2007-08-16: DF: Love and Amazing


DFTrina_icon.gif DFPeter_icon.gif DFElena_icon.gif

Summary: Breakfast and Scotch go together liek woah. Also, Cass is gonna' get rescued.

Dark Future Date: August 16, 2009

Love and Amazing

Dark Future - NYC - Phoenix Rising Towers

Morning. Morning. Morning. Jack not home. Morning. Can silences be tense when one is by oneself? It would seem that someone is performing an experiment in the matter.

To say that Trina is a little more on edge than usual is an understatement. And honestly? That's really saying something. Currently, she's sitting in the kitchen by herself, staring off at a wall. The pot of coffee she brewed? Yeah. It's so strong that it almost stopped being coffee and really could be considered little more than acidic sludge in the pot. What's in her cup? Yeah. Let's not even go there. It smells strongly of scotch and the blend of the two could be something deemed imminently perilous to life.

Her eyes betray a night entirely devoid of sleep, and she sits hunched on her kitchen chair with her feet pulled up underneath her like an urban gargoyle in her grey sweats and a faded black tee shirt that reads in fine white type: Do not talk to my breasts. You will not be meeting them.

There should be breakfast. Peter'd been pretty good at starting breakfast before most of the people woke up. Not the case this morning. In fact, Trina beat him to become a gargolye by quite a good amount of time. When he does venture in, he looks as if he woke up, showered, and is only partially awake. When he sees the young woman at the table, he blinks, "Tr— trina, hey, morning— sorry— I overslept," he looks a little jittery for some reason as he walks over to the kitchen to start up a quick meal. He'd planned to make hashbrowns, but eggs will have to do— they're faster.

Jittery? It wouldn't seem that Peter has the corner on that particular market. As soon as he walks in, Trina's gaze fires rapidly in his direction, blue eyes wide. "I… It's okay." And then she sips again from her wicked concoction of awesome. She seems ready to leave the conversation there, fixing her stare on the poisonous brew she's made. Until she figures out that it's not the most conducive thing ever to not having any questions asked. So she starts back up into the action of talking… without really saying anything. "It's jus' me anyhow. Ain't nothin' to be sorry for. Sleep's good. You should sleep." Yeah. That doesn't sound at all STUPID, Trin'. She closes her eyes softly as she inwardly berates herself.

"Just you?" Peter asks, getting to work on those eggs (with chedder) for the one person who is present. Obviously it's just her, he's not that unobservant. Dressed in loose clothes, a white shirt and pants, he doesn't bother to put on the apron today, and just gets straight to work. It won't take too long, at least. "What happened to everyone else? Did Jack get back yet?" There's a pause, as if he's hesitating to ask this, "And… Elena? Is she up yet?" Because he'll have to cook a lot more if she suddenly shows up.

Jack. Trina's hands subconsciously tighten around her mug, knuckles whitening. Good thing they're thick ceramic. "Elena's probably still in bed. Dunno. Didn't check. She's probably there, though." Rough night all around. A long sip is taken of her coffee cocktail, and it's by force of will alone that she stills her knee from it's nervous bouncing. "How are you sleepin'? Bed alright? Comfortable enough? If it ain't, we can see if Eric's got a solution. Isn't any reason to be uncomfortable."

There was a question unanswered in there, but it doesn't look like he's intending to call her on it. In fact, Peter is paying quite a bit of attention to the addition of cheese into his eggs. Taking his cooking very seriously this morning, it would seem. "No— it's— the beds are fine. Really. They're… comfortable." There's some stammering, but he sets his jaw and gives his head a shake. Maybe the mental image of Elena curled up in her bed is doing a toll on him? Could be that. "I— haven't been sleeping too great since I got here— but that seems to be pretty common. Didn't sleep too bad last night, though." Even if it looks like the not too bad sleep was short. He transfers the eggs (and cheese) over to a plate, grabs a fork, and walks it over to the table for her.

She… She's not hungry. For once. When Trina sees the plate, however, and it gets set in front of her, she offers a small smile in his direction. A hand is placed over the mug in her hands, trying to prevent the smell from becoming too obvious. And she tries very, very, very hard not to breathe. Damn it, Elena. WAKE UP. Wake up now. WAKE UP AND GET YOUR ASS IN HERE AND PLAY DISTRACTION. Turning her gaze back to the plate, the black haired woman speaks in its direction. "Thank you, darlin'. It smells great. If there's anything I can do, all you gotta do is let me know."

There's some people who would say that Peter's good with recognizing problems in people— but he also thinks the best of everyone. So anything he does notice about the young woman at the table is dismissed for morning jitters— or maybe his own jitters are affecting her. "No, it's fine. I'll get to work on something that can sit for when the others wake up— you don't need to do anything to help out right now." Jack must not be back yet— that would explain a lot. He hopes the now older man is okay— Elena would be devestated if anything happened to him, and he would miss the man too.

"Well, you let me know if you… do." Staring down at the eggs, Trina eventually sets down her coffee mug. Okay. Maybe he won't smell the scotch if she sets it on the very far side of him. After putting it down, she then glances up. Okay. Maybe a little further. Pushing it gingerly with her finger to get just a little more distance, Trina then picks up the fork and takes a tiny bite. "S'good!" declares she. Chew, chew, swallow, smile! Nothing to see here. Back she goes to staring at her plate.

Smell scotch? Not a hint of it. In fact, Peter moves back towards the freezer to find something he can cook and leave sitting for those who show up later. Sausages tend to be good for that— and he can make pancakes too. That's what he ends up readying. Starting with the sausages. They'll be cooking soon, but right now… Keep working. It's not that difficult. He's obviously freshly showered, shaved, and dressed in a white shirt and jeans, and it looks as if he skipped the apron alltogether this morning. Slow start on breakfast, and all. "I'll let you know if I think of anything, but— I guess if you insist I could use some coffee?"

At the mention of Peter drinking the Special Coffee, there is a sudden panic that takes over the mechanic. She moves so fast, throwing down the fork on the plate with the clatter, that she nearly sends it bouncing onto the floor in the process. Racing towards the coffee pot with a startling speed and only a few near-stumbles, Trina grabs it up and then holds it uselessly. Um. CRAP. She looks at the pot, and then looks at Peter and offers a very, very, very WIDE smile. "I… I made this really strong. No one really ever likes it but me."

Whoa— someone is protective of their coffee. Peter blinks at the sudden burst of speed and at the whole— holding onto it like that. And her smile. "Okay— no coffee for me. That's— that's okay. I have something better than coffee anyway," he can't help but smile lopsided. For a moment, there's a hint of added green in his eyes. Yes, he's cheating, using someone's ability to stimulate the effects of coffee on his body. Why hadn't he thought of this earlier? It's happening a lot faster than it would have before, too. "Keep your coffee, it's okay." And he'll get back to work on his sausages, now that he's awake—er. "Jack has checked in at least, right?"

Elena, where the hell are you? Trina's breathing grows faster, panic trying to take over everything and making the very simple process of thinking even more difficult. She looks at Peter now, blue eyes wide as she just holds that coffee pot. With brow furrowed, she tries to think of how to answer that. "I…I…" Tell the truth, Trina. You can tell the truth. Just don't elaborate and you'll be fine. "Yes." Keeping the coffee pot in hand, she makes her way to the table so that she can grab the mug, too.

Setting the pot on top of her eggs without thinking, she takes a deep drink. ELENA. YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE PSYCHIC. SAVE ME.

The BLAST OF CAPS prompts a sudden bang somewhere in the floor where the kitchen is. This is followed by the sound of quick footsteps.

And her father is psychic, not her!

But the doors bang open in the kitchen, and Elena stalks in, her eyes bright with fury and her cheeks flushed. The light beyond the door causes a brief halo to appear around her head, her hair bound up in a loose twist and soft tendrils of escaped, dark hair framing her face. She looked like some sort of vengeful valkyrie at the moment, her fists balled up on her sides and her teeth gritted. She. Was. Going. To. KILL. Someone. And ….this may very well be literally.

Seeing that the kitchen is occupied, however, she pauses. So much for sneaking in some of Jack's Irish whiskey in her in the morning.

Oh hell, she'll grab the Jameson anyway. She spins away from them, stomping over the bar and yanking the little doors open, crouching so she could rifle through the bottles. "We had a leak. We had a leak SOMEWHERE." She grabs the signature, green bottle and slams it on the counter. "I went out this morning to figure out just who the hell tried to kill Gene and me last night. This wasn't random. They knew we were going to be there."

Oh no, maybe something really bad happened to Jack… That's what Peter decides when she looks so nervous and when she sets the coffee pot down on the plate of eggs he rushed to make for her when he'd been late coming to start cooking. But— he did check in. Maybe he's just doing something really dangerous. Or he could still be hurt and check in… Another topic. There has to be… He's about to come up with one, probably talk about finding the girl the tornado came from, or something— but then there's a bang. The bang makes him jump. And then someone enters and looks furious. Stunned? Yes, he looks stunned. The cooking sausage is forgotten as he turns to stare at her. There's no attempt to even form words— they get caught in his brain before they can even be coughed out.

YES. ELENA IS THERE, AND THERE CAN NOW BE VICTORY. And… drinking is Trina's schtick. Elena is not allowed to access the liquor stores without proper explanation, so declares the mechanic. Slowly, Trina leaves the pot on the eggs — having no idea that she's buried Peter's handiwork — and crosses the room, moving to put her hand on top of the Jameson in order to just look at the younger Saint for a moment. Explain, then you can have Jack's hidden stash. Not before. "What?"

She looks at Trina, and once again her presence cools her heels. Elena lets go of the bottle, and rakes her hands through her hair frustratedly. "I went on a salvage run with Gene last night," she tells Trina. "There was a team waiting for us, three humans and two Evolved. They rigged an armored truck we could've used for spare parts. Luckily, Gene sent Monster to check things out first or we would've been dead. They rigged explosives on the damned thing. They knew we were coming." She takes a deep breath. "They were wearing fatigues, but I don't know what branch of the armed forces they were. I left the other Evolved." She grits her teeth. "He tried to kill Gene but he had no idea Gene's prosthetics have built-in protections so that got him. The other one disappeared. The other one that tried to get me, a teleporter."

"Is— is Gene okay?" Peter finally manages to get out, even if he probably would have made sure she's okay in a normal situation first. She's walking and talking and not bleeding, though, so that must mean she's not injured. Just as this is asked, the smell of burning sausage hits his nose— and may travel to hit theirs later— but it pulls him out of his stupor. There's a mild curse, "Damn," and he turns around to start shuffling them in an attempt to keep them from being too burned. Jitters remain, but— saving the sausage is important.

They need Jack. Or maybe it's just Trina's desire that paints reality a different hue of frantic. Well, they ain't got Jack. He's …elsewhere. Doing other things. So they're on their own. Which means they need their lieutenant at full speed.

After a moment's thought and consideration, the mechanic takes the bottle away, allowing it to drop to her side as she turns back to the table. If anyone would, Elena should understand. "Sorry, sugar. No." Taking it away to sit back at the plate with the eggs and the coffee pot set on top, Trina is now left with her horde. She sits back down and slides the bottle of Jameson under her chair so that she …can drink her scotch and coffee and try to just avoid attention now. Yes, she is the pot and she is calling the kettle black. DEAL. She's older.

DENIED a drink. Elena glowers at Trina, about to protest it. ………but that would be hypocritical, wouldn't it? She had Peter and Ramon quit drinking in a week. And she knows what Trina is thinking. They need her to be levelheaded.

She drops heavily into a high stool near the breakfast counter and buries her face on one hand. Half to calm herself down and half, perhaps, to quell the rising panic in her blood. Gene. They almost got Gene last night. And what's worse was that she was pretty damned sure they knew her face. And his. She needed to talk to Jack. What was worse was that this was going to restrict her movements for a while. No more going out without a disguise for a bit. Another fist drops heavily onto the counter, pounding it once. Betrayal stung. Whoever leaked the information was going to be found and handed over to Daphne so she could feed whoever it was to her pigs. She takes a deep breath instead, and she finally looks over at Peter. Her tense expression softens a bit. "Yeah. He's banged up, and he's in pain, but he'll be okay. If you….could see to him later, I'd really appreciate it."

Thank you, Trina. Peter doesn't say it outloud, he's transfering all the sausage links onto a plate. There's some burning along one edge, but that just makes the crispier, right? At least he salvaged them, more or less. When Elena speaks to him, he turns back around. And it's a very good thing that he moved them over to the plate before he did that— because he just kind of stands there a moment and looks at it. It's a long moment. His expression is soft, and quiet— there might even be a hint of something timid aboubt him right now, especially with his stuttering that follows finally, "Of— of course. I'll go and— check on him— as soon as— as soon as I can." After breakfast is cooked, probably. Um… he grabs onto the plate and holds it out to her, a hint of a smile finally appearing, "Sausage?"

"Thanks." Elena sighs, the anger drained away. Trina had that effect on her, perhaps it was why Jack told her what he did before he left to KIDNAP THE FREAKING PRESIDENT. Then again, she's been on the edge since she woke up this morning and realized that not only did she and Gene almost meet their maker last night, but that Nathan was holed up in the meatpacking plant. When Peter offers her some breakfast, she looks at him, and the tension bleeds away to exhaustion. Despite the fact that she slept incredibly well the night before during it. She picks up a fork. "Thanks, Peter," she tells him softly. And then, she OM NOMS a sausage. It's a small bite at first…. at first. And then she'll do her usual Gomez thing. Inhale food. Food good. She nibblefaces through what's offered to her.

Oh… Oh, God. Trina was doing okay. The eggs she had down. The cheese she had handled. But… but now there's sausage. An entire night without sleep, plus the coffee atomic sludge she brewed, plus a… very unhealthy dose of Scotch? Yeah. Her eyes grow very wide for a moment, and then the slender woman realizes she has a decision to make. It's a trash can or a sink. Lucky for poor Peter, Trina chooses not to impede the man's cooking space. It's a mad dash for the waste bin, and then Trina tears the lid off of the trash can. Why? Because the time has come to be violently ill. Thank you.

Was— was his breakfast that bad? Peter's enjoying the sight of Elena's nibbleface, that hint of a smile growing until it's not a hint at all. It's a meal he almost ruined, and she's still inhaling it. Even if he doesn't eat meat anymore— he'll cook it for her, since she eats it so cheerfully. And then he looks away as the other young woman in the room makes a mad dash for the trashcan. It doesn't take him long to realize what she's doing— because— well— it doesn't take long for it to happen. "Tr—Trina?" he asks softly, that growing smile vanishing from his face into worry. How did he not notice she was ill? He immediately moves to the cabinets to retrieve a glass, and then pulls a towel over as well, one corner of the towel and filling the glass with water at the same time. They'll be waiting to be handed to her when she's finished.

The Gomezes were big eaters. Peter never had the opportunity to come to their house when everyone's there. He'd see that trying to forage in the house would've been a war fought in all sides. Pizza parties were carnage. Let's not even talk about the gallons of Sangria consumed every gathering. Elena's so engrossed in eating that she doesn't see the gray complexion Trina was getting when she realizes she's about to throw up. But Peter's looking at her, and she lifts her head from the plate she's working on, blinking at him with puffy cheeks. She looks like a chipmunk. "Whaf?" she asks eloquently.

Of course, this is when Trina displays an emergency of her own.

Her eyes widen. She swallows, and she's out of her chair. "Trina, are you okay?" she asks, moving to the mechanic's side. And like a good girl, she keeps her dark hair back when she does it.

Great. Now she looks like an idiot. Her face even flushes with the embarrassment of it. Once her stomach is done emergency evacuating the fine citizens of that fair city, Trina lifts a thumb up. Fine. Thank you. "This is why you don't drink," she slowly explains before collapsing on her knees at the foot of the trashcan so she can rest her head against it. The room isn't spinning nearly as much as it should be considering the display, and …she can't help but feel vaguely disappointed in herself. At least, Jack ain't here to see it, so she supposes she should thank God for small mercies.

The towel is taken gratefully from Peter only to be rested against the floor, but the glass of water is left. "Leave it to the professionals. …I'm glad you're alright." Also? "Thanks." That part's to Peter, even though she doesn't lift her head.

The puffy cheeks are adorable. Peter's seen them before, of course, and everytime they make him smile fondly, a quiet affectionate look in his eyes. Probably why he'll try to cook for her every chance he gets— it's a reward enough to see her devour happily— and be able to see the look on her face when she does it. There might have even been a moment when he was about to tell her just how cute she was— but the need for a trashcan (for someone else) derailed that.

The glass of wtare is set down nearby, so that she can have it when she's ready, but he doesn't touch her or try to pull her hair back, or anything of the like. Instead… he walks over to the table and smells the coffee— oh yeah. Scotch coffee. No wonder she hoarded it. "Probably a good idea…" To leave drinking to the professionals. Which apparently he's not counting her as being at this point. "Sorry— I didn't…" Notice. He'd been too distracted to notice. Even before said distraction entered.

Who knew terrorists could be cute? There were just some things Elena couldn't change. The fact that she ate like a vaccuum cleaner was one of them. The time when scrounging for food before the Saints were formed had been brutal to her appetite. Trina had to whap her once or twice when she tried to boil leather.

"Psh. I can take on ten guys by myself," Elena boasts, though she's quite busy rubbing the mechanic's back even as she dizzily leans against the trashcan. Yeah Trina, she's been hanging around Jack way too much. "Five is a cakewalk." She probably could, but she's keeping it light. She was sick, probably with worry. She couldn't blame her considering what Jack showed them last night. As she rubs on Trina's back, she'll work on her. She cheats, trying to adjust her stomach acids to keep herself from vomiting again. She'll feel better, and she'll try to ease off the headache too. "You willing to take the day off today? Seriously. I won't go out today unless I really have to, I can look after things here."

She's been drinking since 3am. Shut up and DON'T JUDGE HER YOU OLD COOT THAT LOOKS LIKE A WHIPPER SNAPPER. So there. "I'll be fine, never you worry. We got ourselves a human cure for hangovers." Trina breathes more regularly as Elena works her special brand of magic, feeling her stomach settle back down to a manageable roll. It's a twist of knots yet, but it's *manageable*. After only once false start to that stomach being ill again, Trina finally allows herself to fall over further. She should be tougher than this. "'sides. I got too much to do." To keep herself busy. Because this is what fixating does.

"Elena is a human cure for hangovers," Peter teases a little when she talks about how she could drink all kinds of people under the table. He knows how— just being around her sobers him up sometimes when he's been drinking heavily— even if that won't get tested much anymore. No more drinking for him… Trina may not like it, but he grabs the coffee pot and takes it over to the sink, and drains it. No more scotch and coffee for her. Or anyone else it would seem, either. "I was— going to go out again today— but I don't think I'll learn anything new— I can stay in too, help out— um… something."

She narrows her eyes a little bit at Peter, and Elena…..sticks her tongue out at him, and -blows- him a raspberry. Pbbbbbt. Turning back to Trina, as if she hadn't tossed that childish gesture at their erstwhile guest. "Feeling better?" she murmurs, pressing a light kiss on the top of the mechanic's head. "Good." She'd say something more, but her jphone activates. When she pulls it out, it's not red anymore like Peter would remember. It's black, non-reflective and not too easily seen. She flips up the top, and puts it in her ear. "Talk to me." She falls silent…and she narrows her eyes. "What did it say?" she asks, standing up from the ground and turning away from the both of them.

She listens to the other end. "Okay. Will do, thanks, Eric," she murmurs, snapping it shut and turning to the rest. "We got word. We're getting Cass tonight."

What— What is Peter doing?! As Trina hears the tell-tale clatter of her coffee pot moving, she lifts her head and looks in his direction. She frowns — deeply so — but does not argue. Rather, she simply watches as he pours that Foul Concoction of Amazing and Love down the pipes. It's probably going to be a hell of a cleaner on those pipes.

By the time the phone rings, Trina's already struggling back up to her feet. Playtime's over when that phone rings. Tired blue eyes turn, watching Elena's back very closely with her heart up in her throat, beating like a drum against its fleshy prison. Bad news can very easily come over that small little device, but at least she still has the fuzz of the alcohol to take the sheer terror out of the waiting. That leaves the mechanic to stand there, one arm crossed over her chest and the other reaching up to rest the heel of her palm against her mouth. Please. Bad news, stay away today.

And today it would seem that God's picking up the prayer phone. At the news, Trina doesn't really move, save to close her eyes and allow a deep breath of relief to slowly pass through her lips.

Did she just pbbt at him? Yes, yes she did. "I love you too, sunshine," Peter says with a hint of a smile— all the while pouring the Foul Concoction of Amazing and Love down the sink. He starts running water to wash it down even more, and then cleans out the pot as well, and— the phone rings. He listens, as much as he can with running water, and turns it off when she gets to the end. Eric. And they're getting Cass tonight. "Looks like we're going out tonight after all, then." But at least it's for good reasons.

She's moving again. That gleam in her eyes and the determined expression is back. Elena tucks the jPhone back into her pocket. No day offs for either of them, and while there was probably no trouble…she can't trust that. This is partly the reason why she asked Benjamin to deliver Cass, instead of getting Cass themselves. Force whatever fights would occur into home turf. If they went in the compound, Nathan's goons would have the clear advantage. Pushing the trouble into the open road played into their favor, and the Saints….were almost unstoppable on the road. Highway combat was their specialty. Trina knows it full well, and Peter's witnessed it firsthand.

"We'll be taking the Pearl, I need to assemble a team." She snags the last sausage with her fingers. Trina knows she's already going. "I need to grab Papa and Lachlan." Peter already knows he's going as well, she mentioned Cass and probably more escapees were going to be involved - they could be injured. "Both of you get some rest, tonight's going to be one helluva ride." Time to bleed out some of that restless, angry energy. She's looking forward to this. And with that, she turns to start heading out the door. No rest for her. There are things that need to be doing.

Hell of a ride? At that, Trina scoffs with bravado. "I don't know what you're talkin' about. Me 'n' the Pearl are recipe for a Gawdamned pleasure cruise." Yeah. Rest. Not likely. Pulling her comandeered men's sweatpants up to ride higher on her hips, the dark haired woman moves to make her way after the Saints' lieutenant. If the mission was running tonight, that meant the vehicle review and load needed to be started *now*.

Why? Because Homeland Security had the potential of being particularly well-organized tonight. There's no excuse for the risk posed by even the slightest malfunction.

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