2007-10-02: Everything's Gonna Be Alright


Felix_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif

Summary: The culmination of Mariska's mood-swinging misadventures in dreamland and abroad. She seeks comfort in a lie. Felix obliges.

Date It Happened: October 2nd, 2007

Everything's Gonna Be Alright

Queens, NYC - Felix's Apartment

The hour is… late. Midnight came and went almost four hours ago and still Mariska hasn't managed to make it home. Regardless of her 'woman's prerogative' to be fashionably late to any occasion, this is really pushing it.

Fel is not usually a worrywart. But he has some awful insomnia, and his own personal gremlins are out and dancing tonight. He doesn't drink alone unless absolutely desperate, so he's actually sober. But he's sprawled on the couch, in pajama pants and t-shirt, patiently watching his way through some samurai movie with a bored expression, gaze occasionally flickering to the clock in the room.

Barely audible over the sound of clashing samurai swords is a noise on the outside stairwell that suggests someone's making the trek all the way up to the sixth floor. Slowly but surely. The neighbors were in hours ago and, given the time, someone's either really lost, really drunk, or the bearer of really bad news. There's silence for a moment and then…

Knock, knock.

Oh, shit. It can't be Misha… 'cause she'd totally jump in, right? Fel zombie-shuffles to the door and slowly creaks it open. He's hollow-eyed and dull at the moment. And unparanoid enough that he's -not- got a gun in hand.

Or, maybe it can be Misha. That's certainly what it looks like, at least. She's all natty, dark hair and red-rimmed, pale eyes wearing a mask of exhaustion and defeat. «I don't have a key,» she utters, voice small and pathetic. So, why didn't she just take the easy way in?

He stares at her, owlishly. «You couldn't jump in?» he wonders, ushering her in. «Honey, you look awful. What happened?» The door is shut gently behind her, and the cats both bolt for her ankles to comfort her.

Mariska has little care for any brand of cat comfort bestowed upon her tonight. She's been through hell and back in half a day and there's likely very little that a pair of felines named after firearms can other her other than furry obstacles to avoid on her way to slumping onto the couch. «I had her,» she murmurs to the floor. «I had her right in my arms.»

Fel settles by her, stroking her hair. Maybe it's the hour, maybe be it's how pitiful she seems, but he's actually tender. «Who? Sasha?» he murmurs, trying to let her rest her head on his shoulder.

The woman's spine bends in easy compliance, no longer rigid with intensity or stiff with shock, and she bows her head to rest temple and cheek on Felix's shoulder without protest. «Yes.» Her eyebrows dart upwards briefly, face flickering brighter for a single syllable.

«What happened? Last I heard, she was in the care of some doctor,» he murmurs, though it's almost meaningless noise, really.

Breaking free of her zombie state, Mariska suddenly lifts up both arms from her sides and throws them around Felix's neck, clinging to him bodily as a heavy shudder sure to herald imminent sobbing shakes her shoulders. «She's so dangerous,» she confesses on the cusp of crying.

"Sssshhh," he soothes, putting his arms around her gently, and nuzzling the side of her face. It's not the usual prelude to one dragging the other into the bedroom, for once. «What does she -do-? I realize I don't even know, and no one's ever said. Is it really all that horrible?»

It takes her a little while to compose herself, nerves already so sluggish and frayed; it's all she can do to just cling and cry. However, eventually, she sucks it up enough to speak and withdraws from Felix so that she can wipe her eyes with the palms of her hands and then let her pale eyes rove around the living room as if she'd never seen it before. «She's… she can… make us stronger. She can amplify the things we do, but we don't have any control over it when she does.» Thin fingers are drawn to thin lips and she finally consents to look her 'husband' in the eyes. «She jumped me backwards six times before I was finally able to stop.»

He stiffens in her arms. «Holy God. No wonder they're so careful about where they put her,» he says, wonderingly. « An amplifier, of all things.» Mental note: get sterilized as soon as possible, lest you produce something even worse.

It gets worse. «They think I… tried to take her back.» Which is, you know, kinda sorta almost true. Ish. In an attempt to preemptively defend herself, however, Mariska's quick to state: «That man in the glasses shot someone in front of her!» See? Totally justified in kidnapping.

Man in the— ? «Bennett? He killed someone? Why?» Felix isn't entirely unprepared to believe it. Noah has 'cold motherfucking spook' written all over him, after all.

«I don't know,» she confesses with an accompanying shrug. She makes a little wibbling noise, as if uncertain of her own emotional state - is she going to start crying again or is it safe to just sniffle the snot back up into her nose and maybe take a moment to remove her shoes? «We ended up at this little cafe where I'd had lunch.» Oh, look. Storytime's not over yet. «And there were all these people… some of them… she made them do things. They just…» Throwing chairs at people and overloading like electrical transformers. «She couldn't help it!»

«Nor could they, huh? She made all the evolved in the area go haywire?» he prompts, pulling a handkerchief from somewhere and offering it to her. Aw, sniffles.

Cue the magic bag, right? Mariska takes the handkerchief in hand and dabs her face with it gently in some misguided attempt to remain feminine despite the crazy goings-on. «I feel asleep on the street and there was this awful dream and… when I woke up…» Oh no. Here it comes again.

«She was gone?» He fills in for her. Because where that was going was obvious. «Does the Company have her?» Wow, Captain Unflappable sounds actually anxious.

In an attempt to keep herself from careening over the edge of control and down into despair again, Mariska focuses on another emotion. «That bitch you call a friend pulled a gun on me.» Specifically, anger. «She took Sasha.»

«I….shit.» Fel says, bluntly. «Where is Sasha now? Didn't they take her while you slept? Why'd you fall asleep - was it Winters?»

Mariska's hands suddenly fly up to either side of her head as she attempt to explain in frantic gesture that, «I don't know! I don't know where they took her! There was so much… what does Benjamin have to do with anything??» Though, he was there. She doesn't comprehend the possible connection; she's ignorant of the man's abilities.

He takes a deep breath, before he explains. «Hey, hey. Don't panic. We're just back to square one. Winters, I think, has a knockout power. IF he was present along with Damaris, it might've been him.»

It's hard for her to stay calm. This is what the (not-so) human body does when a person's running on logical and emotional empty. «They're not going to give her back! Not after this…»

«Hey, hey. Don't get to thinking about it like that,» Fel says, as quietly as he can manage. «Don't give up hope.»

In a fit of suddenly restlessness, Mariska launches herself up from the couch and begins to pace a little path across the living room floor, gnawing at the nail of her right-hand ringfinger with each step.

After several long minutes of observed fretting without forced cessation, Mariska finally concedes to seek out whatever sort of cold comfort she might be able to find in the kitchen… maybe something in a tall bottle from the refrigerator door.

Oh, now he follows, heeding the siren song of a bottle of vodka. Like he needs to drink more. Well, maybe it will calm her down.

Ah. There it is. Sweet, honey-labeled Kubanskaya. The vodka doesn't care that she nearly precipitated world destruction tonight… nor does it say a thing about how she looks or the sort of trouble she might be in because of it. And it certainly doesn't whisper a word about how she's so easily slipped into her own mother's shoes without so much as trying. Nope. None of that. The only thing the booze does once she's gotten the lid off is burn a happy trail down the back of her throat and swiftly encourage her to let go. Of everything. Just for a little while.

Fel isn't gonna argue with her about it. Not this time. He just waits impatiently for his turn.
No. None for you. Mariska has a stranglehold grip on the bottle's neck while she keeps it nestled snugly to her chest. She nips from the lip and just eyes the man who's joined her in the kitchen now to, what, silently watch her drink, too? «What?» she gruffs.

«If you're going to get drunk, I want to, too,» he says, bluntly. Hey, the drunken sex is great, right?

Fine. Mariska reluctantly reduces her hold on the bottle to something that Felix might be able to pry from her fingers prior to death. She takes one last swig before handing it over. Here. Take it.

Ooh, we're drinking from the bottle now? How couth. And how have the mighty fallen. Fel takes a hearty swallow, before handing it back.

Better judgment proscribes this as a path best left alone. Don't go this route. Not again. Unfortunately, better judgment vacated the tri-state area about, oh, fourteen hours ago and so now Mariska and Felix are left to fend for themselves against the onslaught of deceptively effective defense mechanisms. Drowning your sorrows? Totally safe. When she seeks to reclaim the bottle, she also reclaims the man, one hand laid on each neck and drawn in closer.

Fel lets himself be drawn in. Hey, there is totally room in that bottle for the both of them. It's that good. HE sidles up to her, still quiet, putting an arm around her ribs.

«Tell me everything will be okay,» she says, pressing her cheek against his shirted shoulder, bottle held between them. She doesn't dare cast a look up into the corner of the room for fear of being caught in Mother Mary's benevolent and judgmental gaze. Saints are so hypocritical. You just know Mary boozed it up a time or two… with her gay husband, Joseph. Immaculate conception indeed.

Thereby hangs a tale. «It will all be fine,» he assures her, with great solemnity. «We'll figure out a way around this,» He nuzzles blindly into her hair, inhaling the scent.

And, you know what? She believes him. Why? Because, for some unexplainable reason, Mariska's manages to find just about anything Felix says believable… even when she knows he's lying. She buys into just about everything he's selling at a base level. But, uh, not that she'd ever tell him that. Some secrets not even the drunk slightly inebriated will confess to.

Well, he is clean-cut and square-jawed and eminently believable, really. When he's sincere. «Come on. Let's go sit down before we bump into something,» he urges, putting a hand in the small of her back so he can steer her to the couch.

Alright, but, our buddy the bottle is coming along, too. Mariska makes it her mission in life to ensure that that vodka bottle finds its way to wherever she's steered fully intact though slightly less full. Couch? Okay. Hello couch. She looks down at the furniture a bit balefully before taking a seat with a little, shoulder-slumping fwump.

Fel sits her down, gently extracts the bottle from her grip, and sets it on the cheap-ass IKEA coffee table, before drawing her head to his shoulder again.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License