Eleanor
Maybe once Highlands Ranch was a Colorado wasteland: scrub & guns & hard men & harder women and such vistas such air such air to break a heart and make one forget how to breathe to make the blood burble with oxyginated joy. Maybe once Highlands Ranch was something spare: spartan. Now it is an affluent suburb of Denver, Colorado. The houses are strung up in lights (Lucent Corporation has taken root here: burn brightly, it says, and also, burn -- come to me, little Moths), pale and warm gold for Christmas still. The avenues are strung up in lights and it is still a festival of loveliness.
The streets themselves are empty, emptying: but in one of those affluent houses near Highlands Ranch's downtown area there is a party thrown by somebody named Celeste Samuels who has hinted she might be willing to finance an artist's dreams for a traveling troupe, and all through the party Celeste Samuels laughed with horsey teeth and gave encouragement without any sort of commitment. There is a broad parking lot nearby for spill-over from the party, a parking lot outside a health food store that is closed where no one will prosecute. In one of the cars outside the health food store there is a cop who is planted there, bitter and grudging and annoyed, breath frosting, because he is staking something out: a thankless job. His partner has absconded. He's all alone.
And somewhere in this morass is Eleanor, and somewhere is Magdalena.
Let's find out where Magdalena is first.
Magdalena
The streets are emptying and tghe party was nice enough, but Maggie had some things to do later on tonight and she had the excuse that someone was going to be in her building tomorrow to fix the heater. She was living ina rather lovely apartment heated via a space heater at the moment. She liked living in town. She liked the convenience that it afforded her. She liked the fact that she didn't have to drive because it had been an outright ordeal to get here.
Uber will take anyone anywhere, though, and for a reasonable fair. Celeste Samuels, who seemed like a nice enough woman (Maggie, you're far too nice), wasn't really willing to commit to some kind of donation to start up a legitimate touring performance troupe and while Maggie was not a businesswoman she knew when she was in the company of people who just wanted names at her party. She's had a few people call her for things like that, moreso now that she was less with Marshall. The divorce was proving to be a little messy; Magdalena didn't actually want anything out of the divorce. He was the one that was dragging it out.
Well, Madison and Marshall both were dragging it out. Madison wanted the opportunity to drag Marshall across the coals one more time. Maggie really just wanted to make sure that she got to keep most of her shoes. She didn't want the jewelry, she didn't want the car or the summer house. She just wanted to make sure that she got to keep her shoes, which wasn't a particularly terrible request. She had some very nice dresses and some very nice shoes, and she was having a terrible time proving what she had purchased with her money and what Marshall purchased with his.
Madison said it didn't matter, that because of the lack of pre-nup she was entitled to way more than she was actually wanting to get. Maggie wasn't sure if Madison took the case for personal reasons or not. She didn't want Marshall to be unhappy-
And that was what she was thinking about when she stood peering inside of the window at the health food store for a second. She wonders if she should go back to the party. It's cold and she's wearing a black pants suit and her heels are so impossibly tall. All black. Black hat, black gloves, black coat, black suit.
Bright. Red. Lipstick.
False eyelashes with the tiniest of rhinestones hidden in them
Magdalena
[Per+alert, so alert!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )
Eleanor
The health food store's window reflects Maggie back to Maggie; it shades her big eyes, but the sparkle of the rhinestones and the red of her lips are vibrant; the only thing vibrant in the window's world, with everything else a wash - and Maggie sees it. A movement behind her, beneath a truck (it does not have a policeman in it; he's two rows back and three cars over). Hands. Hears, too, the treble whisper - a quality to it like wax hardening: like it is blanched, blanching - " - miss? Help. Come here." Please.
Magdalena
She hears something, hears someone ask for help and her eyebrows raise up and something stirs inside of her and of course she would help, of course she would, because she can't stand the idea that someone or something could suffer. Stepped on a dying bird once as a mercy killing like that song said and Maggie literally couldn't sleep for a week. Cried every time she went outside and heard the little things twitter up in their nest in the tree.
She'd stepped on the poor thing because the neighborhood cats wouldn't leave the poor thing alone. This was in Poland, years and years ago. She remembers crying to her mother about it. Remembers the poor, poor bird and being so, so sad that she couldn't help it more than she had. It took her awhile to figure out that she had, in fact, helped it.
It is off to the truck. Click-click-click on her impossible heels and the normally small woman crouches by the truck, crouches where she thinks she heard the sound.
"Everything is good?"
No, everything is not good.
Eleanor
The woman beneath the truck looks as if the cold has settled into her bones. Her skin is a certain kind of pallor, a translucent look: a black and white photograph look. Her pupils are dilated and her hair is a bright, dirt-draggled thing, the remnants of a curl pulled into lank hanks down over her forehead. There is a dirt scrape there, leaving behind its ghost. She has no gloves. She has no jacket. Her chin has a cleft: an errant mark of heroism - an errant delicacy, even, in the proud features that are just now - well. Does it matter? The woman is beneath a fucking truck, her hands splayed, fingers rigid, and look: is she shivering? There is a rigid sort of stillness to her, a stiffness to her shoulders: control is sometimes savage and it is taking all the savagery she can summon up to control herself, or so it seems.
Maggie comes close and the woman, who is Eleanor, speaks n that low voice - the kind of voice that would hide beneath the wind - fixing her eyes on Maggie's face. Says, "No. Will you help me?"
Her gaze would implore right now; some other night, she might close her eyes so as not to remember her gaze can become so imploring. This is not some other night; this is tonight.
"I would myself, but - but I am under a truck," a faint, wry smile; tight as a flinch. "Already I am not doing very well."
Magdalena
"Of course I will help you," doesn't even ask what it is, because surely it dawns on her but the woman is so pale and so cold and she looks like she is in such dire straits- and look! Look at her, beneath a truck without gloves or a jacket and Maggie is already unwinding her scarf, black (sosoft), to hand it to the woman. Maggie has a dozen scarves. Just because this one is expensive doesn't mean that it is her favorite.
She wears her favorite things when she doesn't have to impress people.
Eleanor
The black scarf so soft is so dark against the parking lot's asphalt and the cold woman's pallor. Eleanor's throat works: pride is bitterest gall. Her throat is a long elegance. The woman presses her lips together, darts a quick glance across the rest of the parking lot: gaze skimming, but from Eleanor's position she sees no other feet except for Maggie's.
She tries to look at Maggie, but willing one's eyes to focus doesn't work when one's eyes are so bad are so dreary so instead she just blinks a couple of times and there's no time for that (for the knot of despair), the woman says: "My thanks. Act as if you did not see me or are not speaking to me. There is a man in one of these cars. I can't let him see me and I can't," she pauses.
The pause is accompanied by a little tremor; must be a latent reaction to the cold. Her fingers work, grimy sooty sparkles from asphalt working into the grains of her skin. "I can't let him notice me."
Magdalena
She nods once, twice, a third time as though this solidified it for her. Someone was looking for this woman, the one under the car, and she couldn't let the man in the car know that she was there. She had to get away. There was danger, yes danger, and this could very well be terrible and Maggie- poor darling with her soft heart and her aching sense of well being. The one who couldn't stand pain and suffering and misery and woe-
She looks away as though she had just dropepd something, was staying herself down by the car while she looked along the way. The woman couldn't let the man notice her.
Maggie straightened up-
"How long will it take for you to get somewhere safe?"
Eleanor
This entire time Eleanor's voice has barely lifted above a whisper. If sound were as tenuous as foam on a wave so is her voice, and she opens her mouth as if to respond. Her huge pupils tighten become small then open again and she licks the side of her lower lip, then the inside of her mouth, tasting crumbs of dirt or blood or something. "I don't know," she says, "I have lost all my guile; I don't know this street. There is a cinema nearby?" Slender pause. "I am behaving like a fool," and she sounds as savage as the tight curl of her fingers, this time Magdalena's scarf caught in their wake drawn close and the woman shakes her head bright coil hank of lank hair fanning over half her face. "But if he doesn't see me leave, that's something. That's a start. You're truly kind if you are helping me."
Magdalena
Maggie looks left, then right, and whispers quickly.
"If you have somewhere to go, I can give you a ride- is it safe?"
Oh her poor heart. Her poor, poor warm heart all broken and woeful for the woman under the car because she seems to be in such danger and oh how it hurts. How it makes her heart stir in a sad and low way. She would do anything to make it okay, and oh how obvious that is.
Eleanor found a darling, hopeful little rube.
Eleanor
"Is it?" as echo to Narcissus, those two pale words given shape by breath, and a false breath too. The tongue rests behind the teeth top of mouth on the t-sound after a hesitation a click. Eleanor closes her eyes for a moment. Opens them, after licking the inside of her mouth again; perhaps she was punched and the flesh is tender. "I don't think anything ever is, but it is safer to be born than it is to not be born." Her face doesn't relax but thaws just so there's a glimmer of what must be her more natural warmth; "Do you drive well?"
Magdalena
"No?" she offers an apologetic look, "but I have GPS? So directions are no problem?"
When she talks, it sounds as though most things are a question, but she's fishing her keys out for this strange woman, out of her pocket and she leaves them on the ground, just like she had given the woman her scarf, just like she had given the woman her breakable heart. Oh, poor Eleanor. Poor, darling woman with her real and true distress and her terrible predicament that the artist can only imagine.
Her imagination is keen. Who knows what horrible world she has built for this poor darling to survive.
Eleanor
A beat. No extra sound from Eleanor, no inhale, no rustle, no unnecessary movement, she is an economical creature, an economy of movement. A beat, and then, no move to take the keys but, "Where is your car?"
Magdalena
[Police guy, whatcha doing?]
Magdalena
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 7, 9) ( success x 2 )
Eleanor
He is a shadow in his car, his secret car, his car parked two lines down and how ever many cars away, but he is a shadow leaning forward; looking around. His eyes are blue but Maggie won't be able to tell that from her vantage; still, they're a particularly shocking kind of blue. He's drumming his thumbs and fingers against the steering wheel as if they're wings, antsy. He is looking in their direction, but not exactly yet. A slow survey. Waiting, maybe.
Magdalena
"It is gray audi by Strickheimer's," she nods in the direction. It's a nice enough part of town that they can afford to have a jewelry store out here and people will actually shop there. Maggie straightens, looks at the policeman and straightens out her coat to complete her straightening. Exhales and nods, decides that she is going to go talk to the officer.
Eleanor
Eleanor curls her fingers into the asphalt. There is dirt in their creases, flecks of mica and silica, dirt under her nails. The flesh beneath the dirt is un-scraped, is whole. She rests her forehead against the ground and then gathers herself to look for the gray audi. There it is. She could disappear yesternight. She pushes at herself to disappear again, but it is no good at all. Something causes her to look sharp to the left, but that something must be paranoia. Must be paranoia, not the sound too far away for unaugmented ears to hear of footfalls in a particular cadence. Her wits have become undone.
She looks from the audi to Magdalena, waiting to take her cue (does she sneak over now?) from the young woman.
Who has decided to go talk to the officer.
The officer who, a shadow a skulk a nothing much, passes his eyes over Magdalena and makes a mental note or two, flips the radio. He's not supposed to be playing the radio, but everybody does it and he has it on low. Life on Mars, the song.
Magdalena
She knocks on the window. Waits like a small and polite person and turns herself in such a fashion that it would be difficult to see and escaping Eleanor. There is a small flip of her coat, as though she had to adjust the pants suit underneath it. If ever there was a signal, Maggie doing a brief flash of her clothed rear end would be one.
She smiles politely and asks-
"Pardon? I am needing of assistance?"
Eleanor
The policeman is of hispanic or italian descent. Creased forehead, creases around the eyes that could be mean or smiley, plush lips that are well-moulded, peach-fuzz instead of a legitimate beard, a face that isn't quite handsome or plain or ugly, and soulful brown eyes. He has an elegant hunch to his shoulders and he frowns at Magdalena, looking her over shrewdly. The window rolls down.
"What?"
Magdalena
[Wits+Performance: I am clever, I promise!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 5, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]
Magdalena
[Alan: per+aware]
Dice: 5 d10 TN8 (1, 2, 3, 7, 7) ( botch x 1 )
Magdalena
[Alan: int+occult]
Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (3, 4, 4, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
Magdalena
[Alan: per+aware (again)]
Dice: 5 d10 TN8 (1, 3, 5, 7, 8) ( success x 1 )
Magdalena
[Alan: int+occult again!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (1, 5, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )
Magdalena
Maggie speaks English.
Maggie speaks English just fine, even if her syntax is off sometimes, she does have a command of the language that allows her to be understood by people and understood easily if you are actually paying attention to what she is saying and not nitpicking on grammar.
"I am believing my-" she gestures with her hands, makes a small box with a little lid "... ehhh... portmonetka-torba-" she shakes her head "-money holder? Is missing?"
She shakes her head again.
"I am not having my license to drive to go home? What do I do?"
Eleanor
Meanwhile, Eleanor: sneak. Stealth + Dex.
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
Eleanor
Meanwhile, Cop, Notice Things. +1 diff because Maggie is distracting him.
Dice: 5 d10 TN7 (2, 4, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
Eleanor
No Ties In Jessland. Stealth-again.
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 7, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )
Eleanor
Notice Things!
Dice: 5 d10 TN7 (1, 4, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
Eleanor
I SAID NO TIES, DAMN IT.
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 4, 5, 9, 9) ( success x 2 )
Eleanor
Dice: 5 d10 TN7 (3, 3, 3, 4, 4) ( fail )
Eleanor
The policeman is paying attention to his surroundings, but he doesn't have a chance with Maggie's delightful personage plopped right in his line of vision of his line of vision was going to notice someone gathering herself up and doing a low to the ground run before flattening on the asphalt again near the gray audi in request. Eleanor is a shadow! But her bright hair flashes in his mirror, and it doesn't even matter: He's looking at Maggie.
Shifts in place, turning the radio down. "Lady just drive the speed limit and when you get home call and report your license stolen."
Magdalena
She smiles, big and bright and happy and as though this police man has made her day! As though he is a wonderful creature deserving of praise! As though he is a number of wonderful things and she would hug him if he were not in his car and her enthusiasm is infectious, you see. She's just such a ball of happy.
"I will not be speeding? And I will go home." So pleased, so pleased that he helped her, "Thank you so much!"
And thus, off to her car. Slowly. Looking at windows and things as she goes.
Magdalena
{I am alert!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )
Eleanor
As she makes her way back to her car, Magdalena is conscious of two things. 1. The policeman is watching her still. She can feel his gaze on the nape of her neck, long after it should have moved. He must be waiting to see if she gets in the car. 2. There is a flurry of shadows at the mouth of the alley to the strip mall beside this one, cast in rapid-fire succession against the stucco wall: vaguely human, the movement of those shadows.
Eleanor has the spine of her back rigid but not quite pressed against the little Audi's door, just in case it has an alarm. The woman is listening hard, as if listening is the only thing that is keeping her alive. Adrenaline has her drawn as tight as a thread about to snap, and should Maggie come near enough her car to see Eleanor, the woman casts (still imploring) a wide-eyed look her way. One fist is pressed against her heart.
Magdalena
Maggie does walk to her car, walks slowly because she is wearing impossible heels and the police man is still watching her. She knows he is watching her. She can feel it and something about it seems strange- why is he still watching? Maybe he is concerned- the little solf-hearted thing does not necessarily assume other people share her sentiments.
Maggie heads to her car, back to the gray Audi and she stops, reaches under a wheel well and produces- AHA! A spare key, because if she is going to say that her wallet purse whatever is missing and she doesn't have her license, it makes sense that her car keys would be missing too. That she would need to drive home with the spare she'd hidden elsewhere (thank you magnetic hide-a-key systems).
She unlocks the back door, leaving the door wide open and leaning into the car. She goes bottoms up, appears to be rifling through her back seat. Goes around the car to do the same thing. Is on Eleanor's side when she opens the back door, "c'mon," she whispers before going in and scooting herself across the seat. She's looking for something, or at least looks like she's looking for something.
She is a performance artist. The production, though slight, is believable. Maggie knows how to make everyday life spring from random places.
Eleanor
The cop continues to watch for a while. Whatever it is he's been told to keep an eye out for, he isn't seeing it, and Maggie's bottom presents an intriguing alternative to gazing at a whole lot of nothing. If the cop notices the shadows or deduces what it is they mean, he doesn't feel motivated to get out of his car. Is he still watching?
He gets a phone call.
The performance artist is a brilliant performer. An artist. A slice of life crafter, shaper, clay-maker -- smasher of boundaries by drawing those boundaries, the business of daily living: Magdalena can produce it.
Eleanor nods twice, wide eyes flashing toward the parking lot before she pushes herself up and slinks across the back seat. She stays low, pressing herself hard to the leather, and doesn't close the door. That would look awfully suspicious.
But she's in, sticking to silence for now.
Magdalena
And Maggie sighs- oh how she sighs before she climbs out of the backseat, not an awkward bone in her body as she goes and shuts the door. It's all so practiced.
Soon enough, she climbs into her front seat, starts the car, and begins her innocuous escape. Even turns on the radio.
"And I've got one hand in my po-ckeeeet," Maggie sings.
Eleanor
[NPC Auspex Doom?]
Dice: 2 d10 TN8 (3, 6) ( fail )
Eleanor
[--and we fade-out with Maggie driving off, an Oblivious Cop & Mystery NPC, and a Very Scared Vampire Lady in Maggie's backseat. WHAT WILL HAPPEN?
NEXT TIME OOOON --
Vampire: Denver.]
