Ways Can Be Found


alia_icon.gif cat_icon.gif

Scene Title Ways Can Be Found
Synopsis Alia tells the story of losing a job.
Date July 8, 2010

The Verb, Alia's Apartment

The simple apartment is kept oddly neat, almost showroom neat. The only signs that someone really lives here usually are the morning's dishes in the dishwasher, a TV near the very average couch, and a desktop computer hooked up to the TV much like some people would have a DVD player hooked to it. There are no pictures, no 'normal' touches of a person who has a past they want to keep. Beside the door is an umbrella stand… with a rapier sitting in one of the slots.

Messages of the kind she found on her refrigerator in the very spacious penthouse on her return from Staten Island aren't customary to discover. They cause Cat some concern. It's perhaps 17:11 when she enters the monitoring room and checks for her in camera footage, seeing only the technopath's departure. It isn't so late yet as would call for more thorough alarm, however, the note said if not back by morning. So she goes about eating and reviewing reports from a variety of pies she has fingers in, and maybe even some time spent indulging herself with the guitar. Instructions are left with the front desk crew to advise her when Alia arrives.

So it is that at about 19:43 she's standing outside apartment 301, knuckles applied to door in the activity called knocking, and waiting for it to open.

Alia opens the door… the inside of the apartment is not as neat as usual. a rather messy leather jacket, and a set of jeans are in the sink, soaking in water to remove a red stain. It isn't a surprise, maybe, that Alia knew who was outside her door before she opened it. After all, she does check the security feeds herself. She is in a clean shirt and sweatpants… and her sword in it's sheath is in her hand. "Hello Cat."

"That was an interesting message you left, Alia," she states by way of greeting while making entry to the apartment. A pad of paper and a pen are offered forth, the better for Miss Chavez to communicate without making her brain explode. Cat looks her over briefly, remarking "But you look in decent shape."

Alia sets the paper down, since all that would get is her sketching. She walks over and turns the TV screen, and photoshop. However for the moment she settles for a sad face, and her own words. "Didn't… mean to worry. Had to tie… loose ends."

"I've been there," the tall one quietly accepts. Eyes remain on the technopath, lingering at a portion of her neck, and the head tilts. "That's new," Cat comments with eyes and face showing a trace of curiosity. Fingers lift to her own neck and rub lightly at her own scar on the right side, one left a stretch of time ago after being shot while battling Russian Nazis.

Alia gently touches her own neck, then focuses on the screen. The image is blurry, on the edges, for what she draws, and takes some time before it completes drawing. But what she gets is… an image of what you can guess is Alia, her face hidden mostly by her own hair, saber against her neck, even as her own rapier sticks out of the saber-wielder's gut. Then a second picture starts drawing itself… a kiss, not a romantic one, but like a father. Her words do not match the images in the SLIGHTEST. "He laid me off." She looks at the images herself, bemusedly.

The imagery is observed as it forms, Cat keeping commentary to herself until all is complete and words are spoken. Then she looks from the screen to Alia and back again, remarking dryly "It's no surprise Mr. Monroe would have such an unusual method of indicating dismissal from his employ."

She would've counseled against contact of any form, but the water is under the bridge for that. Hopefully there won't be further trouble, that particular dog will lie down, sleep, and stay there.

Alia simply nods. "Could be worse." she says. "… He plans a trip." She says simply, and she looks at the last picture a moment longer, recalling his words, trying to not stumble on them in her mind a she looks them over. "think… he wants… understanding." The words surprise even herself, as she looks to her sheathed blade. "To live. and live. and live. A curse?"

Immortality. A thing Cat discussed with Claire and Elisabeth at times when they were in a southern frozen place. She's considered Adam's too, from time to time, but not so often. Still, it registers what Claire could become in a few centuries. Jaded, bored, haunted? Having lived so long, seen so much, what does that do to a person's mind? Watching generations come and go. Be born, grow old, and die while remaining young.

"In ways, yes," she answers quietly. "If he wants free of it, he can be obliged. Ways can be found." Again, the experiences of Claire apply. Shotgun to the top of the head. But unlike Rasoul, who just left her there to be reassembled by Sanderson, Cat would take time to incinerate the remains.

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