2007-08-01: L'ange Perdu


DFPortia_icon.gif Desmond_icon.gif

Summary: Portia comes to visit Desmond. There are French conversations, a little drinking, a song, and one of them is nearly brought to tears.

Dark Future Date: August 1st, 2009

L'ange Perdu


It's been a bit of a boring and dull day. Then again, it usually is down here where Desmond lives, since there's very little to do but work out, clean guns, and read a book or three. The former actor is doing that second one right now. His trusty .12-gauge is in pieces before him on a prop desk as well as cleaning supplies. The scarring on his throat is uncovered today, and he's dressed in ripped jeans and an equally tattered, sleeveless gray shirt. Sweat would indicate that he was doing that first option not too long ago, as would the half-drained bottle of water nearby.

The invisibled girl doesn't like often being visible. Especially if it's somewhere she's not entirely /too/ familiar with. Still, being the step-daughter of a member of the Saints meant that it was a /lot/ easier for Portia to access certain areas. Sure, she wasn't a crazy fighter, but she could get around the city unseen, for the most part. The best part of being invisible was that she could get information a /lot/ easier than most. Especially given she'd cultivated a sense of patience and timing over the last two years. So she'd heard about Desmond and, with a little prying, found out where he was at. Which was what brought the sixteen-year old over. Guitar and all.

GAME: Desmond has rolled PERCEPTION+POOR SENSE and got a result of POOR.

Candywasteland has some pretty tight defenses and security for the lower level, the least of which is the half-deaf Desmond and his shotgun. He's got a pistol laid out in his lap, however, as he is never unarmed. After finishing a few strokes over the shotgun's innards, he begins to reassemble it. Strange — two years ago, one never would have expected this man to even know how to fire a shotgun, let alone take it apart, clean it, and put it back together again. Times have sure changed.

Never sneak up on a man with a gun. Portia, however, has not gotten to that part yet. And she's not really /sneaking/ per se. She's visible, and she's got a guitar, and she's quite unarmed and simply ready to come visiting. Perhaps cheering some people up. She's been working on a song or two once she'd gotten back to Ramon's penthouse, simply because more than one person had told her that she should. "Long time no see." She states. She does remember him, after all. Her first.. fan, in a sense. He did tell her to call him if she got to play at Enlightenment Books. Things just got a little.. sidetracked by the war.

In a flash, Desmond has got the pistol up and aimed, however he doesn't pull the trigger. He instead squints down the sights at the girl. Long time no see? It takes him some time to remember who she is, but once he does, the man lowers the pistol again and relaxes some. He knows her. She's one of the Saints' people — or sort-of people. He also vaguely recognizes her from a couple years ago, before everything went to hell. A small smile pulls up the corners of his lips and he sets the pistol back in his lap, waving to Portia with his free hand. Already he's digging about for his dry-erase board and marker.

One of the most annoying things about being invisible, however, was that you did find out almost everything. And Portia had definately found out about Desmond's unfortunate situation. Moving to head over to the former actor, she offers a smile. "A little bird told me you were down here."

Desmond nods his head as he pulls out the small dry-erase board and black marker. Yes, he's down here. He scribbles down a message and holds it up, still smiling. It reads, "You still have your guitar. How have you been?"

"I do still have my guitar. Ramon kept it for me. More than one person told me I should keep playing. So I figured I would. Especially if it helps at all with everything that's going on." Portia looks over at him. "I've been okay. I guess. Things have been kind of crazy. A lot goes on out there. Heard about what happened to you."

The smile falls at that last comment and Desmond clears his throat softly. He only nods in response and scratches at the scar on his throat with the lidded end of the marker. It takes just a quick swipe from an already blackened rag to clear the message, and he scribbles another one in its place: "It is really crazy. You still play?" As he displays this message, he makes an indication toward the guitar with his marker hand.

"Yeah. Mostly because, as Ramon put it, it's like giving the finger to everyone else." Portia grins. "I sort of tried not doing it for a while.. but recently a few people told me I should." She looks over at him. "I take it you don't really get out of here much, huh?"

Desmond shakes his head, crosses out his first message and writes the word "hiding" underneath. He shows this to Portia, then wipes the entire board and adds, "Don't want to go back to the camps." As an afterthought, he points at Portia, then makes a drinking gesture with his hand. Is she thirsty?

"If you ever want to go out and not worry about that, I'm more than willing to take you." Portia smiles, looking down at her arms. "The whole invisible thing makes it pretty easy to get around. Sure, it's a risk, but a lot than most." She nods after a moment to his questioning if she's thirsty. "I could use something." She pauses, looking at him seriously. "Is it lonely, being down here all the time?"

There's a bob of the head from Desmond before he raises a hand with index finger pointed up. Hold on one sec. He finishes reconstructing the shotgun, then loads the shells, pumps it, and tucks it into a sheath across his back. He shrugs at the question and actually attempts speech this time: it comes out soundless, raspy, breathy. "Sometimes," he 'says', then clears his throat roughly. It feels funny to talk. Then, he rises to his feet and heads toward the White House set, where he pulls a small red cooler from beneath a desk. He pops it open to reveal a number of drinks nestled in ice: things from vodka and wine to soda to water. He points to the cooler and makes a 'shushing' motion with his hand — don't tell anyone!

In Europe, she'd have already been drinking. But it's been more than two years since Portia had been in Europe. But it's not as if she hasn't gone on liquor runs half a dozen times while invisible. Nor tried some alcohol from time to time. People just didn't worry so much about that when they had bigger things to worry about. Like staying alive. Smiling at the shushing motion, Portia nods, mirroring it with one of her own, as she moves to carefully get herself a shot of vodka. "<It will be our little secret.>" The teen replies, smoothly, in French.

French! French! As soon as Portia starts speaking the foreign language, Desmond perks up. It's obviously a huge excitement to hear it, but then he hasn't heard it (or spoken it) in a very long time. He tries to speak it, but all that comes out is a rather difficult-to-decipher bunch of huffs and, with a very frustrated grimace, he hurries from the cooler and goes back to the desk where he left his whiteboard. He jots down a hurried note and displays it to Portia. "<I didn't know you spoke French,>" it says … in French.

If anything, Portia hasn't really been able to use her French all that often. She was really just using it to look cool while accepting her shot, but when Desmond responds, with his written French, she /beams/. It's been so long since she's gotten to use it, and it's a skill she really loves. "<I spent a year in France before the war. It is where I learned most of my music.>" She replies in French, looking excited. Pausing for a moment to take the shot, she shakes her head a little at the sensation of the warmth of the alcohol in her throat before she continues. "<I know some beautiful songs in French but I never sing them because no one knows it!>"

Another hastily scribbled note reads, "<I studied French all through school. It is my favorite language.>" Clearly, otherwise he wouldn't be so excited over this. Desmond wipes out the message after Portia finishes reading it and adds, "<I haven't heard it in a long time.>"

"<Really?>" Portia smiles at that, glancing back over at him before shifting her guitar as she moves to find a place to sit. "<You will have to forgive me if the song's not the greatest. It's been a very long time since I've played, much less sung in French.>" The young woman settles comfortably as she watches Desmond.

Desmond looks positively thrilled that he's going to get a song in French. He pulls up a chair and straddles it, folding his arms on the back and resting his chin on his arms. Then, he listens attentively, grinning.

GAME: Portia has rolled PERFORM+CHARISMA+CREATIVE and got a result of SUPERB.

Settling in and letting her guitar rest on her lap, Portia checks to make sure everything's in tune. Once that's settled, the young woman begins to play, fingers brushing across the strings as she focuses seriously on it. The music is soft, a sweet guitar melody. Once the intro is completed, she starts to sing. The song is 'L'ange Perdu', a love song which tells of the author meeting a beautiful angel who will be the light, reason to believe in, and the last hope in a dark world.

<OOC> Portia says, "http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=95eFHT6eI3c"
<OOC> Portia says, "Lyric translation: http://www.allthelyrics.com/php/link.php?id=84&song=554230&translate=fr_en"

GAME: Desmond has rolled WILLPOWER+PENALTY and got a result of AVERAGE.

As the song starts off and continues on, Desmond's gaze shifts to something just over Portia's shoulder and grows far-off. There's a reason French is his favorite language: women love it, it sounds beautiful when spoken, and it is one of the most gorgeous things to listen to when sung. As the song starts nearing its close, it's obvious the man has tears in his eyes, but they remain unspilled. When it's finished, he sits up again, clears his throat, and does his level best to hide his watering eyes. There's applause, of course, because it was a beautiful performance. Once he's done clapping, he raps on his chest with the knuckles of his right hand. "That was beautiful," he mouths out. Then clears his throat again heavily. It feels funny to talk, and it feels even funnier when he's got a lump in his throat.

Even a tiny bit of a blush manages to shift up onto Portia's features as she looks back to Desmond. "Thank you." She murmurs, glancing back at her guitar. "I was thinking of hunting down Ali again.. she's the one breaking into the radio signals and playing stuff to keep people informed and things. I thought I'd try and sing the lyrics in English.. maybe even give a few people a little bit of hope."

Having recovered himself quite admirably, Desmond grimaces a little at that and pulls up the whiteboard again to write, "<It wouldn't be the same in English.>" The original French is far superior in aesthetic. Granted, it wouldn't be nearly as accessible in French, but still. He doesn't particularly care about how many people can understand it; just how beautiful it is.

Smiling again, Portia nods. "<Maybe I'll record it in French and have someone read the translation between lyrics or something.>" She murmurs, trying to ponder the possibilities. "<I'll have to learn some more and come down here and sing more often. I'd have an actual captive audience.>" The last part is a little teasing.

Desmond actually laughs at that — or as much as he can. It's more a series of huffs and puffs, but his face would indicate that it is, indeed, laughter. He once again wipes the board clean and jots down, "<You're welcome down here any time. I like hearing your music.>" And really, it's not like he's got anything better to do, right?

Portia can't help but smile at that. It's actually nice. He appreciates the French songs, not to mention there is the fact that he's more than willing to sit around and keep her company. "<Then I'll come visit you more.>"

"<I look forward to it,>" the next message reads. Then Desmond wipes it off and adds, "<Stay out of trouble.>" The shrug and smirk he gives suggests that he knows this is nigh impossible to do nowadays, but still.

Another smile. "<I always stay out of trouble. Trouble can't find me if trouble can't see me.>" Portia states, offering a sweet smile. "<Take care of yourself.>" She shifts her guitar onto her back.

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