2009-10-28: Geeksicle

Starring:

Bert_V4icon.pngTracy_V4icon.png

Date: October 28th, 2009

Summary:

Cat-fight, 'nuff said.


"Geeksicle"

Washington D.C. - Ivory's Apartment

Ivory Wynn is not home.

Someone is in his home, however — the vast, modern D.C. apartment belonging to the NY Senator has a visitor, if one can call her such. Is someone still a visitor if the person they're visiting isn't home?

Such details aren't on the mind of Tracy, who seems to have no qualms at letting herself in with a key (which she never did ask for). Back from another excursion to NYC, it could be construed that she's waiting for Ivory to appear. Lavish welcome home? Not exactly. She's busying herself with a slew of folders, files and her laptop, all spread out on the black coffee table in the middle of the living room. It's late in the evening; every now and then she glances at her slender wristwatch.

Touching the un-inked end of a pen to the side of her mouth, Tracy eventually leaves work behind, organizing the mess of papers. As she peels out of her lack suit jacket, leaving her in all white, the telltale glow of life is left on the computer. The casual home invader herself disappears into the bedroom.

Bert walks up to the door of Ivory's home, her raincoat wrapped around her. (It's not raining.) She too has it in mind to welcome home the Senator for when he walks in from work. (He better be in D.C., dammit.) Steeling herself, she knocks upon the door and sings out, "Oh Seeeenaaatoooor.. I need to talk to you!" Talking will be had, oh yes.

Ordinarily, Bert isn't this bold, but gosh dangit, the thought of seeing Ivory Wynn, oh that magnificent piece of man, has her quite unlike herself. Impatient, she is, and she tests the doorknob. Finding it unlock, she boldly pushes her way inward. Hmm.. Not in here.. oh look! There's a light on in the bedroom.

Grinning to herself, she rushes towards the bedroom door.. opens up her coat and says, "Ivory!" It's very much in a ta-dah! fashion that she presents herself and what little she has on under the coat.

Just inside the bedroom, Tracy pauses; listens. She heard that voice but— something about it… a neighbour, maybe? But then there's the door opening and footsteps that don't sound like Ivory's. In order to investigate, she backtracks her steps. She backtracks, in fact, to appears in the frame of the door and meet—

"Roberta?" Naturally, she immediately stares. Incredulous. Gaping. And frankly: insulted. "What…" She lays her shorn jacket (note: she's far more clad than Bert, in a pristine white blouse and pants, for the record) on the chest of drawers beneath Ivory's flat screen and stares some more. Hostility, rising. "What exactly do you think you're doing here?"

"Tracy!?!!" Roberta screeches as she has hastily wraps the coat back around her and ties it shut. "What the hell are you doing here!? Where's Ivory!?" Her brows knit and her face reddens in embarrassment. Only one person was supposed to see her like that! Tracy's not the only one with rising hostility as Bert fires back, "What do you think you're doing here!? I have a very important meeting with Ivory so you can just go!" She makes a shooing motion at Tracy with her hands.

Bert's cheeks remain as red as her hair. She's flustered, she's stressed, and this seemed like a good idea at the time.. and a few hours of 'talking' is an excellent de-stresser. Plus, she does have some legitimate things to discuss.

While amusement carries in the chuckle that escapes Tracy, it's not entirely good-natured. It's patronizing, intentionally or not. There's a scoff to her voice and a rise to her brows as she says, "He's at a late meeting, and I'm… not… going anywhere." She only eyes the shooing motions, unimpressed. She's confident in what she said. Tracy isn't planning on leaving, thank you. Folding her arms, defending territory she seems to think she has every right to be in, she simply stands her ground and looks Bert and her raincoat up and down. "What'd you think was gonna happen?" She rolls her eyes slowly. "You'd better get going, Film Noir."

Why on earth would Tracy be scoffing? Bert is hot. Just as damn good looking and wanted by the boys as Tracy! The Senator wants her. The red-head snorts as she pushes her way into the room, intending on parking her tushie on the bed. "I didn't think anything was going to happen. I knew what was going to happen, and what will happen when he gets back." She's almost as petulent as a child as she regards Tracy with scorn. "Don't you get enough of action with married men, without going after Ivory too?"

As Bert has the audacity to sit herself down, Tracy turns to face her again, arms remaining coolly folded. Even the hint of a smile, riding on the back of her "amusement", is steeled away. "You're kidding, right? What are you, sixteen?" She drops her folded arms and heads to the end of the bed. "Get outta here." It's like an instinct, sparking into action: she reaches down quick, making a grab for Bert's arm at the elbow. "You need to leave!"

"Jealous of my young age, Granny?" Bert says as she makes herself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other. She plants her hands flat against the mattress, supporting her upright. The age comment is kinda funny, since Bert's only two years younger than Tracy. She seems fine with sitting put, until Tracy manhandles her. Letting out a shriek of indignation, Bert slaps out with her free hand as Tracy grabs her arm. "Let go of me, you Lobbyist Whore!"

Even as her hand wraps around the arm of Ms. Sachs, Tracy is clearly trying to be the bigger person here. It's not her style to get caught up in silly games and name-calling. There's something more at work here, however, a rather powerful force of emotion when it comes to seeing the other woman so cozy on Ivory's bed. "Not until you leave," she hisses— Bert's slapping makes it a bit of a struggle, but she steps back and hauls on her arm with the intent to whisk the (very slightly younger) woman up. "I'll escort you out if I have to."

"I have as much right to be here as you, now LET GO OF ME," Bert's voice raises as she pushes back and away from Tracy, trying to free her arm from the woman's grasp. "I'm not going anywhere until I've seen Ivory! I have important things to discuss with him that doesn't involve you!" If she had any inkling of what Tracy is capable of, she'd bugger off and leave the woman alone. However, she does not, so is bolder with trying to fight off Tracy's grip.

Tracy isn't weak, but she's not ultra strong by any means. It's a battle — a fair one, as her hands are warm, not frigid. So far. She's having serious issues hauling Bert's ass off the bed and it's only giving her more reason to be irate with the redhead. "Do you now," she says in a low, unconvinced voice, distracted by trying to clamp onto Bert. New tactic— she clasps onto the collar of Bert's raincoat and hauls forcefully. Up! "I'm sure you have really important matters to discuss—- in your-- underwear," she forces out.

"What I have to discuss is none of your business!" Bert shrieks, then yelps as Tracy grabs teh collar of her coat. WELL. There's one solution to this, and that's to have a hand fumble at the belt to undo it. Once undone, she's gonna wriggle out of the coat best she can. Take /that/ you cheap hussy. "Let. Go. Of. Me!" In her heeled shoes, she makes an effort to stamp at Tracy's instep.

Is this— is this actually happening right now? Shouting out in incredulous frustration at Bert slipping the coat like a magician slipping a straightjacket, Tracy steps away from the oncoming redhead— but the woman still slams down on her pretty hard. She shouts again, though it's more of a pained, infuriated grunt and cry. She throws the coat on the bed and stares incredulously at Bert, stumbling back in high heels of her own. "I make the Senator's business my business," she says adamantly, a dangerous glimmer finding its way to her eyes. "And, no matter how … delusional you are? You don't have any right to be here. I'm gonna ask you one more time… to leave."

"HA!" Unlike Bert's sock monkey PJ's, what she wears currently is nowhere near as cute and whimsical. Instead it's red, lacy, black and leaves just enough to the imagination. "I am not delusional, you homewrecking whore! And I am not leaving." Putting her hands on her hips, she glares at Tracy. "You are so damn nosey and you need to just butt out! My business with Ivory is none of yours!"

Homewr— alright, now this is just getting ridiculous! Tracy gives Bert a skeptical look. Tracy's being called a whore while Bert is wearing that? She stares down the other woman, standing tall and unyielding. "Mm. No. See… I think you're missing the bigger picture. Why d'you think I'm here? What?" She laughs, scoffing; her confidence challenges Bert's boldly, a trace of a smirk on red lips. "That I was using his apartment as a spare office?" she questions with sarcastic rhetoric, looming in. "Ivory. Is. Mine. The unfamiliar touch of jealousy is fuelled by the enthrallment of a man who isn't even in the same city block and it peaks in a surge: she shoves at Bert.

Bert doesn't take the shove very well at all, and counters with a shove of her own and a jealous screech of, "HE WAS MINE FIRST BITCH!" Not content with simply shoving Tracy in return, she springs forward and goes for the hair. In her leaping, she kicks off the heels. Damn things, she only wears them for /special/ occasions. Whoever invented them should /die/. But first, she needs to deal with Tracy!

An angered shriek of surprise is all Tracy has to say about that. She has an expanse of blonde hair, silky easy to snare since it's so long. She shoves at Bert's shoulders, veering to the right in the struggle and bumping the both of them — Tracy first — into the drawers near the TV. A white flower vase (fancy, Ivory, truly) tumbles over and everything surrounding it rattles. "Let. GO! Get your hands off me!" She backs away, thighs pressed against the low-built dresser, detangling — or seriously attempting to — from the offending hair-puller.

"You get your hands off of me!" Bert counters as she continues to tussle. Then without thinking, she shouts out, "You'll hurt the baby!" Hoping this false declaration distracts Tracy, she attempts to relaunch at the woman, and none too fussy about which direction they go in.

The treacherously dark look carved into the blonde's features, creating many a line of fury, only intensifies — suddenly, as though slapped. Cold blue eyes narrow more than they already have, pinning Bert with a glare no matter which way they struggle. Tracy collides with the edge of the bed only to bounce back slightly and launch herself at Roberta. She falls on her, crashing them to the floor.

"You're lying," Tracy says condemningly above her, but also with a good deal of denial, shoving up against the floor in the manner of a push-up. Staring down, she tries to pin Bert's left arm down in a renewed surge of— what is this, hate? Her logic is uncharacteristically cloudy, but her emotions are knife-sharp and it's those dangerous emotions that shape her intentions.

The hand that struggles against Bert is suddenly very, very cold, frosting over. icy fingers dig in and literally take away the warmth from the other woman's shoulder, her arm, hypothermic blue spreading, spreading.

Bert looks around for something to club Tracy with. Hey, there was a laptop, where'd that go. Before she can locate the laptop, she finds herself on the floor with Tracy on top of her. Not her first choice in people, alas. A nasty grin pulls at her mouth, but really looks impish on her, "And what if I'm not lying? You jealous piece of trash! Get off of me!"

Bert squirms on the floor, beneath Tracy, trying to shove at her with a free hand, then suddenly. She just freezes, literally. First Max making things shoot from his hand.. magnets her ass.. now.. "What… the.. fu.." Her eyes widen in horror at the sensation spreading through her arm. It's like.. she was walking around the north pole or something. "… GET OFF! STOP IT! WHAT THE HELL!" Her voice rises in panic and she even screams.

Tracy, teeth bared and grit, holds Bert down. She shoots a sudden glance to the spreading cold and the flicker of surprise, of alarm. She didn't even realize what she's doing right away— didn't realize that her anger toward the woman is turning Bert into ice. Now that she does… the urge to destroy this woman is overwhelming. It's disturbing, but that doesn't make it any less true. And so far, it doesn't slow down the process. It's almost as though she's in a trance.

None of this is right.

All she can think of is Ivory.

It's Bert's panicked screams that draw Tracy out of her driven state, the sounds hitting her like a delayed lightning strike. She lets go and the cold dissipates, skin turning, slowly, back to flesh tones. Mostly. She stumbles back awkwardly onto the slick cream tile floor, off of the barely-dressed NSA tech.

Teeth chattering, Bert is just stricken, she can't bring herself to moving. Oh. My. God. What the HELL is going on here?! She's dumbstruck by her arm turning into ice, and slowly going normal again. The cold, oh god, she's cold, and painfully aware of this. "… Y.. You.." She isn't going to call Tracy a freak, because face it, powers are cool, but not cool.

"You're.." Something seems to collide in her head. "You're one of them!" Is this what's driving the government to round people up all top secret like!?

Finally, Bert manages to scoot herself back and away from Tracy. Using the arm that was not frozen, she pushes up to her feet. She damn near runs for the door, but remembers to grab her coat. (Her keys are in the pocket.) Wordlessly, a horrified look is thrown at Tracy, before she does dart out.

Tracy is left on the floor, knees drawing closer to her body as she makes slow, distracted moves to get up. But mostly, she's left confused and conflicted, trying to figure out how things escalated so fast. And with what she almost did. Granted, she hates the girl…

Even if she had something to say to Bert beyond "leave", it's too late for that. Using the end of the bed as support — white sheets match her clothes — she gets to her feet, unsteady. Now what?

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