2008-03-26: Dumb Luck


George_icon.gif Sierra_icon.gif

Summary: Sometimes, even when things go wrong, they still turn out okay.

Date It Happened: March 26, 2008

Dumb Luck

Apelai Restaurant, Greenwich Village

"—I mean, the place is packed with good places to eat, you know?" George gestures with his hands, ignoring the Caesar salad in favor of the old war story. "You could hit up a different one every night for as long as you could afford it, never get tired. Well, as long as you're good with seafood and spicy food. But it was the interview at Antoine's that really pushed it to the point of excess… After that, I kept it down to once a week or so, and noticed it was actually better when it did come around."

Sierra smiles at George, nodding. "Mmm, sounds quite wonderful, mon cherie. Sometimes…we need something to push us a bit to make us see that maybe something like…going out every night makes it less special. But if you merely do it once or twice a week, it can be…so very amazing." She says as a foot slowly messages his leg. She takes a bite or two out of the green salad in front of her.

George glances sharply downward for a moment. That's how this all started. "Mmm, well, there are exceptions to everything, you know?" At least for a while. "Anyway, I got to come back and have fun with it after that— every Mardi Gras we'd get an extra batch of visitors who were coming in for the party season, and of course they'd overdo everything you put in front of 'em. Then you get to hang back and snicker under your breath."

Sierra giggles lightly, pulling the fork slowly out of her mouth, nodding a little as well. "Oui, there is always the exception to la rule, non?" She smiles "Mmm, I'd love to go there one day, cherie. Truly I would. I've heard so many wonderful things!" She grins. "People can be so very etrange, oui? Sometimes you merveille ce qui continue dans leurs cerveaux." She grins.

Speaking of people getting strange ideas in their heads? Right at that point, the front door to the restaurant slams open, and a couple guys in street clothes and ski masks run in. One has a backpack wrapped tightly around his arm; the other has a gun out, the diners alternately yelling and trying to hide as he waves it around. Whatever George was going to say next is lost in the midst of all this.

Sierra watched George in anticipation for his next words…but that was cut short by the masked gunman and his friend. Her eyes visibly bulge as her fork drops out of her hand and clanks on the plate. If George were looking at her at all, he'd notice her hair changing from it's normal colour to red then blue then yellow and back to it's normal colour again.

He is, but he's not paying conscious attention to her lack of control right now. Instead, he grabs up the napkin in his lap, squeezing it as he stares at the party-crashers. They're standing right near one of the doors leading to the kitchen… but no, one of the waiters walks out of the other one instead, and promptly freaks out along with everyone else. At that point, George decides to hit the dirt himself, reaching up and grabbing at Sierra's wrist to make sure she comes with.

Sierra glances between George and the masked men. "We should do something, George!" She whispers frantically, hair starting to change colour once more, her having to actually close her eyes and concentrate to make it stop. "Let's…tackle them or something!" She whispers again. She really has no clue what she's doing, and honestly…in her heels, she's not doing any tackling, but still she hates to sit by and do nothing.

George turns to face Sierra, staring at her for a second. Did he just see—? He did. But there are more important things going on right now. "Hang on, I think I have a 'something' in mind." He reaches up toward the table again, grabbing a fork and squinting at the gunman. He'll probably only get to try this next trick once…

Sierra takes deep, regulated breaths, clinging to George, though not too tightly. "What're you doing, George?" She asks quietly. She furrows her brow as she watches him grab a fork. She just about asks him what he's going to do…but he looks so concentrated, she's almost afraid to ask him or he'll lose concentration.

What he does is fling it at the guy's side. Not very well, though; it misses by a couple feet, clattering against the side of the dessert cart. Both men whirl around, arguing briefly and then making a dash toward the back— and then the doors slam open again, this time thanks to a pair of uniformed NYPD. Both with sidearms out. The masked gunman glances toward a potential hostage, but instead goes back to the original plan. There's a dual commotion from the kitchen staff as they try to escape out the back, and the patrons out in front as the cops press their pursuit.

Sierra wraps her arms around George, clinging, leaning her head against his shoulder. She heaves a few deep breaths as the men try to escape through the kitchen and the cops pursue. "I'm glad I was with you, cherie." She whispers into his ear, not moving for the moment. "Merci, moi grand cherie."

George sighs. "Thanks, but… I don't know, I wish I'd been able to slow them down long enough for the cops to catch up. I was so close, I could feel it!" Having burned through his frustration, he slowly climbs back up into general sight. "Let's get the rest of this to go, all right? I need to lie down for a while. And… I think we've got some more things to talk about." Fingers reach out, brushing the tips of Sierra's hair. Oh, he noticed that, all right.

Sierra nods, slowly standing up alongside George. "Ou…oui. I think that would be for the best." She says, looking down at the salad, suddenly not feeling too hungry. She doesn't like violence too much (who does?). While George's hand brushes her hair, she lets one of her hands softly fold over it, gently guiding it. She doesn't know he saw…she doesn't think anyone saw.

Once the food is brought out, it's a simple matter of getting it boxed up - at least once the other shell-shocked diners with the same idea get tired of waiting for the help to get over their shell shock, and just start heading back to grab the containers themselves. George waits until he and Sierra are a fair distance away from the rest of the crowd before he leans in and murmurs in her ear. "So do you always react this way when you get really excited?"

Still clinging close to George, Sierra looks at him with curious, wide eyes. "What do you mean, mon cherie?" She asks curiously. "Do I always…cling to the closest attractive man when I'm scared?" She shakes her head. "Not always. It…it just so happened I clung to you because I happen to feel safe with you."

"No," he replies, "I meant the other thing. I don't think that particular shade of blue even existed in nature. Well, until now." Having said that, George falls quiet, waiting for the Don't Walk sign to change, and for the implications to sink in.

Sierra doesn't realize what George is talking about for a few seconds before her eyes widen some more, if that's even possible. "Oh…cherie! I had hoped you would not see that!" She takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. "I have a terrible secret, mon cherie. It is one that only two or three people have ever known about me!"

George turns, staring into her eyes, and setting the to-go bag down on a nearby bench so he can focus. "What, that you're a chameleon? I don't see what's so terrible about that— there are much crazier things running around. People turning invisible. People flying…" He doesn't go so far as to blurt anything out about his own ability, but if he knows about them already, then it's a fair bet that he has something. Or he's a UFO nut, but that doesn't fit with anything else that's been seen of him.

While he's talking, a woman in rags walks by, grabbing the bag and setting it into her shopping cart. Good thing the McDonald's around the corner is still open…

Sierra blinks a little, nodding. "Pretty much. I can change my hair colour, my skin colour, my height and weight…though this is my natural weight, I'll tell you now. And…I can turn into other people and look and sound like them." She says quietly. "I didn't want to tell you because I thought you'd freak out. My brother did at first." She furrows her brow. "What are you talking about? People turning invisible and flying? Have you heard of other…strange people like me?"

"Not exactly like you," says George, "but… different, yes. I don't know how many there are." Well, she came out with the whole spiel right away, it's only right that he reciprocate: "I can… make unusual things happen. Unlikely things. Like 'hey, let's have someone walk out that door right now and bump that other guy'. It doesn't work sometimes… but I can feel when it does. Like all the hair on my arms wants to stand up and dance a conga."

Sierra leans her head against George's. "Quite the pair, aren't we?" She says softly, a touch of a smile on her face. "But I'm glad that if I had to be with anyone right now, it's you. And that you of all people found out." She lets a small sigh of relief out.

George steals a kiss - and another, for good measure - then turns back to retrieve the… bag. Which is gone. "Mmm. Let's go get something else to go?" A hand reaches out toward one of hers as he continues back toward the apartment.

Sierra doesn't push back from either kiss. In fact, she encourages the second one. And as she looks around…"Where's the…" She frowns deeply. "Oui, perhaps that would be for le meilleur." She says with a nod, following George with a hand locked in his.

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