Participants:
| Scene Title | Two Slices of Pie |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Robyn Quinn decides to welcome the new arrivals to Gun Hill and finds Diogenes. |
| Date | August 30, 2010 |
Isis and Diogenes's Apartment
Bare. Bones bare. This apartment seems built for the simpler functions of living only. The studio room's white walls remain mostly unbroken but for the short list of furnishings within this residence:
A single, double-sized bed sits beneath the windows that look out onto the street below, done up in a plain, black bedspread. To the right stands a larger book shelf, which proves to be a hopeful piece of furniture, for it currently houses only a handful of novels, leaving a greater space for the occupants' intended purchases. Clothes are kept in two beaten and worn, rolling suitcases propped open on the opposing side of the bed. A little desk is set up for the use of a single laptop, while the barren table in the kitchenette is used as the landing place for another notebook computer.
Even this kitchen-area is minimally supplied - cabinets are home to a small set of matching red and black dishware, cereal, and canned Chef Boyardee meals beside a bottle of vodka.
How unbelievable! New people in the building, and Robyn Quinn hadn't heard of it just now. How utterly unforgivable. This was a matter needing immediate rectification, and that was what Quinn had set out to do. Mid-morning, she had plans to run out by Ichihara, but they could be put on hold long enough for her to meet someone new, yes?
A knock knock knock knock on the door signifies Quinn's arrival at the new occupants door, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and a long black skirt, a pie tin in one hand and a bag slung over the opposite shoulder. "Hello?" she asks to whomever may be inside, Irish accent more than clear as she speaks. "Hello? I hope I'm not interruptin' anything!"
A glassy thud lands the vodka bottle on the harsh wooden surface of a humble kitchen table. Misty grey eyes turn their heavy gaze towards the door as the tall slim man straightens out; pupils dilate as shadows fall upon his visage, complimenting the dark mess that crowns his head. The dull muffled beats of music - rare and mellow as they were - meet an abrupt end, and Diogenes pushes the chair aside before he ventures towards the door.
One step is heard closer to the door than the last, and after a couple of moments, the man stops in front of the door. It takes one more moment of awkward length to finally unlock and open the door, revealing a gaunt (though not to unhealthy degrees) man, his judging eyes set on the woman that stands before him; he is dressed in closely fitting dark grey jeans and a sky blue shirt with none of its buttons done up, and its sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
His gaze eventually drops to the pie tin, though only for a fraction of a second before they return to regard Quinn's own eyes. "Pie? I figured you'd be holdin' Guinness in yer hand", he quips, words spilling at a rapid pace, laced with an Irish accent. Of course, keen hearing might notice a flaw or two in that feigned facade.
Quinn quirks an eyebrow when Diogenes comes into view , her smile wide, and her general demeanour cheery. "Are you sure I'm not interruptin' she remarks, glancing past him and into the apartment, her head tilting. And then the accent registers. "Oh! Someone else form back home, then?" she inquires gleefully, offering up the pie. "I can go get some, if you'd like. Terribly cliché, I know, but I do keep some in my refrigerator." Though tit is a bit early to be drinking. "Robyn Quinn! I live in flat 403. Always make a habit a' meetin' people new t' the building I live in, so I though I'd stop by an' say hello!"
Switching accents is no easy affair, which is why Diogenes had initially stopped at the door before opening it. This time, the pause arrives in the form of an amused chuckle, delivered to delay his response, which arrives with the accent he usually employs. It is also the one accent which easily betrays his hard to guess foreign origin, what with the soft consonants. "Hate to disappoint you, but I'm not 'from back home'. Thanks for the offer, though", he replies with a lopsided grin and his usual American accent on display.
He steps aside from the door, swinging it open further. "Feel free to come in, if you have the time. I am not busy with anything in particular, aside from having vodka for breakfast."
There's a momentary frown across Quinn's face, prompting her to shake her head. "Aah. A shame, then. Nifty trick, though." She blinks and shrugs, taking the offer to step into the apartment without much hesitation. "Vodka for breakfast? I'm a lousy cook m'self, but I at kleast have some Eggos if you'd like 'em!" Careful observation of Quinn, now that she's been present for a bit, might reveal that her cheery attitude is at least somewhat feigned, but she's trying hard not to reveal that particular face. "So, when you'd move in? I think I was the last new person t' move int' the building…"
The door is promptly closed once Quinn steps inside. "Helps me survive in Irish pubs", the stranger replies in regards to his trick.
Diogenes soon returns to his initial whereabouts, which can be found right next to the fairly small and unimpressive kitchen table, atop which his vodka proudly stands, half empty. One hand swipes said exhibit off the table, left drooping at the man's side while his other hand swiftly hits a few keys. The music returns, though with a lower volume, so as to serve as faint background. The sublime melody and the surreal lyrics soon betray the song as Take a Bow from Muse.
His eyes ultimately return to rest their great intangible weight on Quinn once again. This time, he examines her more closely, disregarding common etiquette. "A week or two ago", he responds. His intonation lingers, and it's unclear whether it's the effect of his breakfast or it's his manner of speech. His eyes eventually land on the pie again, which leads him to let out a murmur of "Ah, right!" A hand moves the laptop aside, leaving enough free room for the pie to be put down; he duly gestures to it to let Quinn know. Shortly thereafter, that same hand travels to the laptop to minimise some news article about some killer in some Eastern Europe country.
"What about you? What are you doing all the way here, in the US of A?"
"Christ, really? How did I end up so beind the times?" Well, actually, she has a good idea how, but this is neither the time nor the place for such a thing. No mind is paid to the laptop as she sets down the pie - an Oreo pie, the same kind she typically keeps in her freezer at almost all times. "Feel free t' have as much as you want, I brought it up for you an'… any roommates you have?" The question is unintentionally probing, but Quinn is genuinely curious. "I've been in the States for…. 12 years now?" Quinn shrugs, scratching the back of her neck. "Moved from Ireland t' Boston, here from there a few years back."
Although Diogenes doesn't seem to show any haste or vigour in his actions, he still manages to avoid others mentally encouraging him to hurry, unless one is truly impatient. He is languid, yet not lazy. Such is the conclusion Quinn might arrive to if or when she observes the man wander his kitchen and fetch two plates and a knife. The pie is divided with great care on the man's end, strangely enough. The way he firmly holds… no, wields the knife might just be eerie, as is the deliberately slow acquisition of two slices of pie. Completely equal in their size.
One plate with a slice on it is handed to Quinn. "I eat pizzas and pies with my hands. Will you need a spoon?", he asks, having abandoned his vodka bottle on the table in favour of a potentially more plausible breakfast. Still, he does not completely abandon the conversation. That would just be impolite. "And don't beat yourself up over not knowing I moved in. I tried to keep it a secret. It's my roommate who can't live two minutes without communicating to another human being. Helps her realise she's a part of a grander reality than that of a tiny room."
Quinn laughs as she takes a seat, seeming to look eager as the pie is cut up into surprisingly equal pieces. She's never seen someone cut something that perfectly. She seems relaxed, comfortable, and amused, despite the nature of meeting someone new. The way she lounges in her seat rings even of laziness, the way she slouches in her seat. "I've never really eaten pie by hand before, but I'm more than eager t' give it a shot!" she laughs, taking the plate and nodding. "Well, I like t' get t' know people in the buildin'. I like t' throw parties an' the like, so it's nice t' know everyone ahead a time, so that I can make sure they know t' come!" She chuckles, and then quirks an eyebrow, grinning a bit. "Well, sorry. I didn't mean t' spoil the secret, then. I'll have t' come back when your roommate's along, then. I'd love t' meet her."
"Sooner or later, someone here would take notice of me. As for my roomate… I think you'll have a much harder time not meeting her. I think she's very much like the Sun: ubiquitous, but stare at her too long and you'll turn blind."
With that crooked grin once again in sight, Diogenes quickly looks over his guest again. "Parties, huh? Now I know you haven't faked your accent." The man holds his plate with both hands at the level of his midriff, seemingly engrossed in the conversation and watching Quinn, instead. "This place is certainly livelier than I imagined it to be. I thought the haven of the Ferrymen would be filled with fractured lives and the cries of kids at night. Now I only have overly loud music to worry about, it seems."
He looks down at his plate. One hand retracts from it and picks up the slice, bringing it to his lips so he could take a bite of the pie. And in a few seconds, he chortles. "I am hardly a pie expert… but this is a pretty damn good pie."
Quinn laughs, shaking her head. "It's jsut a store bought pie, all I did was thaw it. I know someone who can make quite a good homemade Oreo pie, though. I'll ahve t' get one from him, you'll probably think that's pretty feckin' amazin'."
The open mention of the Ferry has Quinn looking a bit surprised, but she smiles. "Well, I think most of us live here t' help out. I lived here before I even knew the Ferry existed." She takes a bite of her pit, swallowing loudly. "I think everyone in the building now is Ferry, but I'm not entirely sure. I know there's plans t' rent rooms out t' normal people, t' help with a cover. I had t' get a whole lecture about that." She rolls her eyes, even though it is a good thing to note.
"An', well, that's a bit surprisin', that I haven't met her. I'll keep an eye out for 'er, what's her name? Maybe I'll bump int' her on the roof or in the halls. Always enjoy meeting new folks."
"Store bought? Yeah? And here I am, stealthily trying to compliment your cooking skills."
The inquiry towards his roommate's name causes Diogenes to part with another amused chortle. "And, uh, my roommate has so many names that I'm not sure which one to give to you. I generally refer to her as Isis. But if the earth suddenly begins to quake and her eyes start glowing red, I suggest you try Joanne. Neither of those are her real name. We're typical cardboard comic book characters, her and I."
Which, of course, brings him to his own introduction. He gestures to himself, a shadow of that grin still lingering on his lips. "Diogenes." A moment's worth of silence later, he slowly tilts his head to the side, his eyes on Quinn. "You're Evolved, aren't you? I hardly expect those who are not to actively help the Ferry, unless their cherished ones are Evolved and in deep shit, if you pardon the curt expression."
"Never, ever let me cook for you," Quinn replies with a laugh and a shake of her head. "I burn toast on a regular basis. I'm fairly sure I'd poison a person before really bein' able t' cook somethin' worth eating. I have someone teachin' me, though."
The mention of being Evolved elicits a quiet chuckle, Quinn choosing not to answer verbally. Instead, she holds out her hand with her palm up, and just winks at Diogenes. It only takes a moment longer before it begins to glow with innocuous white light, lighting the room bright, like an overhead neon light. And then, as typical of her usual display of ability, it shifts green, bathing the whole room in an emerald light. "I di stuff with light," she states simply, grinning as she keeps the green glow going. "Though I think you'd be surprised. I think there's a quite a few nonevolved involved in the Ferry. People who want t' help those who deserve it."
Fingers waggle, and the light vanishes, the room returning to normal. "Diogenes is a nice, unique name. An' Isis is pretty, I'm surprised she doesn't stick t' that." The comment about being comic book characters has her wrinkling her nose. "I hope not too much like comic characters. I already know one person who fancies himself a superhero."
The humorous self-deprecating comment regarding Quinn's ability to cook elicits a short-lasting smirk, though it is one branch of their conversation that Diogenes decides to abandon in favour of Robyn's ability, which she is quick to demonstrate. It visibly captivates his attention, and for good reason. A reason that he shares with his guest. "It always astounds me how the most beautiful abilities are not the destructive kind", he says as he watches the room sink into the colour green. His eyes then land on Quinn again. "At least, I assume your ability isn't the destructive kind. I don't think light can hurt anything besides our retina."
His plate is set on the table as he wanders past it and Quinn towards the nearest wall to lean against it with his arms crossed over his chest. From there, he can see the city through the window. The view may be anything but impressive, but it is more than enough for him to admire. "Don't worry. I don't have a secret cave under this house, and I don't prowl the night with a latex body suit… As tempting as that idea might sound to me."
"You'd be surprised, actually," Quinn remarks as she leans over in her seat, turning to face Diogenes as he makes his way over to the wall. "I generate light. No heat t' go with it, but the brightest I've gotten is like a lighthouse, an'…. well, I've seen someone offer some rather deadly applications of it. Not that I know how t' make use a' them." Which reminds Quinn, she needs to schedule another meeting with Colette, see what the young woman had to teach her next. "An' that's good t' hear. I don't think I could handle another person like that in my life. Though a secret cave would always be kinda cool."
"Really? Huh. Interesting."
Not that Diogenes is overly surprised by the potential of Quinn's ability. Light is deceptive in its simplicity, and the man was curious in regards to potentially harmful applications of it; rather than outright ask how the Irish girl can bring harm with it, he'd rather approach it in a marginally more elegant manner, as he did.
"Abilities aside, Robyn, tell me, what is it you do? What do you do for a living? If I had to guess, it would somehow be related to your ability? I'd say special effects in films, but then you would have the money to be somewhere else than here, so it's either the theater or concerts."
"I do a few things," Quinn remarks with a grin, a glance back at the door. "Come by my flat sometime. My whole spare room is full a' nothin' but music instruments. Guitars, bass, piano, violins, keyboards, a drum kit… so, you're close. I'm a musician." She raises finger, as if counting something off. "I've been doing that since I was a kid, long before I found out I had an ability. I'm also a DJ, an' that's where I use my ability. For lightshows t' go with the music an' such." Another finger ticks up. "An' I've worked around books for the last several years too. What about you?"
"Ah, a musician. This is certainly turning out to be a really colorful place."
Diogenes smacks his lips together, momentarily turning his attention away from the window and instead turning his chin to regard Quinn. "I'm a businessman. Or, well, I would have had I finished studies proper. I have enough knowledge to know a business venue runs, should run or shouldn't run. And then there are things I do that wouldn't land me a job. My knowledge of the human is above average. I know what makes it tick, and what I need to do to make sure it continues ticking or, if need be, make it stop ticking." A corner of his lips twitches upwards briefly. "But most of the time, I'm just looking for an honest man. Just like the first Diogenes."
"You have no idea," Quinn says, a comment that is shown to have multiple meanings are she twirls a finger in the air, this time shifting the colour of the room to blue without the necessity of generating light. "There's another musician here, too. Name's Sable, she an' I are startin' a band, an' there's a bunch a' other fun people." She cocks an eyebrow, hands folding in her lap as the room around them returns to normal. "Business? My father wanted me t' go int' something like that. That or glassmakin', odd as those choices are. I have no real patience for anythin' like that, though. No offence." She pauses, tilting her head. "The first? You mean, like, your father?"
The notion causes Diogenes to snort. "No", he curtly replies, tentatively shaking his head. "The first Diogenes… the real Diogenes you can find in a history book. He was the first cynic. It is said that he'd take a lamp with him late at night and walk the streets, shining the lamp in strangers' faces to find the honest man. I name myself after him, albeit I think the contemporary world requires a more modern approach than an oil lamp."
With a sigh, the man wearily pushes himself away from the wall. "I don't want to make it look like I'm throwing you out, but I have some things I have to get done today. I trust you won't mind." He gestures towards Quinn's own slice of pie with a nod. "You can have your slice. And you can use the plate as an excuse to come back here and talk to me again, or perhaps meet Isis."
"Oh!" Quinn replies sheepishly, an embarrassed blush creeping up on her face. "I'm sorry, I kinda suck at history. I know two people who are quite int' it, I'll have t' ask them sometime. Sounds interestin' enough, so it's piqued my curiosity." She shrugs and blinks, sliding back and then lifting up from her seat, taking the piece in hand. "Nah, it's fine!" she replies cheerily, smiling back over at Diogenes. "I totally understand, plus it's early. I've got t' go by the bookstore I work at anyway. We'll see each other again, though!"
She rocks back on her heels for a few moments before nodding a again, pivoting on a heel and starting towards the door. She's halfway there when she pauses and looks back. "If you want t' come by, I'm in 403. Almost always open, so just knock an' come on in. And send Isis by next time you talk t' her!"