milliways_bar | (no subject)

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(no subject)

[OOM: the night is quickly passing]

The door opens, but nothing happens at once. A shadow is cast over the floor from the world beyond, but she doesn't move, perhaps teetering on the indecision of whether or not to enter, though this wouldn't be apparent from her stance.

Eventually, however, she does enter. A short figure in tennis shoes, jeans, and a red hooded sweatshirt that's much too big for her, hanging down to nearly her knees and the pulled-up hood entirely obscuring her face. A clear plastic bag swings loosely from her right hand; she moves to close the door again, and then without looking around, with the calm demeanor of one walking through an empty, silent room, she steps to the closest chair she can find, and slips into it.

The apples in the bag are placed on the table in front of her, and very quickly, her knees curl up into her chest, and she pulls her shirt over them, entirely enveloping herself in it.

And then, once again, she doesn't move.

[ooc: Not plotlocked, but any threads will take place prior to the one with X.]

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X's nostrils flare as she catches a scent that hasn't been around the bar for --

Well, for quite some time.

She's moving less than half a second after that, footsteps silent and quick across the floor of the bar.

Crowds are not relevant.

And when she's close enough (and after doing a quick check for wounds and illness) --

"Elle."

Elle's eyes had been facing straight ahead, in the direction of the bar, though with no movement to suggest she had been watching anything in particular.

They flicker over at the sound of her name, and then, stay on X.

But Elle doesn't move any more than this.

X does not look away.

And, very carefully, she moves a little closer.

Silently.

She still doesn't answer.

But in a stilted, if not uncertain movement, she lifts her right arm, holding out her hand to X.

X reaches out to take it, tangling her fingers with Elle's.

Tightly.

But carefully, too.

It takes a moment, but Elle's fingers curl around hers in return.

And then, very quickly and maybe too abruptly, she stands from the chair, and moves to draw her other arm around X, pulling her into an embrace that, aside from the suddenness of it, is not so different from any time she's done it before.

Except, perhaps, that she's still silent.

X's eyes go wide, but she has the presence of mind to hold back a flinch.

And a few seconds after that she hugs back, grip tightening gradually.

She does not want to hurt Elle.

Just in case.

And a little while after that --

"Elle."

Beat.

"You are not okay."

"I'm sorry."

She pulls back, breathing heavily as though she'd just come off a run. Her demeanor couldn't be more different from a moment before - she breaks away from X, even releasing her hand, and looks about ready to pull her hood down, though she stops mid-movement. Instead, she finally glances around the room, seeming to take it in for the first time.

"I -"

Elle looks back to X, and breaks off. Without speaking, though hardly as still as before, she reaches out, and touches the tips of X's hair, like it was something she'd never done before.

Then, meets X's eyes once more.

Quietly, "Can you take me to the cells?"

"No, you -- "

There is a moment where X looks painfully young, confused and maybe a little afraid.

For Elle.

For what happened that she does not know about.

Then --

"You do not have to be sorry."

She moves toward the other woman again, reaching out carefully to press against her shoulder, just the once.

"I am allowed to ask why?"

She blinks at the touch.

And then, after a moment, she even smiles, though there's not much mirth in it.

"I don't want to say it here."

"Okay."

X's response is prompt.

"We can -- "

She pauses for a second, flicking a glance at the front door.

"The cells are okay. Or my world. If -- "

She falls silent, awkwardly.

Elle has, after all, made her request. But. X worries.

But Elle shakes her head.

"I can't -"

Her voice breaks off - she looks down to the floor, and then up again.

"It has to be down there."

"Okay," X repeats.

And --

"Now is good?"

Edited 2011-05-09 02:40 (UTC)

She twists back, reaching out to grab the bag of apples from the table.

But then she nods, and answers, "Yeah."

This time X does not bother speaking.

She just looks at Elle for a few long moments, then -- pace slow -- starts heading for the cells.

Elle follows, no hesitation or trepidation in her steps.

However, after a moment, she does move to walk in line with X, rather than behind her.

X shifts just enough that her arm brushes Elle's as they walk.

Whose comfort it is meant for is, perhaps, up in the air.

She returns the gesture, but doesn't speak. Not even when they're out of the bar; even standing aside X, she follows, and seems to wait for her.

Once inside the Security office, X hesitates again, half-turning to look at Elle.

Is this enough, or will it be better if X escorts her into a cell?

Elle offers a small half-smile, maybe in an effort at something like reassurance.

But she tells her, "Wherever."

Apparently, it's the latter.

"Okay," X repeats.

Then heads for a cell a little farther toward the back.

Maybe it will even result in more than the illusion of privacy.

Elle follows, and even steps in first.

But she calls back, over her shoulder. "You can come in."

"I can't hurt you."

X doesn't hesitate in passing the threshold.

Her tension does not markedly increase when the door closes behind them, either.

"I am not afraid. Of that."

Not now, anyway.

Not --

Not now.

Elle turns to the cot, though she makes no motion to sit. A fresh set of clothes, as well as a tray with a bowl of water and washcloth, appear on it the moment X closes the door.

And for the first time since she put it on before leaving Hartsdale, Elle pulls off the hooded sweatshirt. Her cropped hair settles over her shoulders, and the blood that stains her blouse and the thigh of her jeans where the bullet went through is has long since dried.

She drops the shirt on the floor, and picks up the cloth. It's the only mark of hesitation she shows; before she touches it to the water, she looks back to X, keeping the other woman in her line of sight as she uses it to clean off her hands.

X does not look like she wants to cry.

Like she wants to kill something (or someone), yes.

But not like she wants to cry.

She is not built for it.

She does, however, shift position so that she is not blocking Elle's access to the door.

Just in case she needs it.