2009-10-01: Not What It Looks Like



Date: October 1, 2009


Things fall apart in a hurry when Kory walks in on an unintentional bender.

"Not What It Looks Like"

Randall's apartment

One thing that Randall correctly understood about his apartment, albeit probably reading too much into it, is that it's pretty quiet. Since last night's round of drinking - an inadvertent double, as Charlotted missed carding Portia and everyone else missed that it wasn't just regular coffee - the pair have been crashed on his couch, so far undisturbed, and not yet far enough into their respective hangovers to be forced awake that way either. It's basically innocent, but it sure as hell doesn't look that way, especially after the afghan draped haphazardly over the back of the couch managed to tip over on top of them.

Click. Klatch. The door unlocks. Kory's decided to surprise Randall with breakfast from that cute little coffee shop on the corner before work. As luck would have it, she actually has a free morning for once, and she and Randall haven't been seeing much of each other. Still, she misses him, and hasn't quite shaken the hope that the guttering embers of their relationship might spark anew.

…that is, until she backs into the room and turns around to see him snuggled up with Portia. At which point the tins holding the two deluxe breakfasts and the tray holding the large coffee and the large tea go dropping to a messy, cardboard demise on his floor.

Kory just stands there for a second with the bicolored puddle seeping toward her expensive shoes. Then the shock wears off, and she reaches back to shove the door closed.


"Wha..?" Portia's eyes open a little bit, her head groggier than it's been in a long time. Lifting her head up, the girl looks a little confused. First, she's not sure where she's at. Then she's not sure who's around. She notes Kory first before she even notices Randall. She blinks a little, tilting her head. "… Kory?" She looks confused. Then she realizes there's someone slightly under her that she's been using as a pillow. She peers over, confused. "Randall..?" She's quite bewildered, but doesn't have the look of someone who's been busted.. more like someone who is oblivious.

Oh boy, the apartment sure isn't quiet any more! Randall looks just about as lost - he's in a familiar place, at least, but why is someone on top of him? Why is Kory over there? And why do those two questions imply something Very Bad? Between a mounting headache and the suddenness of it all, this is about how clearly he's thinking. His mouth begins to move, but he hasn't gotten as far as forming words yet.

Kory has a second or two of jittering in place, as her upbringing, which insists she clean up the mess she made — wars with the chaotic jumble of emotions all trying to bottleneck in her forebrain at once. Her eyes dart from the mess on the floor to Portia to Randall and back again. But so far no emotion has made it far enough forward to let her open her mouth and say anything, so she just stares. And shakes.

"Who hit me over the head..? Ow.." Portia shakes her head, then regrets it, trying to move to get up. That fails miserably as she falls off of the couch. "OW!" She proceeds to curl up a bit.

With the first of his instinctive questions removed (if only by a couple feet), Randall sits up and rubs his eyes. And then freezes, as the full nature of the situation finally becomes clear. "I didn't—!" he blurts out to Kory, then promptly turns and looks down at the floor. "Oh no, are you okay?" With that one piece of the puzzle still missing, he's worried that Portia might have cried out due to a broken bone or something.

Kory's nurture instinct now joins the fray as Portia seems to be in pain, but the fact that she is, last Kory checked, underage, and last Kory checked, seems to be in bed with her kinda-sorta-maybe-boyfriend-type-person, she doesn't move. She does, however manage a barbed, acerbic retort. A few months working the cutthroat world of advertising has built the skill as a defense mechanism. "I don't know. But I owe them lunch at the Rainbow Room."

"You didn't what?" Kory asks, going for icy, but only managing lukewarm. "Think I'd want to surprise you with breakfast before work? Think you'd get caught? Text message would've been more efficient." She finally masters her urge to clean up the mess, draws herself up, and straightens her Donna Karan jacket, sniffing in what she hopes is an indignant manner.

The girl doesn't know what's going on. "Oh, my head.. you have a very hard floor." Portia proceeds to lie there for a moment on the floor. She then tries to sit up a bit, peeking at Kory. "Are you okay?" She's not sure what's going on… mostly because she hasn't put the pieces together with what exactly Kory thinks happened.

Randall has put most of the pieces together - and is sort of wishing that he hadn't. At least it seems he doesn't have to worry about an injured guest on top of it. "I didn't do anything! --I did something. But not that! Look, I—" He stands up - oh thank God he's still dressed, which doesn't prove his claim of semi-innocence but does at least support it - and begins to pace, pressing a hand against the back of his neck to stave off a cramp. "Okay, so we're outside Oldcastle, right?"

(Flashback to the previous evening. Randall is on the phone with Kory as he closes up the pawn shop: "No, I understand, it takes as long as it takes. Listen, Portia and I wanted to try out a street music gig, I'll try to catch up with you tomorrow, okay? Maybe lunch will work out.")

"So then we go in for a bit, and Charlotte's tending bar - guess she had to wind up somewhere after Pinehearst - so I have a few rounds and Portia has some coffee, and we hang out for a while. Then she was gonna head home, but we needed to split up the money, still—" His gaze flits over toward a cello case in the corner of the room, with a plastic bag full of coins and a few bills still sitting on top of it.

Kory bites her lip, and for a minute, the naif she was a little over a year ago is visible under the pulled-back hair, the makeup, and the corporate facade. "I don't even know what I'm doing here. We were all —" She pauses, nose wrinkled, eyes shining a little with unshed tears. It hit too close to home for her. After all their ardor, things just seemed to always comedically fail to work out. "Money…?" She shakes her head. Money isn't really an issue for her these days. She gives Randall a stricken look. "I guess we're not that close anymore," she sighs, and turns for the door. "Guess I'll let you two get back to sleep."

Portia just blinks a little bit, peering towards Kory. "Hey.. what are you two getting so upset over?" Well, for a sixteen year old girl, she's certainly not catching on. She does know, however, that Kory's upset and Randall's trying to explain the evening.

Randall turns and stops, staring after Kory. "…no, I guess we aren't," he finally echoes. She moved up and on, while the only big change on his end is that he probably won't need to search for a job any time soon.

After she leaves, he wanders over toward the bathroom, retrieving a towel so he can get the floor mopped up. "Well, the first part was that she thought I was banging your brains out," he explains dryly for Portia's benefit. "After that—" He doesn't get any further, though, as another realization suddenly hits. "Oh crap, your parents! Quick, what time is it?" They're liable to think the same thing, and the way his luck is going, the father will show up with a shotgun.

Well, technically they were in better luck there, since her /father/ wouldn't show up, but Ramon would, and that would mean that they wouldn't have to worry since he'd /easily/ figure out what went on. Considering he could just, y'know, take a peek. Portia rubs her head. Then blinks. "She thought we were… /what/?" Oh, yes, she's just now trying to figure this out. Like, SERIOUSLY figure out out. "Uh. Well, I could probably tell my mom I spent the night at a friend's… that wouldn't be a lie.."

Randall bites his lip. Because, y'know, shotguns. "I guess." It's just as well that he doesn't know who Portia's mom is, because they met a while back, and that would be even more awkward.

As it is, he tosses the towel and its contents into the sink to be dealt with later, and comes back in to flop down on the couch. "The thing that worries me is, if we got to this point, what if I'd had a couple more drinks first? I could've—" He can't bring himself to finish the sentence out loud.

Portia blinks a little bit, then looks over at him. "What, you really think we would have.. done /that/? As in.. you and me?!" The girl isn't horrified, but more utterly shocked. "I think you'd have to be way more drunk.. WAY more drunk to do that.."

"Oh, man, I hope so." Broken relationship aside, there's a decade's age difference: not such a big deal when both parties are older, very much a big deal when one's still a teenager. "Ow. What time is it, anyway? I need to go open the shop back up."

The girl rubs her head, frowning. "No idea. Where'd my cell phone go?" Portia proceeds to move back to dig through the couch cushions. Most likely, it buried itself in there when they were asleep. "So what should we do? She's not going to.. y'know.. really hold this against you, is she?"

Randall pulls himself back to his feet. "I don't know, I didn't see it. And—" Staring at the door again, he slowly shakes his head. "It's not so much this, we really have been drifting for a while. Maybe it's for the best to call it, as cold as that is."

Finally, he locates his own phone and flips it open. "Barely six," he muses. "Good thing, too, I need some breakfast." As an afterthought, he empties the plastic bag and finally sets about divvying up its contents.

Portia blinks a little, giving a tiny frown as she realizes he's just letting it go at that. "But she's hurt.. she's hurt and it isn't your fault and it's a misunderstanding. You don't even want to try and make it work?"

Randall shakes his head again. "I said 'maybe', not 'definitely'. It's not just this morning, there's been fits and starts going on for months— she'd miss a date because she was still working, or sometimes I would… Anyway, I'm not gonna get anywhere with it this morning. I'll call her tonight, we'll see."

"Just make sure you CALL her. Girls hate it when you blow something like that off." Portia sighs, unable to help but feel guilty. "If I can do anything to fix things, though.. let me know. I just feel bad, cause it's my fault too.."

"No, it's not," he murmurs, waving a dismissive hand. And then, staring at his palm and turning it over, he makes a sour face. "Wait, maybe it is—"

(Flashback: A hug, followed by another one. Laughter. "You're comfy.")

"—no, wait, I mean I started it at least. Are you okay? Nobody slipped a pill in your drink, did they?" Because his memories are seeming increasingly weird, now that he has a little more time to run back through them.

Portia rubs her head a little. "I dunno. My head was fuzzy.. and I guess I just came down from the caffeine really hard or something, cause I got tired really fast.. maybe I had too much coffee?"

Waaaaaait a minute. Fuzzy head? Fatigue? Perhaps a crash following a sugar rush, but a more likely explanation has just occurred to Randall. "…oh God, I'm gonna kill her," he mutters flatly, now leaning back and staring at the random bits of paper still hanging from his ceiling.

"Kory? But she didn't do anything.." Portia's still a little fuzzy for sure, and everything was a bit too loud. Stupid headaches. She'd have to take some painkiller for it later. "Maybe I should just stop asking."

"No, not her—" Well, he'll have to track down Charlotte and ask if she spruced up both of their drinks, and if so, whether she knew about their circumstances. And then he can kill her with a clear conscience. Well, gripe at. "Look, forget it. I'll call you another cab, okay?" Flip, squint, beep beep beep.

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