You're Doing It Wrong


colette_icon.gif quinn_icon.gif tasha_icon.gif

Scene Title You're Doing It Wrong
Synopsis A surprise visit to Gun Hill turns into two photokinetics talking about the extant of their powers, jobs, and the possibility of of adding a new occupant to Gun Hill.
Date June 16, 2010

Gun Hill: Rooftop

Situated atop the Gun Hill apartment building, five stories above street level, the rooftop of the tenement building overlooks the Bronx's gritty urban landscape. A single stair access leads out onto the smooth concrete rooftop surrounded by a three foot high red brick wall with a masoned top. Ventillation pipes and a chimney that connects to the singular fireplace down in the basement rises up from the concrete rooftop, though the chimney's old brick is crumbling and weathered.

A pair of old sun-bleached folding lawn chairs are situated out on the roof along with a plastic cooler, while white sacks of loam and soil are set next to large lengths of scrap wood, a box of nails and a few carpentry tools; a project in the works.

Overhead the sun burns bright and hot, having only just peeked out from behind a cottony white cloud to beat down hard on the gritty streets of the Bronx. The noise of traffic and city life honks and blares four stories below, and up here under the warm touch of the warm sun and the cool breeze the once empty rooftop of Gun Hill Apartments is starting to find a new semblance of life.

While a crumbling brick chimney still looks old and in disrepair, it isn't architectural repairs that has new clutter finding its way up four flights of stairs, something far more green is in mind here. From a tiny black CD player dappled with spatters of colorful paint, the droning sound of Interpol's Antics album comes strumming from the small speakers, creating a backdrop of lyrical texture over what has become a workplace.

Huffing out a heavily breathed sigh, Colette Nichols slouches forward as the weight of a fifteen pound bag of fresh soil is dropped heavily down onto the rooftop. Bare shoulders beaded with sweat heave up and down, marred by the imperfections of a bullet wound scar on her right and a smooth knife-like cut across the top of her left.

One dirt-smudged forearm brushes across her brow, sweeping ink black bangs away from her face as she straightens up, resting her hands on the hips of her khaki shorts before one hand lifts up and repeatedly tugs at the front of her black tanktop, trying to generate additional airflow to heated skin.

Boots laced up to her knees scuff across the concrete underfoot as she turns, looking out over the mostly empty rooftop, looking at the folding lawn furniture that's bleached by the sun, envisioning what it might look like up here once she's finally done with her project. Best to not stay idle, best not to sit and think, because the things she wants to think about are just too hard.

This is easier, sweatier, but easier.

It seemed like Quinn was starting to make a bad habit of showing up at Gun Hill unannounced. Looking for Sable, in this case, about the bottle of whiskey she’s left at her house from the previous afternoon. There’d been no response after several moments of knocking on the door, though, and attempting to divert Magnes from whatever comic book inspired madness he was getting into, both via text message and knocking on his door, but with no luck.

Most people would probably just head home after that, particularly given a place like Gun Hill where she still didn’t really know anyone else. But Quinn was a bit too determined for that. She’d looked around the floor, even, the front of the building, and it took a few minutes for her next destination to come to mind – the roof. They’d almost been up there once, and then there was Melissa’s party. She was beginning to think that Sable had a penchant for rooftops. Couldn’t blame her, they’re neat.

She emerges on to the rooftop with barely a sound made, eyes simply sweeping over its relative emptiness – and settling on Colette. Her brow furrows, remembering the cold reception she’d gotten when she met the other girl.

“Hey.” She says it quietly, hands into pockets. “Colette, right?”

Colette has one of these habits of being ambushed by people while she's lost in music, and the sound of Quinn's distinctive voice has the brunette twisting around and looking over her shoulder with wide, mis-matched eyes. The contrast between her green left eye and cataract-blinded right eye is as stark as the contrast between pale skin and black hair. She stares, vacantly, for just a moment before offering an awkward smile and a dip of her head down into a nod, thin fingers raking back her bangs from her face.

"Oh ah— y— yeah," Colette mumbles as she drops into a crouch, turning down the volume on the battered old radio before looking up to Quinn. "Are you… looking for Sable? I haven't seen her all day, I think she might've gone out to run errands or… I dunno pick up furniture or something, we're sort've short on chairs." There's an ominous tone about the lack of chairs, entirely playfully intended though.

“Yeah, but you’re right. She’s nowhere to be found.” She offers a smile to Colette. “Magnes too, I guess. Or he’s too busy pretending to be…” Who was it again… “Right, Riddler or whatever it is. I thought one of ‘em might be up here, Sable seem to like roofs.” She lingers a moment, and begins to turn, like she’s going to leave. She pauses, though, turning back and taking a step forward. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or anythin’ when I was here last. I was just… kinda excited, is all.” Her smile’s shifted a bit, it’s only a half smile now, but she still seems just as cheery.

There's a mildly exasperated look on Colette's face as she tries to come up with an explanation or excuse for Magnes' behavior. "I'm— sorry…" isn't actually reserved for Magnes though, and Colette's rueful expression comes with the motion of her hand scrubbing at the back of her neck. "I mean, for like… for being such a bitch when you were here for dinner a few days ago I— " Colette's brows furrow together and her head shakes slowly. "I've kind've had a lot on my mind and I sorta'-kinda' took it out on you."

Then, with a sheepish smile she rises up to stand straight and hooks her thumbs through the belt loops of her shorts. "I um, I'm— I was actually a little jealous too, I mean… if what you said's true." Colette's brows furrow together as her lips creep up into a sheepish smile.

"I'm the only one've me I've ever known, I mean— what I do," and the word do has enough weight to be clearly implied as something superhuman. "I kind've liked feeling like I was the only one in the world, I mean— I know it isn't true I just…" Colette breathes out a sigh. "So… so what's it like for you?"

With that explaination, all Quinn can do is wave a hand dismissively at Colette, shaking her head. “Ah, don’t worry about it. I know what it’s like t’ have somethin’ on your mind an’all.” She’d certainly been there herself for the past several days. The admittance that she’s jealous, however, prompts a curious look from Quinn.

“I’ve never really met anyone either, that could do anythin’ like this.” Heck, even though she’d been to Pro-Evolved events since she came to New York, she’d never really even met that many over evolved, at least not well enough to know what they can do. “I think it’s exciting knowin’ there’s someone else who can do something similar.” The question of what it’s like brings a hand to Quinn’s chin, grinning as she begins to walk deeper into the rooftop.

“It’s fun, for me. I mean, it was weird at first. But it’s neat bein’ able to do somethin’ others can’t, besides play violin real well.” The free hand runs back through her black hair, and then emerges out in front of her. “Right handy when I’m performin’ too.” And then her hand starts to glow, just noticeably.

There's a wrinkle of Colette's nose, her head tilting to the side and eyes looking eveywhere except where Quinn's hand is, like she's looking for something else going on. "No that— you're doing it all wrong, it— " there's a sputtering quality to Colette's voice and her brows crease together even as she shakes her head from side to side slowly.

"You— you're generating photons, that— " Immediately stepping forward to Quinn, Colette snatches up the Irish woman's hand in both of hers and yanks it forward, spreading her fingers and looking at her palm and then staring up at Quinn. "How— how're you doing that you— you can't— " for all that she's impressed, that jealous tone Colette makes seems even more prevalent now.

A sound akin to an “Eeep!” escapes form Quinn as her hand is seized, fingers splayed and inspected. “I –what- photons?” Quinn seems equally surprised and confused by Colette’s reaction, her eyes widened beyond normal. “I just kind of concentrate and it happens.” Her initial shock past she returns attention to her hand, heightening the glow just a bit. The colour abruptly shifts from innocuous white light to a deep blue hue, and her other hand finally draws out from her pocket, repeating the earlier motion of running through her black hair. “W-why do you seem so surprised?”

Shoving Quinn's hand back, Colette furrows her brows and puffs out her cheeks, stomping one booted foot before snatching Quinn's arm by the wrist and yanking her towards the stairs. "You don't even know what a photon is? And you can do it better than— aghcome with me!" It isn't even so much of a request as it is a demand, and suddenly five and a half feet of wiry teenager is dragging Quinn towards the stairwell she'd come up from.

"I can see photons, they're the subatomic particles that make up light itself. It's how I do what I do, I can see with my eyes shut and feel light on my skin. All I can do is bend and shape and manipulate light, move it from one place to another!" She's shouting the explanation when she drags Quinn into the stairwell, voice echoing as she starts making her way down to the fourth floor, boots clomping down ach step.

"But you— you!" Colette turns around, snapping a narrow-eyed look to Quinn. "You— you can just willy-nilly create all the light you want!" Red-faced and flustered, Colette yanks Quinn forward and drags her down the hall towards the half open door of apartment 404. Clunking her boot against the door to kick it open, Colette storms in to the largely unfurnished apartment with a destination of some kind in mind.

“Wha-“ Quinn looks positively dumbfounded as she is rather suddenly pulled back the way she came. At least twice, she tries to interject over Colette explanations and exclamations, but to no avail. Subatomic particles? So, she was talking about chemistry? Or was it physics. She’d always preformed dreadfully at science. And apparently, not knowing this is tantamount to Cardinal Sin, something that along with Colette’s flustered look, quick pace, and shouting voice was causing her to get just as flushed.

The spin-and-shout moment as they exit the stairwell doesn’t help. This girl was determined, and as they arrive at the apartment, Quinn finally speaks up. “I’m… sorry?” An unsure apology about her lack of knowledge. “I’m afraid I’ve missed something.” By now, her hand had stopped glowing, and her eyes are narrowed. She scratching the side of her head, tilted as she looks around the open apartment. “You… can’t just make light?”

"No," is Colette's growled out response as she flashes a look back at Quinn, "I can't just make light any more than I can make it rain!" Flustered as she is, Colette makes her clomp-stomping way from Quinn's side as she lets go of her wrist and finds a stack of cardboard boxes not far from the doorway of the empty apartment. Crouching down, Colette unfolds the box tops and starts rummaging through notebooks stuffed with loose leafs of paper, slaps them down on the floor and then begins removing hardcover books that very obviously are the familiar size and shape of college textbooks.

They're dropped onto the floor with a whump, followed by Colette pointing one finger down at them, brows furrowed and eyes wide. "This is your homework, how not to do it wrong 101." Dark brows raise sharply and Colette breathes in a deep and slow breath, trying to calm herself. "Light physics and— a bunch of books my mentor gave me to help me get educated on the physics of my ability."

Colette slowly stands, nudging the books forward across the floor with her foot, the short stack wobbling a little as she does. "Show me," Colette insists, crossing bare arms over her chest. "Show me everything you can do, all the different…" one hand raises to wave in the air, "just— everything. Right here, right now."

Some how this became an inquisition.

Quinn continues to regard Colette with curiosity, eyes widening as the stack of notebooks and papers hits the ground with a thump, gaze moving back up to Colette with narrowed eyes. “Do it wrong?” She sounds somewhat indignant, one hand moving to her hip, and a part of her wishing she was taller than the other girl so that, for a moment, she could scowl down at her. Her light shows work just fine!

Talk of light physics elicits a wrinkling of her nose, and a shaking on her head. “S-Science isn’t exactly my strong suit, you know.” At least the question of “chemistry” or “physics” had been answered now. She quirks her mouth to one side, eyes on the stack as Colette continues. The mention of a mentor though, piques her interest.

The request - demand - that Quinn show the other girl exactly what she can do with her lights, however, brings a smile back to her face, and a nod of acknowledgement. Wordless ly, she holds both of her hands out, palms up, and closes her eyes to concentrate. It takes a moment, but the light begins to radiate just as before. “You’ll have to show me yours, too.” Quinn gives a smirk and wink, aware of how the line could be skewed.

Like before, the light her hands shifts in colour, this time to a pink tint, kept simply to the area around her hands. “Light physics, huh?” She repeats, even as she raises her left hand and points to a spot in the air a bit in front of Colette, and the colour there changes to match, expanding outwards for a moment before shifting back to normalcy.

Where there should be wonder on Colette's face there's just anxiety and uncertainty, her teeth nibbling worriedly at her lower lip as she watches color change in the air and light shift around. Swallowing anxiously, Colette's eyes focus down at her feet then over to the books, brows furrowing together. "I didn't even graduate High School," Colette grumbles, "you can figure it out." Looking back up to Quinn, there's a wrinkle of Colette's nose as she holds out a hand and squeezes her fingers shut, causing the color and light Quinn generated to diminish.

"I— I don't know…" Lowering her closed fist, as if she's holding the light inside of it, Colette's head shakes from side to side slowly. "I think you're… probably better at this than I am, or— I will be. Stronger, it— " she doesn't like saying it, doesn't like thinking it. "I can't make light, all I can do is move it around. I… if it's dark I can't…"

Swallowing nervously, Colette looks away and squares her jaw, then looks back to Quinn with brows furrowed as she lifts her hand. Colette's fingers unfurl, revealing what looks like light painting come to life, a sapphire-winged butterfly with a glowing yellow torso that flutters out of Colette's hand and drifts through the air. When it gets a few feet away from the teen, the butterfly shatters like glass and explodes into a fireworks display of scintillating rainbow light. Where each sparkling drop hits the floor, luminous green grass grows up from the floorboards, looking like finger-painted streaks of green.

A single bright yellow sunflower with fingerpainted petals rises up from the grass and begins spinning around its center like a windmill, then glows brightly and turns into a stylized sun that flips around to reveal a crescent moon as stars blossom in the air around it. The moon fades away and the stars turn green, becoming winking firefly-like motes of light that then begin swimming through the apartment.

As they swim, Colette herself starts to peel away, looking like an unwanted part of a portrait being painted over by the background until she's invisible. Quinn can still hear her footsteps, and where those clunking footfalls meet the floorboards, colorful rainbow-pattern footprints are left behind, until Colette fades back into existence right in front of Quinn with both hands held out, letting all the fireflies collect in her palms. Fingers close around the green glow, and when Colette opens her hands again there's nothing there, save for the reflection of a blue butterfly in Colette's blinded eye that disappears when she blinks.

"…and you're better than me," comes at the very end, whispered defeatedly from Colette as her brows furrow.

The glow disappearing from her hands, Quinn’s hand lowers from her hip and down to her side, head tilted once more. “I… don’t really have a head for this kinda thing.” She eyes the books again. She doesn’t have much of a head for anything besides music, and the idea of light physics seemed daunting just on name alone to her. Granted, for all she knew, neither did Colette.

When Colette begins to talk about who’s better, she shakes her head, hands out in protest. She opens her mouth to speak, and doesn’t have the opportunity to do so before the most amazing thing happens as Colette opens her hand. The bright and blue butterfly makes her eyes snap open, and she visibly jerks back as it suddenly breaks into fireworks and falls to the floor. The painted garden arises, and Quinn drops straight to her knees, a look of absolute wonderment on her face, eyes glued to the display.

“You’re naffin’ crazy!” she exclaims, jaw agape. I could watch this all afty, there’s no right way I’m better-“ And then she looks up just in time to see Colette vanish from view, eyes wide again. “Holy hell, that’s amazin’!” And then she comes back into view, the display coming to a quick close, a quiet whisper to send it off. And for a moment, Quinn feels a sinking feeling, like she feels like she’s done something wrong.

So she tells herself there’ll be none of the that now, and springs back to her feet.

“You’re crazy,” she repeats, shaking her head enthusiastically. “I can’t do anythin’ like any of that.” A hand held out, and out of light, she forms a square in front of herself. Then an octagon. And a triangle. Simple shapes follow one after another, occasionally a letter or a number. “I can’t do anything that amazing.”

With a laundry basket balanced on one hip, Tasha approaches the door to the apartment that's been left ajar. She pauses in the the hallway, hearing voices — they don't have anything worth burgling — two mattresses and some lawn furniture so far! — so a burglar would probably head out just about as quickly as he entered the apartment. After a moment she can tell the voice is feminine, and accented, and an accent she recognizes as belonging to Quinn.

Stepping into the apartment, she smiles uncertainly at Quinn. "What's amazing?" she says brightly, glancing from one to the other before heading to one of the two resin adirondack-esque chairs, flopping down and beginning to fold. Socks at least are easy, because she's given up on pairing them, knowing that Colette will just mix and match them anyway.

Tasha's voice has Colette straightening up and taking a half-step back from Quinn just to make certain that nothing looks inappropriate. Glancing askance at Tasha, Colette's frown slowly shifts into a smile as her head shakes. "Quinn's ability," Colette wryly notes, looking to the Irishwoman with a smirk as her arms fold across her chest.

"You might not be able to do what I can do now, but you will when I'm done training you." Which is to imply that Quinn has absolutely no say in the matter what-so-ever. "You don't have the handicap I do," Colette seems to insist, motioning to her blind eye, "you just… make all the light you want, you don't have to pull it from anywhere. I'm going to show you how do to what I do, and you're going to learn, because I'm not letting you squander an ability that powerful with light tricks."

Looking up and over to Tasha again, Colette realizes how sharp and forceful she's sounding, and opens her mouth to say something, but only a hushed noise comes out. She grimaces, reaches up to rub a hand at the back of her neck, then looks over to the door and then back to Tasha. "I could use a co-instructor, art girl."

Quinn’s looking down at her hands, flexing her fingers when she hears Tasha’s voice, prompting her to spin on her heel to face her, offering a wide smile and a quick wave. “Hello again! Ran int’ Colette on the roof,” she offers as explanation, though if she’s attempting to avoid the look of anything like Colette, it’s assistance in that is dubious at best. “She’s… showing me things.” Nor does that help, actually.

“Wait.” She turns back to Colette with a much more serious look on her face. “Training? Squander? I mean…” She quirks her mouth from side to side, a look of consternation on her face. “I just do light shows, I’m not sure I can do much more and keep concentration.” It’s going a bit over her head. “An’ as wonderful as all that is….” She offers a shrug, not sure exactly what she wants to say.

Hands fall back to her side and she exhales sharply. “That’s right fantastic stuff you did there, but I’d be daft to say I could make somethin’ that beautiful. M’ mum’s the artist, not me.”

"She is fantastic, and an artistic," Tasha says proudly of Colette, beaming over at the other girl. "Really, you have to know about color and composition and shape and all to do what you do, I think — or do you just imagine it and bam? But still, imagining it in the right way — I still think you have an artist's eye," she tells Colette as she continues to fold laundry.

"As far as helping, I dunno what I could possibly teach you guys — it's different to explain shading or something when it's a technique you do with a paintbrush or pencil — I don't know what I could tell you about how to make things look… however. More realistic or whatever. I mean, I could say the color's off or it looks a little two dimensional or shit, but how to fix it, I have no idea. I'm just… you know. An artist. Not special."

In the process of forming a response for Quinn, Colette pauses and looks over to Tasha, then makes a stay there motion to Quinn before breaking off and treading with clunking footfalls over to where Tasha's folding the laundry on their stacked mattress and box spring excuse for a bed. Sliding bare arms around Tasha's waist from behind, Colette leans in and presses a kiss to the brunette's cheek, nose brushing against the back of her ear as she clearly stares, "you're very special…"

Colette smells of fresh soil and sweat, like someone who's been working tending a field all day, not someone who was just putting on a psychadelic light show in her living room. Though after the comment, her arms slowly disengage from around Tasha's waist and Colette twists to look over at Quinn, brows furrowed.

"You're a musician, s'artist enough. There ain't no fuckin' about, okay? You're getting lessons on how to use your ability because you can't afford not to. You might not realize it yet…" and the words Colette says come from the mouth of a man — a legend to her — that helped form her own understanding of her ability. "But you're powerful, really powerful and probably more than you realize, and until you get a handle on just how strong you are you might wind up being dangerous to someone else." Dark brows furrow and Colette looks Quinn up and down, offering a lopsided smile.

"This is the same speech I got, Quinn. Same responsibility I have, and you're more'n I am. So… like it or not," mismatched eyes glance to Tasha as she leans against the brunette, then looks back to Quinn, "lessons start on Monday."

The display of affection between Colette and Tasha outwardly makes her smile, and inwardly wince, recent occurrences still fairly fresh in her mind. In almost an instant, Quinn felt like she was suddenly in over head, and she didn’t even know what about. She certainly had trouble imagining herself as “powerful”, much less dangerous. In fact, she audibly scoffs at the idea, shaking her head. “Now, I don’t know about all that.” She even chuckles a bit as she says it, arms crossed over her midsection.

Despite this disbelief, the idea of learning how to do cooler stuff with light certainly was a neat idea, an opportunity she wasn’t going to pass up. Well, if she had the choice, and by all means it seems like the other girl isn’t going to give her that, and with how often she’s been coming to Gun Hill lately…

So, she leans forward a bit, peering at Colette with scrutinizing eyes. “But alright, you’ve got a deal. I think I might work Monday, but I’ll see what I can do.”

"Shaddup, you know what I mean," Tasha says with a laugh, though she blushes and smiles at the affectionate praise falling from Colette's lips. "I just mean, you know. I'm not sure I'm equipped to train anyone on how to use a power when it's not like I have one, you know?"

Folding a t-shirt, she glances over at Quinn. "She's right though. A lot of people don't know what their power can do — if they've only touched the surface of it — and suddenly they hurt themselves or worse. There was a girl back in Boston who was an audiokinetic, and all she thought she could do was make stuff louder or softer or whatever, and one day she gave everyone a concussion because she was having a bad day and yelled at someone for misplacing her keys. With light, that could be really really bad… if you can, you know, slice things with laser beams or whatever," she rambles a little.

"Like with laser beams," Colette implies with the faintest of nervous smiles, then slides her arm around Tasha again and presses her nose to her cheek. Now isn't the time for begging Tasha for help, that will come later when she doesn't have to embarrass herself in front of Quinn. Sliding that arm from around the tiny brunette, Colette slinks away from her and walks over to where Quinn is, arms crossing over her chest again. "You can bring Sable if you want, but, I'd prefer it if you didn't bring Magnes. He can be kind've a know-it-all and… I know my ability better'n he does."

Looking past Quinn to the door then back again, Colette's brows furrow. "I want you to meet me here on Monday, 7am, and I'll take you out to where we're going to start all of this. You should wear clothes you don't mind getting dirty and long pants, preferably boots too if you have them." Dark brows creasing together again, Colette wrinkles her nose and looks over her shoulder to Tasha and then back to Quinn. "Sorry if— I seemed a little snippy with you. I— this stuff's really important to me. Oh and— " there's a nod to the books on the floor.

"I expect you to start reading that." Colette cracks a smile, one brow lifting up, "all of it."

Laser beams? Well, Quinn knew how to make laser light for when she was on stage, but actual slice and dice lasers like in bad movies? That sounded farfetched, and considering the nature of the conversation that’s rather impressive. Still, Tasha made a very good point – and she’d had to ask her mother if she’d heard anything about that particular incident, simply for curiosity’s sake. She shakes a hand at Colette, smirking.

“Don’t worry ‘bout Magnes or Sable. I’d hate t’ bother either of ‘em so early.” She didn’t have boots. Maybe a trip to Goodwill or some such was in order. “And it’s… alright.” She scratches her neck, looking at Colette and Tasha. “Not snippy.” She points a fun at Colette like a gun, smirking. “Passionate.” At the mention of the books, her gaze moves to them, and her expression falters. “You’re serious? Not all of ‘em at once, I hope. That’s a right bit much to carry. Well, and I have two jobs now, so I’ll have to make time.”

"Speaking of jobs… did I tell you Cat offered me one? I kinda… didn't take her up on it, but if nothing else comes up, I probably should," Tasha says, glancing at Colette through long lashes as she concentrates on folding a pair of torn up jeans. She's not sure why she's folding them — they don't actually have a drawer to put them in. Maybe the shelf in the closet will do.

"It was mostly gonna be secretarial kinda stuff, and I'd rather find something artsy, but I donno. Money's money, right?" she shrugs, still not completely sold — for reasons Colette is likely able to guess. Cat is one of the few people who know Vincent is her father, after all.

She smiles at Quinn. "I have a duffel bag you can borrow if you need," she offers. "I wonder if maybe there's some stuff online or something by an actual … you know, Evo, on how to use the power, rather than science stuff written before people even knew there was such a thing."

"Probably, but I don't trust that sorta' stuff…" Colette oddly comments with a glance over her shoulder to Tasha. "Suresh Center, none've that crap, I just— I'd rather learn from someone I know. You— you know." Looking down to the books and then tracking her stare back to Tasha, Colette's nose wrinkles and she offers a teasing roll of her eyes.

"Not all the books tonight, but all of them eventually. You're going to learn what a photon is if I have to make you take written tests," which implies via a cheekily made threat that she would, "but I really don't want to have to do that." Pacing in a half circle, Colette comes to sit down on the corner of those stacked mattresses next to the laundry, hands folded between her knees and attention shifted to Tasha.

"I'm going to apply at the Alley Cat tomorrow, doing courier work like I told'ja, actually…" Colette's brows furrow slightly. "If you don't wanna work with Cat— cause she can be kinda' intense sometimes— there's this little run-down bookstore on Roosevelt Island that's always looking for help. I'm not sure who owns it but I bet you could go looking for work there. Kaylee either still does or used to work there. It's pretty cute."

Quinn gives a nod to Colette, eyes wandering around the room as she speaks. “I gotta agree with Colette. If I’m… going to do this, I’d rather be with someone I kinda know. And can actually interact with.” Interaction’s a big part of anything she does. She learns by doing, and she’d rather have somewhere there in case something goes wrong,

As the conversation takes a decidedly more //normal // turn, Quinn chuckles quietly. “A nice little bookstore would be better than the Barnes & Noble I work at,” she remarks as she moves over towards all the books and notebooks are, staring at them. “But I’m ‘bout to leave there if you wanna try there. And the club I’m workin’ at’s still working on opening, they might need help.” She’s not actually sure if Melissa needs help, but never hurts to try.

"Thanks. I just gotta pound the pavement. Bookstore maybe. I'd rather do something with my art if I can, but maybe once I start school again, not having it be about art might be good —" yes, Tasha's an indecisive thing today. She smirks as she pushes aside the laundry basket, the motley mix of Tasha's and Colette's clothing now clean and folded.

"See, I'm an independent type of learner, I guess. It's actually hard for me to listen to my art teachers because I taught myself mostly to this point. But I'm not going to kill anyone with oil paint, either, so it's not much of an issue. Though it'd be kinda cool if I could. The paintbrush is mightier than the sword, as they say." Except no one actually says that.

Cracking a smile, Colette looks back and forth between Tasha and Quinn, slowly shaking her head with her arms crossed over her chest. "You know, if I didn't know it any better it'd almost feel like I have a bunch of friends that aren't forty-year-old ex-military nut-jobs for once…" That Colette actually said those words elicits a grimace from the teen as she lifts up a hand and rakes her dark bangs back, head shaking her hair out afterward before she bolts up into a straighter position and storms over to the apartment door.

"Okay!" Colette exclaims, "I— am going to go back up on the roof while there's still an afternoon to work through and then see if— I— can get any help setting all that up." Wrinkling her nose, Colette casts her eyes to the side out in the hall, then rubs at her chin. "I think I will enlist the munchkin brigade…" the teen emphasizes with a nod, then looks over to Tasha with a crooked smile, then Quinn.

"Hey, Quinn… odd question," there's a furrow of Colette's brows at that, her head quirking to the side and one corner of her lips creeping up. "You work at a bookstore, do the DJ thing…" mismatched eyes narrow slowly. "Where do you live?"

Not that odd a question, or so Quinn thinks. Then again, she’s the one who takes people back to her apartment after knowing them for an evening. “Brooklyn,” she remarks, scooping a few of the books with a grunt. “Small studio flat not too far from where I work.” A pause. “Well, a place I work, I guess.” A curious look crosses her face, looking around the room. “Ah, any reason? I can give you the address if you wanna swing by for one’a your lessons.” The last part is said with a bit of snicker. Hefting the books in her arms, she sighs. “I might need t’ borrow that bag, Tasha, if you don’t mind.”

"Forty-year-old ex-military nut jobs are the best though," Tasha says with a grin, with a guess as to who that description fits. She stands, kissing Colette's cheek. "And I'm not short enough to be a munchkin, damn it! You act all tall and amazony with your big three inches. Jesus." She mock stomps her foot, before grinning. "I'll help too, whatever it is you are setting up."

With that, she heads to the little hall closet, pulling out a duffel bag — not the one that Colette brought in with a gun in it, but one of her own. She pulls out a few things — tennis shoes, a sketchbook, some CDs and dumps those on the closet floor before bringing back the pink and gray camouflage bag to hand to Quinn. "I didn't pick that out, in case you wonder about the Barbie meets GI Joe color scheme," she adds with a wrinkle of her nose.

Glancing askance at Tasha, Colette doesn't yet answer Quinn's query. Instead, she walks with heavy, clunking footsteps over to Tasha's side, sliding an arm around her shoulders and swaying from side to side with her. "I'm workin' on setting up a rooftop garden, so we can plant fresh vegetables and… maybe plant some flowers up there, and I— figured me'n you could tend it once it got going, and everyone could pitch in once it got big enough…" there's a ghost of a smile briefly flashing across Colette's lips, her forehead clunking gently against the side of Tasha's, nose in her ear. "Munchkin," Colette whispers teasingly before slinking away with a waggle of her brows.

"Move in," is Colette's rather abrupt answer to Quinn, mismatched eyes flicked over to the brunette. "Sable and Magnes both live here, we've got more'n enough apartments and it'll be easier to meet up for practice too, my side and your side. Move in and don't sweat the rent right away, get yourself on your feet and help out with the remodeling and we'll call it even."

Colette's brows lift slowly, lips crooked into a smile. "You didn't piss off the tiny little British lady who showed up the other day, and she pretty much owns the building, so… Pack up your shit and move on up. Brooklyn's too far away from anything."

“Thank you kindly,” Quinn replies with a smile, taking the bag and almost immediately making a move towards the stack of books so that she can start shovelling her newfound reading materials into the GI Barbie bag, as it was henceforth nicknamed. “You know, if y’ need help, I don’t have anythin’ else planned for today, and after just stoppin’ by I should help someone with some-“

She’s caught entirely off guard by Colette’s offer of sorts, particularly considering it’s coming from someone she never would have expected it from. “I- uh- huh.” She just looks for a moment, blinking, and then frowning. “I certainly wouldn’t mind that. I’ve been livin’ alone for a while, and most of my building mates hate me cause ‘a the noise.” She chuckles. “An’ I have a lease…” She smiles, nodding. “But I’ll think about it!”

Another nickname is born. Tasha groans, but smiles at the same time, bumping her head against Colette's before the other pulls away. She smiles when Colette offers the building as Quinn's new home. Apparently she's decided Quinn is all right after all — the girl doesn't seem to hate her, like she thought at first, anyway, so Tasha's willing to give her a chance. And so far any friend of Colette's is a friend of hers — even Sable, though it's a tenuous friendship at best.

"Man, I hope I don't get a power, I don't wanna do homework for you," she teases Colette. "And the garden sounds awesome but I should warn you I have like a black thumb. I couldn't even grow lima bean plants in the Dixie cups in kindergarten. I did the exact same thing as everyone else, but mine wouldn't sprout," Tasha laments, then snaps her fingers. "Wait! Maybe I do have a power, and I am an angel of plant death."

One brow raised at Quinn, Colette smiles impishly because that reaction was pretty much exactly what she was hoping for. "Think about it, and let me or Eric know when you make up your mind." There's a slow series of nods from Colette, approving, in the way Tasha's seen Colette reacting around Sable and Magnes when it seemed like she was going to positively vouch for them to join the Ferry. Maybe it's not coincidental where Colette's inviting Quinn into, but the subtleties in Colette's appraising looks imply that she may be grooming Quinn for more than just the successor of photokinetic talents.

"As for you," Colette threateningly notes to Tasha with an impsh smile and a rise up onto the toesof her boots. "You can't be any worse at gardening than me… c'mon," she suggests with a nod of her head towards the door, leaving the invitation open for Quinn too.

"Let's go be terrible at stuff."

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