You Could Say


griffin_icon.gif marjorie_icon.gif

Scene Title You Could Say
Synopsis After the attempt on Georgia Mayes' life, Griffin makes his way to his sister's home for some cake and healing.
Date October 6, 2010

Le Rivage

Marjorie's Apartment

Owain is in bed, leaving Marjorie to conduct her nightly routines. She has quite a few of them. Tonight her routine is pie, pumpkin pie baking in the oven and smelling up the entire place. Owain's friends are always jealous - he always smells like sweets at school. Not the most manly thing, but the ladies are already loving it.

She's got some hot chocolate too, gourmet home-made stuff with whipped cream. Bing Crosby croons on the radio as she goes about baking, her hair pulled up easily. She wears sweats today, with socks on her feet. Must always keep your feet warm!

It's been a horribly long day. And it certainly hasn't been the happiest day, either. Griffin has managed to make his way to Le Rivage, using the rooftops to his advantage once he managed to disappear into the crowds at Columbia University. He got out alive, thank god, though he is not without his wounds that will leave their marks.

His eyes are slightly red, slightly moist from suppressed tears. He lost a friend today, the one who put him on this path, gave him a purpose to fight for. More deaths, more sorrow. It never really ends.

The man has his faintly glowing white eyes concealed behind sunglasses, his hair and suit damp from the rain. Two pistols are concealed beneath his suit jacket, and his arm conceals the vector that is keeping the slash wound on his side closed, with firm pressure, while three other vectors support him, even as he leans heavily on his cane.

He's not in the best condition at the moment, with blood traveling down the side of his black suit. He really has no clue why he even came here. He can't go to the hospitals, he's likely wanted if the agents saw hie face through the crowd, and with a Moab scar…more trouble than it's worth.

As he reaches Marjorie's door, a soft knock comes upon the door, loud enough to be heard over the music.

Marjorie knows that she has a voice quite unlike that of an angel, so she was humming along when the knock came. She's glad it's quiet - the music doesn't bother Owain, but anything louder might. Poor dear is so protective of his mother - suppose that comes from being the only man of the house.

"Gone Fishin'" gets turned down, but Marjorie is still humming it as she makes her way to the door. She peers through the hole and sees her brother, though that little view isn't enough for her to see how bad it is. She simply opens the door. And then she sees it.

Years of paranoia are suddenly made worth their while as she sees her brother all bloody in front of her. "Griff!" She's reaching for him, pulling him inside, peering down the hall to make sure he wasn't followed. Whatever this is, it probably isn't good.

The tall man slips in quietly, the sound of hands tapping faintly against the walls accompanying him, as well as actual hand prints in the carpet as he enters. Griffin offers a slightly weak smile to his sister. "I'm okay…it's nothing serious." He promptly begins to remove his jacket, revealing a thick blotch of red down his side, and a slit in his shirt through which a nasty knife slice can be seen.

He's also got two guns in the back of his pants, though these float out of his waist and up to the top of a tall bookshelf where they are easily concealed, while his hands busily undo his tie and the buttons of his shirt. A vector still keeps pressure over his wound, which isn't bleeding as badly as it could be, by the looks of it.

"I need a huge favor, Kenzie…" He glances toward his little sister, still smiling weakly. "Could you stitch me up? It's just like sewing those leather pants you made for my cowboy costume that one year, except I flinch." His voice is kept low, so as not to wake Owain.

She's glad he hides the guns, though having them in the house at all makes her nervous. Once Griffin is in the door, she promptly locks all four locks on it and drops the door-jam (paranoid), then turning to her brother. "Of course. I mean I'll have to sterilize it first. I have some hydrogen peroxide just…sit down at the kitchen table." She urges, promptly helping him out of his shirt. Promptly, yet easily. She's very gentle. She looks concerned, her face pale, but otherwise she's keeping things together rather well. There's only so many things that could have caused this, and only so many reasons why her terrorist brother would be armed. "What happened?"

Griffin offers a small smile as she helps him out of his shirt. The undershirt is removed, and wadded up into a bundle, and the now shirtless Griff pulls out a kitchen chair and seats himself with his chest facing the back rest. Definitely a slash from a knife. He's also got what appears to be a slowly forming bruise along his right side. It could be worse, though.

"Watch the news. An attack made on a public figure, Georgia Mayes of the Department of Evolved affairs." He's gone somber, now, resting his arms atop the back of the chair, while his vectors work, bagging up his clothes and keeping steady pressure on the knife wound. "Intentionally failed, meant to teach a lesson more than anything else." And meant as a diversion to the other team that was sent to Praeger.

"I was one of the terrorists attacking, you could say." He tilts his head, closing his eyes.

'"You could say?' Fact, you mean," She doesn't sound like she's scolding him, however. She very easily goes into the kitchen and gets a bottle the needle and thread from the drawer, stopping into the bathroom for the Hydrogen Peroxide, cotton balls, scissors. Gonna be a fun night. She checks to make sure that Owain's door is still closed - he doesn't need to see this, after all - and then she returns to her brother's side, kneeling in front of him. ""And your terrorist organization doesn't employ doctors? That doesn't seem very wise. This is going to sting."

"I'm sure that they do, but after tonight, I just…" He shakes his head slowly, hands gripping at the back of the chair as he glances toward the hallway. "A friend of mine died in the attacks. He hurt a lot of cops…but he was a good friend. He was the one…" He pauses, frowning down at the kitchen floor. "He was the one who brought me into Messiah. Pointed me in the direction I needed to go." He sighs faintly, keeping his eyes away from Marjorie's, his jaw setting. "Do it."

Cotton balls of pain and fire, these are, soaking up the blood and leaving a searing sting in their wake. "Be a man and don't wake Owain," she teases - half teases really - as she goes about her work. When she hears about the death, she pauses, frowning a dimpled frown. "I'm so sorry, Griffin. That's terrible." She sighs, shaking her head, going about her work with the cotton balls. She'd hug him, but this is more important. "Do they know you're here, so they know not to worry about you? Your Messiah?"

The man flinches, letting out a groan at the initial sting that turns out a little louder than he intended. He quickly grits his teeth and closes his eyes, gripping the chair for a moment. Then, he slowly accustoms himself to the pain, and endorphins kick in.

"It's not your fault." He sighs faintly, resting his head on his arms as he grinds his teeth from the pain. "Rebel knows I'm here, yes. They won't worry about me, I am sure." He shakes his head. "They're going to make things better, I hope. For all of us."

"I know," her level of conviction must be a little off-putting, but it's there. It's not overly passionate, but it's very matter-of-fact. "There can't be anything worse than the things you and I have had in our lives because of what's been done to us. Because of what we are. Bad things happened to get the world to this point, and bad things will have to happen in order to bring them back. I wish it weren't that way, but if that's what it takes - Owain doesn't deserve a life on the run," Like Griffin's. "Or a life of fear," Like Marjorie's own.

"You go right ahead, Griffin, and you do what you have to." Green eyes meet matching ones in her brother. "And you always come back here and I'll do whatever it takes to help you."

Griffin winces as his wound is disinfected, turning to watch Marjorie quietly. He's cut almost down to the bone, now that the blood is clearing up. It'll likely leave a pretty unhappy looking scar. But scars are sexy, or something. "Thanks, Kenzie. I'm fortunate to have a sister like you." He offers a slightly pained smile. "I'm going to work to make sure that he doesn't have to see the life that we've had to live." He nods quietly.

"After you stitch me up, I may need some cake. I'm famished." He manages to grin, despite the fact that his wound is burning horribly right now.

Marjorie glances up at him. "Well if you really loved me, you wouldn't call me Mackenzie." She fires back, threading the needle. "Now this is going to hurt, well, a lot I'd guess. But I'm going to use a very tight stitch - it keeps the knees of his jeans together for a lot longer than you'd think. So as long as you don't go sliding around on the grass on you knees…you should be okay." And she pierces him.

Griffin smirks. "Don't use all one thread. Tie knots and cut the thread as you go. I know that much." He watched himself get stitched up after a fight at Moab…plus, there's that subconscious knowledge gained from his time as a Company agent. Not that he knows that. As she pierces his skin, he hisses out, muttering a few curse words under his breath. He's really trying his best to keep his voice down so as not to disturb his son, but…well, it is rather painful to get stitched up with no anesthetic.

"I know how to sew, Griffin," she shoots back, flatly but with no ill-will. Just reminding him that this is woman's work, and she is a woman. "Alright, after this you can have a cup of chocolate and some cake and sleep here. I don't want you going back out tonight - particularly if they might be looking for you. And not after all of this." She talks through her sewing, trying to keep him distracted. "Besides, I've got a lot of baking to do in the morning and I could use the help around here. I've taken a part-time job at a dessert bar."

Griffin winces as she sews him up, grabbing the back of the chair and squeezing it. To his credit, he's doing a good job at not shouting out the curse words that he instead mumbles under his breath in a slightly strained tone. He does manage to offer a calm response, however. "That sounds…nnghmotherfuck…delicious." He offers a smile that looks more like a toothy grimace to his sister. "I can definitely help out. We'll have your baking done in half the time." He flinches with each stick of the needle into his skin.

Marjorie nods, sewing him up quickly and safely. As safe as she can, anyway. She at least puts a bandage over it too. "Well…I'm proud of you, Griff. You're doing what you have to for Owain's future and I'm very proud of you." She stands up, kissing his forehead in a very maternal gesture. Hard to believe she's the younger one for just a split second. "Now let me get you that cake and we can get you to sleep…"

As she finishes stitching him up, Griffin relaxes in the chair, resting his forehead on his arms for a moment and just breathing out the pent up curse words. At least he'll heal now. Cosmetics aren't his concern, he can deal with a jagged scar. He'll keep it clean, in any case. As she kisses his forehead, he smiles, placing a hand over hers. "Thanks, sis. I really think that we can make a difference in the world…at least, I hope so." He frowns, reflecting on Jesse's death. That won't be him, that much is certain. He won't let that happen.

With a grunt, he raises up from the chair, neatly tucking it back into the table. Then, he limps his way over to the couch, glancing briefly up to the bookshelf that those guns are hidden atop of. No way a ten year old would be able to reach those. Even Marjorie would have to get on a chair to reach them. After a moment, he seats himself.

"Will Owain be okay waking up to me on the couch?" He glances over to Marjorie. Still shirtless, since his clothes are in a bag, soaked with blood. For a moment, his eyes flash white, and the bag suddenly floats up, joining the guns. No need for Owain to find a bag of bloody clothes in the kitchen.

Griffin enjoys the hot chocolate and cake, and once his head hits the pillow, he sleeps— as well as he can, at least, with an amaturely stitched wound and bruises along his other side.

Night has faded into morning. Pies will soon be making, but for the moment, there is a family routine that has to be gone through. Marjorie seems well-adept to this very routine, and she's woken up before her son to get some things ready. She sets a muffin out for him, with some fruit and a glass of juice. The same setup is left on the coffee-table, beside the sleeping Griffin.

But when Griffin wakes, he'll find that he's alone in the living room and kitchen area currently. It sounds like the shower is running.

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