You Two An Item?


deckard3_icon.gif joseph_icon.gif kaylee2_icon.gif

Scene Title You Two An Item?
Synopsis Kaylee donates her furniture to Grand Central to make it more homey for those living there. Of course, Deckard has to ask a question that brings about a rather awkward moment.
Date November 23, 2009

Grand Central Terminal

It took some persuading with her ability and a little bit of money passing hands, but Kaylee was finally able to do as she promised Joseph, she secured Grand Central Station some actual decent furniture. Her own. Not that she minds really, it would only be going to lining her landlords pockets otherwise, so offering it up to make things easier on Joseph and the others at the Terminal at least gives her some peace of mind. Not like she can't replace it all later on. Amazing how facing death changes a persons.

Pulling off the gloves she's been wearing against the cold chill in the dark subway tunnel near Grand Central, Kaylee shoves them into the pockets if her worn leather jacket. Rubbing her hands together to savor that last little warmth, she grins at both men, a wink going to Joseph. She grabs the latch on the back of the Uhaul truck and wrenches it open, the unoiled metal whining in protest. "So… how does it feel, Joseph, to know…." Her sentence cutting off as she grabs the handle of the door and shoves upward with a little hop and a soft grunt. The door flies open, clattering loudly in the cold air. Pulling herself on the back of the Uhaul, she pushes the door open the rest of the way and turns to look down at them from her place on high. ".. to know that you don't have to eat at a rickety old card table!" Her tone rather bright, echoing off the cold concrete, a testimate of her good mood. "Even a HDTV and blueray.." She peers into the depth of the truck with a sheepish grin. "I like my toys…" She clears her throat, " Anyhow, with all the movies I have.. well.. any kids that come through will have plenty of movies." She sounds slightly embarrassed to admit that. "If all else fails.. I'm sure we can manage to get it to the Lighthouse.. or one of the other houses that gets a lot of kids."

Kaylee pulls out a carved wooden dining chair and sits it on the edge of the truck, as she declares, "Grand Central gets first pick of it all."

Electric lights make glowing zigzags above them, bleaching skin to paleness and bouncing off the tile of floor and walls that curve into the ceiling. The growl of the truck had echoed and rung through the subway, once good for trains, now good for trucks. Now that it's killed, the space swallows up the clangs and clatter of the door grinding open, Kaylee's voice filling the cavernous space as Joseph eases his way down onto the tracks, coming to stand at the open end of the truck, hands settling on hips and weight more or less balanced on his right leg in a subtle kind of lean

She gets a smile. "Less destitute," Joseph responds. "Although really— we couldn't possibly take the electronics. We can store it an' all if you need, but…"

There's the sound of foot steps — two others, Ferrymen both, coming through the wide space where rows of turnstiles used to be, long since ripped out of the way to allow for these kinds of ventures and easy lifting. Likely they would protest the charitable wave away of HDTVs.

Deckard is looking like he might be on the cusp of protesting himself, blue eyes flickered sideways to rasp around the jumbled black space of the open truck in search of something appropriate HDTV shaped. He's already down on the tracks, and only just now in the process of remembering what it was about those big metal boxes with moving pictures on them that was so appealing back before he could see naked people wherever he wanted whenever he wanted.

That same sideways look kicks suspiciously over onto Joseph, as if the pastor must have some kind of unsavery motive for turning down the promise of big bouncy boobies in HD. But no words filter out through the open slack of his bristled jaw. Just a slow, foggy puff of breath followed up with a rankle at his nose before he busies himself with the task of adjusting his gloves.

Eyeing some of the trucks contents thoughtfully, Kaylee hmms softly, fingers moving to comb blond strands out of her face. "Store? Think you could?" She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, her head tilting a bit. "Not exactly employed for keeping a storage unit paid up." In fact, she's not employed at all, living on the good graces of the Ferrymen. "Admittedly I wasn't sure what I was going to do with some of this. I share a room with a couple of others at McRae's." The chair is handed down to one of the arriving Ferrymen helpers to encourage them to actually work, soon followed by another couple of chairs set at the edge.

Six chairs in all, a modest sized table, but then she was a college kid at one point and when you have friends…. parties and such happen. There is a short pause in her pulling a cardboard box off the flat plane of the table itself, as for just a moment she wondered what happened to them all… Probably living as carefree as before. That thought makes her brow drop into a frown. "Anyway…" She starts again, turning to offer the box, that rattles with the metallic clang of pots and pans, down to Deckard, she gives him a smirk… last time she had seen him, he had a few choice things to say to her in a drunken slur. Of course, she can't help but catch that thought going through Deckard's head, which might account to the amused tones in her voice as she says, ".. yeah.. if you can store it, I'd owe you big time, Joseph."

"Sure." Joseph doesn't spare an apologetic glance anyone's way, pure of though and motive, obviously. It's her stuff, after all. "All we got down here is space, Lord knows. You can consider it in return for the furniture." One of the chairs is grasped, lifted, offered to one of the Ferrymen who wait upon the platform to receive it, and move off for the concourse where these things generally are placed. The table is going to be a bitch, but, what can you do?

As for the electronics, well. If they can keep a terrorist, they can keep a few thousand dollars worth of goods too. "We're not keeping the TV?" is a complaint from up on the platform, before Joseph is patiently shoving the second chair up into waiting hands.

Pots and pans, pots and pans. Deckard receives the box with all the enthusiasm of an eight year old being handed a box of tax records, gloved hands catching low at the sides so that he can peer down through a crack in the lid once he's given it a solid shake. Yep. Definitely pots and pans.

Thusly situated, rather than taking them somewhere useful, like. A makeshift kitchen. He stands approximately right where he is a little while before he wanders off a short, aimless ways down the tracks and pushes the box up over the edge onto the walk. Kind of like that same eight year old pushing flinstones vitamins into his nose instead of chewing them up and swallowing them.

"Deal then." Kaylee states firmly as she pulls another box off the table and hands it down to the Pastor with a bright smile. "Glad we could come to a mutual agreement." There is an edge of a chuckle to her voice, as she tries to make it sound all official. Once she knows he has that box, she turns to give the table itself an experimental tug. Hmming softly, she pulls the center leaf off the top of it, at least it'll be that much smaller. This is set aside before she tugs it slowly towards the edge of the truck, "Next time I buy a table.. I'm buying a lighter one. What the hell…" There is a oof as she gives it a good tug, the legs scraping on the metallic floor of the truck, ".. was I thinking with this thing?"

The actions of Deckard are not unnoticed, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Much like a parent of a kid trying to get out of work, she ups the stakes… As soon as his hands come off that box, she calls out, "Oh good! Flint.. Hey, you got nothing going… come be a manly man with Joseph and get this monster table off the truck."

The box is collected up and whisked off anyway by some helpful Ferrymen who did not want to wrestle with the table, instead jovially carting it off towards where the temporary kitchen beyond ghosts fo turnstiles. Joseph glances back at Deckard to see if he's truly complying, adding an encouraging/passively demanding wave over so there's no mistaking where he's being tasked, before climbing up enough into the truck to help nudge it along. A hand grips his thigh briefly somewhere during that transition, before it comes to clasp the edge of the table.

"Got one just like this back home," Joseph says, as he helps lever it to the edge of the truck. "I think we only used the whole thing come Thanksgivin', so I guess this is pretty good timing. Not that anyone who's got much to be thankful for'll be spendin' it down here, but— "

Having already drifted into a different mental dimension entirely whilst staring blanky after a few specks of rat poo dried onto the walk next to his displaced box, Deckard snaps his head around and blinks into a squint. He's far enough away that the expression is simplified into a harsh conglomeration of hard angles and shadows steeped in dark under his brow. Skepticism is therefore easy to read at a distance, telepathy or no, overlarge ears at a flat jut on either side of his bristled buzz and narrow jaw while he looks the pair of them over.

"Are you two an item?"

The hell does he care? Hard to tell, but skepticism is quickly being overtaken by something more like suspicion when the chill line of his glare drops to trace automatically after Joseph's left hand.

"Oh.. geez.. I hadn't even thought about Thanksgiving, been too caught up in coughing kids and wiping noses. But… being alive is a good reason for being Thankful." Kaylee points out with a grunt as she positions the table till the leg is at the very edge, it's the one thing she's very thankful for. "Not in some dark hole. I know a lot of parents that are thankful their kids will see another year and hopefully many more." Her look turning somewhat solemn, as she mentions what has kept her from visiting up till that point. She glances at Joseph and actually, her cheeks color a bit in embarrassment. "Sorry…" She murmurs. ".. I have no business telling you what there is to be thankful of. Been kind of an odd couple of month."

Kaylee takes a deep breath and moves on, "My grandmother has one of these too, but it's a much bigger monster then this.. Seated all the adults, us kids had to sit at card tables. I guess this was a bit like having a bit of home… plus, I did a lot of hosting when I was going to NYU. Holds a lot of food and can set a beer keg on it easy."

Anything else Kaylee might have said, is stopped cold by Deckard. It's her turn for her head to snap around to stare at the man, the look she gives him is a blank one. Like he had suddenly sprouted feathers and clucked like a chicken. Now she does fiercely blush, not looking at Joseph. "Not that I'm aware of…. Seriously… do I look his type?" Trying to joke away the awkwardness for her, her cheeks still red. He seriously could do better then her. "Now, will you just get over here and help get this thing off the truck?" Giving him a wave over, shifting the table enough that someone has to grab the leg. "Quit stalling, your not getting out of helping with this." She accuses.

The look Deckard gets cut his way from Joseph is less sharp and bridling, more exasperation and cynicism convey in minutely crossy eyes. Does he look like her type? Inquiring minds. Left hand glanced at still sports his ring as it ever does, dull golden and in need of some maintenance in the shining department, but certainly there. Disappears a moment later under the view of the table as he goes to lift it once more.

"No, we're not," he more straight forwardly responds to the other Ferryman, as if to relieve Kaylee of having to delicately express it herself. Matter-of-factness doesn't quite stop his own somewhat highschool flush to his features either, if subtler when he concentrates stalwartly on getting the table out—

Enough that the table near tips and drags both Ferrymembers down with it under its weight, whether or not Deckard gets a decent grasp on it.

"You have a vagina," pointed out with a flatness of affect that would put Bein Stein to shame, Deckard refocuses from the tawny ring to Kaylee's baboon ass cheeks. This may be his way of confessing that he doesn't know. Skepticism to suspicion to irritation completes the transition, and he has to draw in a deep breath to shake himself out of it before he can pace over to the pair of them to lever himself up into the truck.

Kaylee is eyed again in close proximity, a kind of unspoken move over, General on his way to stooping in for a two-handed grip opposite Joseph — just in time to lever the full of his not inconsiderable weight into keeping the damn thing from rolling over like a dead whale.

P.S. He saw you blushing too, Joseph.

The awkwardness of the moment is lost and Kaylee's cheeks go from flushed to pale when the heavy table starts to drag them towards the edge of the truck bed, but there is some relief when Deckard moves to take her side of it. "Yeah…and your point is?" Is her quipped question at his answer, her brows lifting a as if asking for him to elaborate. There is that amused look, as she points out to him, "And you don't have one. Does that mean I'm gonna throw myself at you?" She gives him a once over with a lopsided smirk, "Pfft… not likely. Told you before.. not my type." Not like he'd remember her telling him that, he was flat out drunk the last time. Does that mean, Joseph is her type… probably not, but…. stranger things have happened. She hasn't exactly been hitting up the clubs lately or picking up on those bad boys she's been fond of. Hmmm..

A little bat of her lashes at him, Kaylee moves out of their way, hopping down off the truck. "Now focus. Or you'll break this thing and I'll make you buy a new one." Turning quickly, she reaches out to grab a leg of the table, letting her hand slide up until it grips the edge as it lowers to help guide it down to the ground, moving to take some of the weight when needed.


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