| High Adventure | |
| Summary: | A simple day at home ends up a bit more interesting than expected. |
| Cast: | Jerry, Kestrel, Sheppard |
| Air Date: | 2008.08.01 |
Kestrel's Apartment - <Odysseus Undercity, Tomin Kora>
This small apartment is sparsely furnished, tending more toward function rather than any real semblance of comfort or appearance. Two tiny bedrooms, if one can call them that, adjoin the main room. It actually looks as if someone simply walled off part of the original space for them, though at least it can be said that they did a halfway decent job. Instead of doors, heavy curtains in a dusty, faded dark green have been hung in both doorways. The only actual door in the place aside from the main entrance leads to a cramped bathroom. A battered card table and folding chairs sit pretty much snug up against a small kitchenette, while a workbench that's seen better days sits off in a corner. A nondescript couch that might have been orange at some point in its life occupies the middle of the room, with a makeshift coffee table made of cinderblocks and heavy boards in front of it. Next to the workbench, more bricks and boards make up a set of shelves.
Jerry is lounging on the couch, once more, his feet propped up on the makeshift coffee table. The room smells faintly, or rather, strongly of a potent herb from Antimone quite popular on the street.
There's the sound of keys in the lock -- locks, rather -- before the door swings open. In walks Kestrel, with all of her gear, of course. She pauses in the doorway and sniffs, then wrinkles her nose. "Saints alive, th'hell ya smokin' 'ere, Jer?" she asks. "Smells like six New Luna hippies're havin' a party 'r somethin'."
Jerry tilts his head back, and dragons, the smoke rising up in an exotic hue of colors. "Heh, Rainbow." As he speaks, more of the beautifully meshed colors escape his lips. The contact high alone is heady enough. What he must be doing is killing his brain with the same speed as a club to the head. He seems PERFECTLY okay with it though. "You want some?"
"...Uh... naw, 'at's alright," Kes replies, shaking her head. "Don' put much stock in 'at kinda thing, ta be honest with ya. Gittin' drunk's 'bout it fer me." She proceeds toward the bedroom she shares with Shep, stowing her things inside.
"Aw, come on, live a little." Jerry teases, softly, but with a soft edge that her denial isn't particularly worrisome to him. Hey, he's cool. Whatever.
He puffs twice, then exhales again. "You holing up in your closet there, Bunny?"
Kestrel snorts. "Nope, don' pay ta have a buncha stuff sittin' in th'middle'a th'floor either, though," she replies. "Specially not, y'know, guns n'suchlike." Her jacket, however, is draped across the chair at her workbench before she perches on the arm of the couch. "An' if 'at's livin', m'already doin' a bit'a it jest by breathin' in 'ere." A snicker is offered at that.
The small cigarette-shaped joint is offered, "Come on."
Peer pressure, baby!
"'At kinda thing don' work on me," Kes replies, with a pert grin and a wink. "M'stubborn as Saint Amherst 'erself sometimes. Besides, more fer you if'n I don't."
"Fine, fine, love." Jerry responds, inhaling deeply, then blowing a cloud in her general direction. Not her face though, cause even high, he's a Sivadian. He turns to the holovid, turning it on, faint orchestra coming from it. "So, what you been up to this fine day?"
Kestrel waves her hands a bit, then smirks and gives a little shrug, evidently just resigning herself to that smoke cloud. There's not much escaping it in here anyway. "Eh. Little'a 'is, little'a 'at. Had someone bring in a -real- sad-lookin' rifle t'day." She shakes her head. "Can't stand it when people abuse a good gun like 'at. 'Ey're like ta blow up in yer hand, ya don't take care of 'em."
"Oh? Yeah, if you can't be bothered to maintain the equipment that is your livelyhood, you don't much deserve to live cause you're a lazy bastard." Jerry notes, "So, you charge him extra?"
"Charged 'im what it cost me in time ta take 'er apart an' an' fix 'er up," Kes replies, shrugging. "Which was most'a th'mornin." She gives a faint chuckle. "Hadda replace some bits, too. Prob'ly coulda jest 'bout got 'imself a new one, such as new is 'round 'ere. Eh."
Jerry nods, "So that's where ya been. Well, you like it." He looks to the 'Rainbow' then brings it back to his lips, reaching for his belt and loosening it. "So, anything else exciting?"
Kestrel shakes her head. "Been a quiet couple'a days, thank th'Saints," she replies. Her cap's doffed, then tossed over toward the workbench. It doesn't quite make it, but the Later simply shrugs, and runs a hand through her hair. "Gives us time ta, y'know, recover an' all."
"Hey, your man is always saying a little blood rising is good for the body." Jerry responds, offering a lazy smile, laying his head back against the couch's cushion and studying Kestrel almost upside down. "You want some strippers?"
"Uh..." Kes replies, blinking. She takes a finger and mimes cleaning out one ear with it. "Hokay. Must be gittin' high off th'stuff in 'ere, cause m'pretty sure ya didn't jest say what I think ya said."
Jerry repeats it, that sublime Sivadian politeness. "Do you want some strippers in here, love?" He sniffs, "Something fun to past the time with."
Kestrel snickers. "M'pretty sure ya don' wanna lookit a bunch'a oiled-up men," she replies with a smirk.
"I didn't say all of them were going to be for 'you'." Jerry says. "Damn, you're selfish. Won't smoke with me, won't let me hire no jiggly oiled up women with the oiled up men. Why do I even like you?" He blows another multi-hued cloud her way.
"I dunno," Kes deadpans, giving a shrug. She looks at Jerry, her head tilting a bit to the side. "I was hopin' you could tell me."
Jerry reaches across, to snag a hand. Assuming some success, he'll give a tug, and an attempt to pull the woman into his lap. "Going to wait until I'm nice and juiced to asked that question, Bunny?"
Kestrel's reply to that is, "Gack," as she's pulled into Jerry's lap. She follows up with another oh-so-smart-sounding monosyllable: "Uh..."
Jerry lifts a hand, gloved leather hard across the smooth skin of her cheek, pebbly almost. The hand traces up, slowly, then buries into the hair, fingers digging deeply into the bed-headed mess she calls a style. Pressure felt means pressure applied, and he leans forward to kiss the woman deeply with LITTLE shame. If successful, the tangy aroma of the smoke can be felt. Not a clever inhale, to influence her, as it's ting would be no more noticeable then her contact high she was suffering from before but simply a more potent example of why that stuff isn't a good thing to smoke around complex situations like living with a friend, and his girlfriend that struts about with short clothes. She is free to strike him quite firmly in the mouth.
The petite Later doesn't strike him, per se, but Kes definitely tries to get a hand up between their faces and wriggle out of Jerry's lap all at the same time. "C'mon, quit it. Yer higher'n hell, an' ya ain't yerself."
Jerry kisses a hand, pauses, and then looks up and past the shield. He doesn't move for a moment, then grips the hand and attempts to tugs it down and away. "I'm being myself, love, trust me." The arm about her waist, locks down tighter, to keep her in place. "Now hold still." Again, he leans forward, this time attempting to kiss the hollow of her throat.
And it's at that point that keys sound in the lock. Somebody's home.
Kestrel really isn't much of a match for Jerry strength-wise. Let's face it, she just isn't. So pulling her hand aside isn't much of a problem. Holding her -still- however, is a little trickier. "Lemme GO," she practically snarls, only redoubling her efforts at escape. It's like trying to hug a pissed-off alley cat. Only with more little plaid skirts and knee-high boots involved.
Jerry is kicked hard in the hip, a grunt of pain extended, his grip loosening at the sudden strike. Of course, a slight scratch across the face is also noticeable, and he loses his grip on the woman. Within the struggle, he doesn't hear the keys at the door.
And the door opens, revealing Shep in fully combat gear. He just stands in the doorway for a moment, before walking, well, closer to storming, in and asking, "What the /'ell/ is goin' on?"
The Later doesn't seem to have noticed the keys in the door either, amid her frantic attempts to get away. She lands hard on her rump when Jerry finally does lose his grip on her. That done, she scoots back and away from him quickly, right up until her back hits against the chair at her workbench. You know, the chair where her jacket's hanging. Shep's entrance stops her cold, though, eyes widening.
Jerry likewise looks to the doorway, and an armed and armored Sheppard. Unarmed? With a Rainbow joint sitting nearby, the whole room smelling of the potent herb. He leans back in the couch for a moment, then slowly rises to stand.
Sheppard stops halfway from the door to them, "Can someone tell me what in the name of gravy smothered meatloaf is fuckin' goin' on 'ere, or am Ah gonna 'ave ta start puttin' 'oles inna drywall?" Shep asks as Kat's pulled out. Simple motion to pull her out, load a round, flick the safety off and point the pistol at the wall, obviously practiced.
Kestrel takes a shaky breath and rubs at the bridge of her nose, continuing to sit slumped against one leg of that chair, with her legs pulled up to her chest. It's a really interesting view, but it's also probably the last thing most people would be looking at right now. "Nothin's goin' on, Shep," she says. "Nothin'. Jest... jest someone gittin' a li'l carried away's all." It's dull, that voice, and weary. "No need ta go puttin' holes in m'walls. 'R in people, neither."
Jerry remains standing, slowly bending down to pick up the joint, and place it back in his mouth. For a moment, he studies Sheppard, not looking Kes' way despite all the interesting views. Instead, he ever so slowly creeps for the door.
Sheppard nods a touch to Kes, slipping the pistol back into his kevlar. He glances to Jerry, "Where're yew 'eaded, mate?" he asks, moving to try and cut the other man off from the door, "'Aven't 'eard yah say a word,"
"Out." Jerry responds, belt in hand. "When or if I'm a little better of mind, I'll come back. Or you can find me. Right now isn't the time.
So hey, it's been a rough couple of days for Kes here. She's been shot, her best friend's leaving for awhile, and now add this latest indignity to the heap. So what's she do?
Oh yeah. She does what any girl would do. She puts her head down on her knees, and starts crying. Quietly, sure, but crying nonetheless.
Sheppard nods, letting Jerry through, "When yah come back, yew an' Ah're gonna 'ave a little talk, aye? Man ta man," he replies, he looks over to Kes before back to Jerry, "Yer fucked inna 'ead right now, so Ah ain't touchin' yah, find someplace safe, 'cause somebody else might not think like Ah do," and then the big Solan heads over towards Kes.
Jerry disappears at that, not responding.
Kestrel hasn't moved, unless you count curling up into an even smaller ball and putting her arms around her knees as moving. Nope. Still just sitting there, her arm bandaged and her shoulders hitching.
Shep gets down on a knee, wrapping one arm around Kes and trying to draw her to him, if she lets him. Not a word said though.
"Git OFFA me," Kes growls, giving a narrow-eyed glare and flailing with her hands at... oh wait, that's not Jerry. That's Shep. Right. She stares blankly for a few moments, then sighs, if anything, managing to look even more pathetic. "Jest... jumpy." She rubs at her arms, as if she were cold, and looks away. "Sorry."
Sheppard just nods a bit, replacing the arm if it got moved at all and repeating the gesture, "S'a'ight, Kes," he replies, and surprisingly soft.
Kestrel sniffles. Yes, she sniffles. She can do that, you know. "'E's higher'n hell," she mumbles. "Dunno what got inta 'im. 'E jest grabbed me an' dragged me inta 'is lap, an' 'en 'e wouldn't lemme go..." She trails off, swiping the back of one hand across her nose. Ew.
Sheppard nods a bit, wrapping the second arm around her, "Aye, could see 'ee was 'igh, gonna 'ave a talk with 'im later an' we're gonna settle 'is 'ole thing, aye?" he replies.
"Think I am a li'l bit too," Kes says, again sniffling. She leans against Shep, and takes a hitching breath or two. "Whole 'partment stinks'a whatever 'e was smokin'." There's a long pause. "Ain't gonna kill 'im, are ya?" That's offered as she wipes away tears that haven't quite stopped yet.
Sheppard shakes his head, "Naw, ain't gonna kill 'im, if 'ee ain't resonable, all Ah'll do is give 'im a few bruises ta remember by, 'at's the worst Ah'll do, yah got a promise 'ere,"
"'Kay," Kes mumbles. Still with the scooting and the leaning and all, too - she'd probably climb into Shep's lap now, if she could. "Prob'ly shouldn't care so much on 'count'a what jest happened, but... dunno. 'E was high an' bein' stupid's all." She rubs her eyes again. "Ya come home jest in time."
"Right," Shep replies with a nod, still holding on to her, "'S gonna be fin,e aye?"
Kestrel sniffs again and nods. "Dunno if I kin... y'know... be 'round 'im fer awhile," she mumbles then, just barely audible. "Was gonna shoot 'im if I hadda. Didn't wanna, but..." She shrugs. "Never had somethin' like 'is happen to me, so m'not sure what m's'poseta do now." There's an actual laugh offered at that, though it's of the nervous sort, not the amused sort.
"We're gonna 'ave a talk, an' everythin's gonna be fine, aye?" Shep replies. He doesn't seem to know what else to offer, apprently isn't the best at the whole comforting thing.
"...We're both awful sorry excuses fer what we're s'poseta be right now," Kes replies a touch wryly, leaning against Shep nonetheless. "S'okay, though, I know whatcha mean, an'... thanks, Shep." She looks down at herself for a few long moments before offering, "Mebbie I oughta start, y'know, wearin' longer skirts 'r somethin', I dunno."
"'S'up ta yah, but 'en Ah wouldn't 'ave much ta look at," Shep replies, shrugging a bit, "An' Aye, dunno what Ah'm s'posed ta be doin',"
Kestrel looks over at Shep, then reaches up to ruffle his hair a bit. "'Zactly whatcher doin'," she replies, shrugging. "Gotta say Kevlar an' hugs don' go t'gether so good, though. Jest, y'know, fer future reference." She rubs the back of her neck a bit. "Izzit stupid 'at I feel bad fer kickin' 'im?"
Sheppard shakes his head, "Naw, 'ee was jus' 'igh, can fergive 'im, so long as 'ee doesn't go 'round makin' a 'abit of it," Shep replies.
"An' people wonder why th'hell I won' touch 'at shit," Kes mutters. She looks over at Shep. "Don' even really git m'self drunk, cept with yerself." A shrug is offered, then a sigh. "Meh. Oughta at least git up off th'floor, I guess."
Sheppard nods, standing and all, he offers her a hand to help her back up, "Aye, booze is the only kinda 'at stuff Ah'll touch, don't make yah too fucked inna 'ead,"
Kestrel snorts. "Naw, jest makes me giggle inna corner an' pass out," she replies, smirking wryly, and grabbing Shep's hand to haul herself to her feet. She offers a very faint chuckle then. "What wouldja say if I askedcha ta help me out inna kitchen?"
Sheppard tilts his head to the side a touch, "Whadda yah mean 'elp yah out inna kitchen?" Shep asks, a touch confused.
"...You tell anyone I kin cook, an' I'll shootcha dead," Kes clarifies after a long pause, one hand on her hip, and the other pointing at Shep. "I mean it." She shrugs a bit. "Mostly jest thought mebbie an actual dinner 'stead'a ration bars might be nice fer once. An' wanted comp'ny. If ya don' wanna..." The Later trails off there with another shrug.
Sheppard nods a touch, "Dunno 'ow much 'elp Ah can be, an' so longas Ah don't eat no meat, sure, Ah can 'elp," Shep replies.
Kestrel shakes her head. "Wasn't even gonna ask ya to," she replies. "Don' trust it 'ere anyhow. Don' gotta wonder what a carrot's made out of -- it's jest a carrot." She bites her lip then. "Um... don' tell Seraph, 'ey? Bout Jerry, I mean. She... um..." She scuffs a foot. "She'd kill 'im. Slow an' painful, too."
Sheppard nods a bit, patting her shoulder a bit, "Wont say a word, gonna talk ta the man an' get 'is worked out, 'en 'ere wont be 'nother mention of it, aye?" he replies with a nod.
"Thanks," Kes offers, along with a nod and a faint little smile. "I don' like lyin' to 'er, but th'other choice, well, I don' like 'at, neither." She rubs her hand across her eyes, and leans against Shep again. "M'kinda torn between wantin' ya ta hurt 'im and feelin' bad fer 'im," she muses then, starting to tug Shep toward that tiny kitchen.
Sheppard follows willingly, "Aye, well, like Ah said, might give 'im a few bruises ta remember by," he replies.
Kestrel nods again. "Yer better at 'is stuff 'en ya think," she offers. There's a short pause, then the Later fairly -grins-. "Know what? Remind me next time m'on a planet what's got decent supplies ta pick up stuff ta make carrot cake for ya, wouldja?"
"Carrot cake? Damn, 'aven't 'ad 'at inna while," Shep replies, nodding, "'Course, mah sweet tooth's picked up an' left, wasn't give 'im sweets fer so long,"
"You, m'dear, deserve it," Kes replies, tapping Shep lightly on the nose, then executing a smart about-face to head into the kitchen. Right toward the fridge, in fact. And then? Well, then, she's going to have to brave what's in it.
High adventure in a Tomin Kora apartment. Who woulda thought?