2007-02-18: Hands Off The Face



Guest Starring: Margie Winters

Summary: Rose gets an unexpected visitor

Date It Happened: February 18th, 2007

Log Title Hands Off The Face

Winters Apartment

It's early afternoon when an older woman enters the High Rise Apartments in Greenwich. Her jaw-length hair is curly and dark in color, no doubt it's been colored to hide the gray. Clad in a black sweater, black jeans and boots, she looks rather stylish and comfortable with her age. In her arms is a brown paper grocery sack. Humming 'Til There Was You' to herself, she pauses at the door to the Winters apartment. Instead of knocking, the woman fishes out a set of keys from her pocket. There's a little fumbling owing to the grocery sack as she lets herself in. There's no courtesy knock, she just lets herself in. It's almost like an afterthought when she calls out, "Benji honey? Are you home from work yet? I know you said not to come see you, but I just /have/ to check on you anyway." She turns around to shut the door and lock it behind her.

The sound of a key in the lock has Rose's heart stopping, but she's too far away, being in the guest bedroom, to really react as she'd like to. In an ideal world, she could whip around and snap at the woman for her intrusion, explaining just how spooked she was to hear the door open like that. This is not an ideal world. This is a world where Rose freezes, her hands mid-stuffing clothing into a bag, and shoots a wide-eyed look back to the hallway. She says nothing to the intruder, refusing to call out and announce her presence. To herself, however, she mutters, "Tell me that is not his mother."

"Honey? Well fine, don't answer, either you're hiding, or not home yet." The elder woman calls out, almost sing-song as she bustles her way to the kitchen. Margie goes back to humming that little tune from the Music Man, before breaking full out into song. As she does, she's unloading ingredients for chicken noodle soup. Yes, she's the sort to just zoom in and cook. She takes another look out into the living room and puts a hand to her hip. The song abruptly cuts off and she leaves the items on the counter. "What a mess. He must definitely not be well," she starts in to herself as she delves on into the living room to start.. tidying. Items she's finding however, have her brow crinkling as she frowns. The mess isn't the sign of a middle aged man, nor are a couple of items of clothing. "Benjamin Avery Winters, I swear, this is worse than you hinted at on the phone."

Avery? As the frustrated expression is stripped from her face, it's quickly replaced by one of sudden and indignant understanding. "Oh, my mother did NOT—" But this is no time to rage about her mother's choice of first names. Her attention flicks to the handgun in the bag. A thought flashes through her mind, and she grabs the pistol, shoving it into the waistband of her jeans. She conceals it, at least, by pulling on a hoodie one size too big, letting the hem fall over the weapon. As she traipses out into the hallway, there's a nonplussed look on her face, and she stops a few feet from the living room. One shoulder leans against the wall, a hand on her hip. "Who the hell are you?"

Margie has started gathering items of clothing and draping them over her arm when Rose comes out and is well, herself. The woman shrieks and the clothes go flying up into the air to land on the floor. A hand flutters up to her chest as she catches her breath. ".. Who the hell am I? Who the hell are /you/? This is /my son's/ apartment!" Surprise and suspicion take over the older woman's features as she stares hard at Rose. "Young lady, you better not have broken in. I know you can't possibly be a fling because while I love my son, I have to face it, you're so not his type. So out with it. Who are you before I call the police?"

Both of her hands dive into the pockets on the front of her hoodie, one brushing against the edge of the gun. She doesn't draw, but the thought is clearly on Rose's mind as she regards the older woman with suspicion. "Look, lady. As far as I can tell, your son's as celibate as the Virgin Mary. Me? So not a fling," she replies, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Back in the day, though, he had a wild side. Once, anyway. I'm his kid." There's a devious smirk that creeps onto her face then, and she adds, "Guess that makes you my Grandma."

Margie's brown eyes narrow then widen as she looks at Rose. "What? Wild side? Not my boy! He wouldn't know fun if it bit him on the ass, I swear." She takes several steps closer to Rose, looking over the teen, "Well I'll be, you've got my mouth that's for sure. Unless this is a not so funny joke dear." A shake of her head is made to clear it before smiling slow and incredulously. "Are you what he wanted to talk about with me in person then? I.. that bitch didn't want to have children with him, and I know damn good and well he wouldn't have cheated on her."

"Yeah, well." Arching both eyebrows as she watches Margie run through different reactions to the news, Rose can't help but smirk. "People do a lot of stupid things in college." She rolls her shoulders in a shrug, noncommittal. "Look, I'd say call good old Benjamin up and ask him, but he didn't take his phone with him." Liiiiiie. "Guess you're just gonna have to trust me that I'm his kid. Or, you know, call the cops. If you want. But you're gonna feel like an idiot when they get here and I show then the DNA results."

Margie just ignores the rudeness rolling from Rose. Tears well up in her eyes and she bites at her lower lip, a smile forming. "Oh my goodness.. I have a granddaughter.. I thought I would never see a grandchild from that child of mine. Let me get a look at you!" Of course this means Margie getting right in front of Rose and reaching to take the girl's face into her hands. "I'm sorry I yelled at you dear, but this is New York and you can't be too.. Listen to me, goodness, well what is your name honey? Who's your mother? Come with me, come on, into the kitchen, we'll talk and I'll make dinner."

"Whoa, Grams, hands off the face," Rose says, reaching up to ward off the woman's grabby hands before they can touch her. "Look, I'm actually late for class, and if I don't get there in the next half hour, there's a really good chance I'm gonna get kicked out. So. Rain check? I mean, hang out here, if you want. Whatever. Just, uh. Don't expect me back for dinner." She's considered the size of Margie versus herself, and her speed versus that of an older woman, and evidently decided to roll the dice. She books it back down the hallway, grabs the bag she's filled, swings her coat over her arm, and flashes the woman a quick grin on her way to the door. "Later." And like that, unless Margie pulls some spectacular strength out of nowhere and forcefully drags the girl back into the apartment? Rose is gone.

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