Participants:
| Scene Title | Vodka and Conspiracy |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | After seemingly disappearing again, Elle returns home to find Odessa more than just a little concerned for her well-being. |
| Date | September 6, 2010 |
The Octagon - Elle's Apartment
The apartments of the Octagon are among some of the most prime pieces of rental real-estate in New York City. Bright, open, and clean, these apartments are all painted an eggshell white and feature floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a sweeping, unobstructed view of the East River and Manhattan skyline. Hardwood floors spread from wall to wall and through the spacious bedrooms and private laundry rooms complete with washer/dryer utilities.
The open-concept kitchen in the apartment features stainless steel appliances, polished granite countertops, cherry finished cabinets and ceramic floor tile with all the convenience of a modern kitchen. The bathrooms are finished with classic subway wall tile and porcelain floor tile in bathrooms with elegantly designed corner-set curved showers providing more spacious shower area along with porcelain pedestal sinks.
Each apartment comes in two or three bedroom designs, each with spacious walk-in closets with individually controlled heating and cooling. The apartment is also set up with free Cable TV and Internet hook-ups in multiple locations.
Is it always so fucking nervewracking to live with someone? Odessa has just about worn a rut into the floor from all the pacing she's done since Elle left the night before last. It's a good thing they live on the first floor, or the neighbours would likely be complaining about the constant movement. Her ability affords her many, many benefits, but it has the side effect of making waiting for something - or someone in this case - all the more arduous to endure. Every time she reaches one end of the room, and turns to head back the way she came, her slate grey skirt swirls about her ankles, brushing over the canary yellow of her shoes.
Each time Odessa makes a move toward the window, she extends her ability outward to halt time before looking about to see if there's any sign of Elle, and then closing the curtains again. With a huff, she paces to the kitchen and opens the refrigerator to retrieve some variant of a Mike's Hard Lemonade, though the contents are red rather than the customary lemon yellow. Unscrewing the top with a towel between her hand and the cap, she tosses them both aside and brings the mouth of the bottle to her lips and tips her head back for a long drink. Where the fuck is Ellie?!
It comes as a surprise to even her to realise that she truly cares about the other woman's well-being. If something permanent happened to Elle this time - if Doctor Stevens couldn't bring her back… Odessa isn't sure what she'd do. She tugs at the sleeves of her purple jewel-tone sweater absently, pressing the soft knit to her mouth as if to cover her worried expression.
After her long stay with Warren, Elle is returning home. She's taken the stairs, to give herself a bit of time to center herself between the walk from Warren's apartment door, down to her apartment door. She's wearing fresh, simple clothing, just a pair of comfortable jeans and a t-shirt taken from Warren's closet when her clean shirts ran out.
Oh, if only Odessa knew that Elle was only one floor up this entire time.
Her key sounds in the lock, the now brunette woman slipping in and closing the door behind her. She looks positively exhausted, not to mention the stress lines that crease her face even as she steps into the safety of her own apartment. Odessa is hardly acknowledged as she kicks off her shoves and moves into the kitchen, promptly grabbing the bottle of vodka and a shot glass.
What follows is Elle wordlessly slamming down one, two, three shots, before she even looks at Odessa.
Odessa opens her mouth to start ranting at Elle about how she needs to keep in touch, but everything she wants to say dies before it ever reaches her lips. At some point in the past two years, Odessa began to discover empathy. She recognises Elle's troubled posture when she sees it. The bee line for the vodka only confirms it. She can't count how many times she's done the same thing.
The white-haired woman comes up to stand next to Elle at the counter. She waits for each shot to be knocked back, and for the electrokinetic to look up at her before she sets her drink aside and reaches out to pull her into her arms. "Tell me what happened," Odessa urges, her lips against her friend's ear. In her shoes, she's slightly taller than the now-brunette Elle. It gives her a false sense of somehow being the protector in this strained relationship. Maybe she is in a sense, for different reasons.
While she doesn't return the hug that Odessa offers, Elle certainly doesn't pull away, either. In fact, she leans her head down, resting her chin on Odessa's shoulder, glaring at a particularly offensive stretch of wall behind the white-haired woman. It takes a moment for her to work up enough voice to speak, and when she does, it's through gritted teeth.
"Fucking Warren…he wanted to do a fucking trust exercise." Her voice is monotone, almost, like she's so angry that she's become detached from the situation. "And as always, he implies that the alternative would be far less pleasant than the current option. Fucker strapped me to a Tesla Coil. I was cool, didn't think he'd do anything to me." Elle tenses against Odessa, shaking her head. "Then he pulled out a fucking scalpel and starts running it over my leg."
She shakes her head, then. "He didn't cut me, but…fuck that shit."
Elle can feel Odessa's muscles slowly coiling, tension in her posture a symptom of the rage her story brings. She has to keep her jaw clenched to keep from spitting out the first words to come to her mind. None too kind.
"Do you see now what I was saying about him?" Odessa asks calmly. "He's dangerous. He's psychotic." Moreso than either of them, in many ways. "Nobody does that to you," she says in a low voice, full of venom.
"Tell me where I can find him."
Elle slowly pulls away from Odessa, pouring herself another shot. She stares at this one for a long while, as it sits on the counter. She's quite slow to respond, or even pick up the shot glass, but finally, she throws it back. "Then, he sends out his nice personality, tries to fucking woo me and make me feel awful for even being pissed…psychotic asshole!" She grits her teeth, shaking her head.
There is another long quiet from the girl, the gears turning in her head. This could all be over, so quickly. He wouldn't be able to touch her again, and all it would take would be one sentence. "Do your thingie."
Odessa releases her hold on Elle so she can pour herself another drink. The woman retrieves her own bottle from the counter and takes a long drink from it. She's going to have to steal back the vodka before too long. They're tiny, tiny girls. And five shots is going to be more than enough to bring blessed oblivion, she's sure of it.
At Elle's command, Odessa makes a theatrical show of spreading her arms out to either side. The noise in the room stops, just as Elle hoped, save for the ticking of Odessa's watch. It's little wonder the timepiece is constantly running fast.
"He has the room tapped, doesn't he?" Odessa scowls and curses under her breath. "I knew it." She shakes her head and takes another drink. "It's just us," she assures Elle. "Go on."
That fifth shot is poured and stared at again, even as the little brunette raises her hand to point at the mirror in the hall. "No sound, but…don't want him getting any ideas." She turns to peer at the mirror for a moment, raising the shotglass but not drinking just yet. Instead, she stares at the clear, foul-smelling liquid within.
Then, the shot is thrown back, and the shot glass is slammed on the counter and pushed away. Her hand then raises up toward the ceiling, along with her eyes. "Second floor. Two-oh-seven."
Odessa has to resist the urge to simply say, I'll be right back, and head up the stairs to commit murder. Instead, she nods, filing that information away for now. "I'll handle it. Assignment or no, I don't want you going back there. Bat your lashes at Harper, give him your doe eyes, and tell him that you're just too stressed out from your death experience to deal with Warren Ray right now, if he even tries to ask you about it."
Slender hands reach out to cup Elle's face and strands of newly dyed hair are brushed away with the pads of fingers. "I know we… we were never friends, Elle. But I…" Odessa leans forward and presses a kiss against Elle's forehead, lingering there for a moment before she looks down at her again. "I can't imagine a life without you." Her voice quakes with emotion and it looks for a moment as if she might start to cry. "I…"
Elle tilts her head toward Odessa, thoughtful. "If you kill him…" She pauses, pushing the vodka bottle away as well, as she begins to feel the heaviness in her limbs that always comes with drinking alcohol. The smile the suddenly forms on her face is a bitter one. "I want to be there. I want to be the last face he sees. And I want to see his face."
Then, Odessa is in the midst of an emotional moment. The brunette listens quietly to Odessa as she explains her thoughts, her head tilted to the side. While Elle can certainly see the emotion and identify it, she can't really understand or relate to the sentiment, sociopath that she is. But that doesn't mean she doesn't try.
Her arms wrap around Odessa's waist, hugging her close. "I can't imagine what life would've been like without you in it, 'Dessa." She falls quiet for a moment, hugging the closest thing to a friend she's ever had. "I think…you're the only person I could ever really call my friend…" At the very least, she tells the truth…
Odessa buries her face against Elle's hair when she's embraced. Her hands slide from the girl's face to wrap around her shoulder instead, holding her close. "I love you, Ellie."
A little smile plays on Odessa's lips, hidden by brunette locks. "I'll take care of everything. And if I kill him, I'll let you be there to watch." She pulls back far enough to tip Elle's head up so she can look at her. Her breath, scented of the alcohol she's consumed, furls across the other woman's face, hot and sweet. She presses a kiss to her cheek, close to the corner of her mouth, dark blue gaze half lidded.
Elle is left blinking as Odessa rather obviously begins to make advances on her. While the alcohol is starting to exhibit a strong effect on her, those words, combined with the kiss, just bring her to…stop. This is Odessa. The girl whose bed she set on fire. The girl who she was so mean to when they were children. The girl who was her rival up until just a few weeks ago.
She pulls away just enough to peer quietly at Odessa, thoughtful, even as she wavers a bit from the alcohol that's coursing through her veins. "'Dessa, let me stop you for just a second." She raises a hand, one finger raised toward the ceiling. "I am a bad person. I have Warren Ray wrapped around my finger, convinced that my heart belongs to him, when I am plotting to kill him with you. Can I have the killing blow? That fucker wanted to do things to my butt."
Yeah, Elle Bishop is a biiiit drunk.
It's called a ragefuck, okay? They're totally therapeutic. What are you so hung up about? Jesus. Odessa narrows her eyes faintly as she regards Elle and considers her request. "Okay," she murmurs with more slur than she should probably possess from the bottle she's consumed with it's 5.9% alcohol content. "But only because you're just so damn cute," she insists, pressing the tip of her finger against Elle's nose with a giggle.
She quickly withdraws and holds up a finger in a mirror of Elle's earlier declaration, "But that's only if I decide to kill him," she stipulates. "Believe me, sweetheart," shweethear', "I know all about bad." Odessa leans in again, brushing her nose to Elle's with another delighted giggle.
"You're so pretty, Ellie," she muses, twirling a strand of the girl's brown hair around her little finger. "I love the colour. It really suits you."
"Oh please, let's kill him. Otherwise he's gonna stalk me or something." Elle's slur is the result of five shots of pure vodka being ingested rather rapidly. "Let's do it tomorrow. I let him." She frowns, crossing her arms for a moment. Then, Odessa is poking her nose, and rubbing her nose against hers, and Elle kind of sways in place, looking a bit on the confused side.
"Thanks, 'Dessa. Are you seriously hitting on me?" She laughs, wrinkling her nose a bit. "I've always been strrrrraight." She emphasizes the 'r' like Tony the Tiger. "Never really considered women before."
Odessa leans back as though suddenly confused by Elle's proclamation of her orientation. Or perhaps being called on her less than deft attempts at seduction - if that's what this really is. "What? No. That's silly. You're silly." Odessa dissolves into another round of giggles. "Can't I just like your hair?" she asks innocently.
"It's pretty, and you're pretty, and I think you're great, and I love that you're bad just like me." Odessa stumbles back a step as an impish grin appears on her face. Though it looks a bit more sinister with all the scars and the patch over her eye. She'll never quite manage a look of true innocence again. "Are you considering me?" she asks playfully.
Elle smirks, her nose still wrinkled at Odessa as she wavers. Then, she's turning, tottering out of the kitchen and to the couch, where she flops down. Apparently, she has decided that she is weary of sitting. "You were totally just hitting on me, 'Dessa." She sounds amused. "That's okay, I don't mind if you were hitting on me. But I like penises. They're so nice. I might be considering, I might not be. Depends on the sit-choo-ay-shun." She leans back on the couch, peering upside-down at Odessa.
"Thanks for liking my hair, though." Warren looked like he was going to cry. "I did it because nobody knows that I'm Institute yet, not in the Company, anyhow…and they're probably goin' to want to use that. So…" She reaches up, tapping her lower lip. "If I were a Company Agent, on the run from the Institute, I'd dye m'hair. People are less likely to recognize me." She nods sagely.
"I did that once," Odessa chimes cheerfully, following after Elle toward the couch. "But I changed my name, too." Because in Odessa's world, if you change your name and your hair colour, you are totally a different person whose past will never catch up to you. At least until it does. And then it sucks.
"I was totally not even hitting on you," she clarifies, perching on the arm of the couch where Elle's sprawled. "I wouldn't— I have way too much respect for you," she slurs. "I would totally, like… I don't even know."
Slowly, she sways back and forth on her perch. "I don't have any interest in girls either," Odessa says defensively. Perhaps the lady doth protest too much. "I mean, I never really… It's like you don't count," she mutters, frustrated at her inability to put her thoughts into words. "You aren't just a girl. You're Ellie."
"Eleanor Zoe Bishop, homocidal maniac who would really love to kill Warren Ray. Tomorrow, we should do it." She nods sagely. "It's like I look at the things I do, and I know that I should feel guilty about them. But…somehow, I can't. I can't feel the emotion…the only remorse I really feel is for my dad, because he had to see me die. Probably still thinks I'm dead."
The little brunette tilts her head toward Odessa, her brows raising. "I'm not that special…"
Odessa slides off the arm of the couch, nudging Elle gently enough to get her to make room for her skinny frame to lie next to her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, she cuddles up with a wide yawn. Drowsy from the alcohol, as she suspects the other girl is as well. The ticking of her watch fills the space of the pause between them. That oppressive silence.
"Don't you worry about any of that," Odessa whispers against Elle's ear. "And you're very special, Ellie. We both are." The truest words she's spoken all night. "But we're totally sloshed, and should not talk about such heavy topics," she chides. "Let's just…" Her words get muddled as she yawns again. Whatever it was that was trying to say having become unintelligible. "Good night, Ellie…"
Despite the deep evenness of her breathing, Odessa lays awake long after the little brunette in her arms as drifted off to sleep. Only then does she carefully flick her wrist and the quiet sounds of the apartment begin again in earnest, almost covering the sound of the chuckle breathed into Elle's brown hair. Drifting her eyes toward the ceiling, almost able to visualise where two-oh-seven lies above, she grins.