Participants:
| Scene Title | Whirlwind |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | The Institute's little bottled tornado sweeps the new lab security chief off her feet. So to speak. |
| Date | April 18, 2011 |
The Commonwealth Arcology — Park
There are things a person takes for granted. Sunlight, for one.
It hasn't been very long at all that Veronica Sawyer has joined the residents at the Commonwealth Institute. But even so, the Southern California native misses the feel of the sunshine on her face. So she's gravitated to the garden and its artificial sunlight, like the proverbial moth to flame, to spend her lunch hour away from the labs farther down the rabbit hole. She sits on one of the benches, scrolling through a tablet at work-related emails, of course, and eating a green apple. It's about the only color visible on the somberly suited agent's person. The crunch of her bite the only noise in the quiet spot she's chosen for a few minutes of solitude.
If she's not in her room, and not visiting somebody, Tamara is probably in the park. Or visiting somebody in the park. …Like right now.
Wearing a blue-and-white leaf-swirled sundress, skipping down the park's gravelled path as if she were a grade-schooler on holiday, the young woman seems not to have a care in the world. The concrete walls, the weight of earth overhead, the stoic observer trailing along behind — those things might as well not exist for all the regard she gives them. She stops short when her eyes alight on Veronica, on the apple in the agent's hand. Tamara carries one too, a remnant from her own lunch — but hers is red rather than green, boldly streaked with yellow.
Now walking normally, the seer makes a direct beeline for the empty space on Veronica's bench. "Why," she asks as she draws close, applying emphasis to convey a playful sort of exaggerated distaste, "are you eating a green one?"
The sound of skipping feet on gravel has Veronica look up, squinting — she's not going to put on sunglasses for the manmade sunlight, but she looks like she might want to. Her brow draws a little together, but she glances down again, swiping to another email. Assuming, wrongly, that Tamara is going to pass on by.
But she glances up again as the footfalls come her way, brows lifting this time, before the question makes her laugh. Probably more out of surprise than humor.
"I like green?" says the new lab security chief. The words lilt up into a question, as if Veronica's uncertain that's the right answer to the question. "Pink Lady or Gala are nice, too," she adds, a conceding tone tingeing the words. "You don't like green?"
"Oh, there's nothing wrong with green, I suppose," Tamara allows, adroitly plopping herself down on the bench. "It just tastes like lemons." The young woman takes a pointed, crunchy bite out of her own non-green apple; her chewing is at least decorous. After, she eyes sidelong the electronic gadget on Veronica's knee, though not in a way that suggests an attempt to peek at the content. "Are you working?"
Behind her, the guard of the day gives a cordial dip of his chin to Veronica, and takes up unobtrusive station.
"I like lemons," says Veronica easily enough, looking amused at the interruption rather than irritated. She brushes the glass of the device with her thumb, sending the email off the screen, though not in a hurried way. At the question, she lifts one shoulder, before setting the device down on the side Tamara hasn't sat on, next to a bottle of water and protein bar that make up the rest of her lunch.
"Not really. Just pretending to look busy. What about you? What are you working on?" she asks. There's no condescension in the tone, though she does look amused. She catches the little dip of the guard's chin, and she does a little uptick of her own head in reciprocation. Her eyes go back to Tamara's face.
Tamara watches as the tablet is set aside, seeming contemplative of something in a good-natured way. When she has Veronica's attention back, the younger woman leans amicably against her shoulder, as if they were much closer friends than they are. Asked what she's working on, Tamara holds up her apple, framing it between both hands and turning it until the bitten side is out of view. "I guess I'm working on finishing lunch," she offers with a hint of a shrug, as if said task isn't all that important.
"That and making friends," Tamara adds, playfully sly, casting a grin up at Veronica. Suddenly, she bounces up to her feet, the red apple somehow displaced neatly to the bench and both of her hands reaching out for those of the older woman. "Have you seen the fountain yet? It's almost the best part of the whole park!"
The response from the precog makes Veronica huff a little laugh in surprised amusement. "It's good to have achievable goals. Makes life less disappointing." Not that Veronica would know about that. She raises a brow as the girl reaches for her hands, glancing to the assigned guard with a brow lift. But she doesn't really need permission. She stands, setting down the apple and picking up the tablet to slide into the small courier bag she still has hung on one shoulder, then takes Tamara's grasping hands.
"I haven't, no. I'd like to see it. What's the best part, if not the fountain?" Vee asks, letting herself be led.
All this isn't exactly unusual behavior for the caged seer — rather the opposite; thus, when queried by Veronica, her shadow simply raises his shoulders minutely in a what can you do? gesture.
Meanwhile, Tamara draws Vee up, then releases one hand so they can walk side-by-side. More or less. Asked the best part, the young woman grins sidelong. "Well, at the moment that's you. Or me. Take your pick!" She leaves Veronica with that thought while leading the way through the park, past trees and bushes, over gravel and grass. Though really, it's not all that far to go, and the burbling sound of flowing water heralds the modest feature even before it comes into sight.
Releasing her companion's hand, Tamara flops down on the grass, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the lights overhead. "It's nice to listen to. Relaxing, like being by the ocean." Or maybe not quite, but close enough for conversational purposes.
There's another soft huff of a laugh at the younger woman's words. "Definitely you," she says, almost fondly. Perhaps Tamara's presence is a good reminder of why she's here. When they arrive at the fountain, Veronica studies it for a moment, listening to the trickling, murmuring sound of the water, before she nods, sitting down beside Tamara.
"I grew up on the beach. In California," she says quietly. "The closest thing I've found that sounds like it is actually when I lived next to a freeway. The sounds of the cars driving by… it's almost like the waves. I could sleep in that apartment. Can't sleep when it's too quiet or too loud." She has a hard time sleeping here, for the first reason — and for so many others. "You're Tamara, right?"
Tamara regards her companion patiently as the older woman studies the fountain, then at last sits down; purses her lips thoughtfully at the problem of not sleeping. "The screen played sounds," she suggests. "That could be the ocean, and quiet or loud or in between."
Questioned regarding her name, Tamara smiles brightly. "That usually meant me!" she affirms, closing her eyes and lowering her hand to the grass. "And you were very busy," she continues, which…is neither a name nor a request for one. "Even if you aren't working right now."
Veronica pulls her knees up, ankles crossing, arms resting on top of each knee. Her dark eyes study the water falling before she tips her head back to look at Tamara. "That's a good idea. I didn't think of that. There is, after all," she says, eyes sparkling a little, "an app for everything."
At the mention of her being busy — past tense — her brows draw together, trying to parse the meaning, but, it seems, giving up for the moment. "That sounds like me. I'm almost always working." Her entire life here is working of course, even when she's supposed to be off the clock. "I'm Veronica." She offers a hand to the girl. "Or you can call me Vee. Whatever you like."
Tamara sits up to take the offered hand, although her shake of it seems halfhearted — no, distracted. Similarly, the giving of name and nickname seems to pass her by. "Busy people needed help," she states after a moment, abruptly bounding up to her feet. "I could do that!" she continues, "…but not today." The young woman plants a sudden kiss on the crown of Veronica's head, as if in benediction. "You had to be busy a little longer."
And then the seer sweeps out just as suddenly as she had descended upon Veronica, disappearing past the shrouding foliage. Departing more sedately in her wake, the guard offers a sympathetic look to the woman left behind: she just does this; sorry.
The past tense brings that bemused look to Veronica's face again, chasing away the amusement that was there before. "I can use any help I can get," she says a little wryly, but probably thinks the irony is lost on Tamara.
Little does she know.
The agent turns to watch Tamara's departure, curiously, shrugging one shoulder at the guard's look of sympathy.
Alone once again, Veronica stands, brushing off her pants, and heads back toward the bench. It's time to go back to work — both the job and the mission.