits up to look at him more than the ceiling.
"You just seem like your own woman, the way you carry yourself, your voice. Well alright you remind me of a flapper except for the casual sex part, but I don't know what it is." Warren twirls a finger in the air after sliding the tool back into his pocket. "You just seem like you're from another time, or place."
"You know— I think that's the best compliment I've had in years," Gillian admits with a tug of a smile. "Perhaps ever." And it's certainly different to how some people have been saying she is. A lot better. "Your birthday is almost as close as mine." Only a few days after, in fact. "I'll have to think of something to get the guy who can build anything."
"Something from the heart, anything, I'll accept it." Warren reaches over to take her hand, closing his eyes. "The question is what to get you. I don't know a lot about you, I don't know what you'd really want or like… Tell me some important things about you, must-know Gillian facts."
"I like books. But we're surrounded by those, and that's an obvious and easy gift," Gillian says, looking down at the hand touching hers. "I like candles, especially ones with flowery scents— My favorite colors are purple and black, but I like blues and reds too. I like music with a beat— especially techno dance music. I like tattoos. I like jewelry, and I don't have much of that anymore, cause I pawned most my jewelry two years ago." Almost exactly two years ago.
"I'm sure that's enough to figure something out." Warren sighs, relaxed, closing his eyes again. "This is nice, I think I'll sleep pretty well tonight. I'm always so restless."
"Good to know I have a calming influence," Gillian says, with a slight smirk on her lips, and a whispered tone that lightens her normal rasp. The whispery tone may be due to sleepy, as it gets quieter when she continues. "Just don't wake up as someone else and try to kill me." He wouldn't be the first person who did, but from the way she rolls closer to him and rests her head against his upper arm— she isn't taking any major precautions against that possibility.
Nor is she looking like she's going to get under those covers after all. In fact seems to fall asleep right there, rather fast.
