2010-08-31: The Porch

Starring:

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Date: August 31, 2010

Summary:

“The best kind of friend is the kind you can sit on a porch swing with, never say a word, then walk away feeling like it was the best conversation that you ever had.”


"The Porch"

Sydney and Lizzie's Townhouse, The Porch

The porch has seen better days. The paint is peeling, some of the boards are rotting, but it looks happier than it did only days before with the blondes sitting on the chairs resting on it. They're chairs from inside, but there's something to be said for Sydney Falkland sitting outside after so much time indoors. Her white sundress is only covered by a pink cardigan, allowing those pasty white legs of hers to get a little sunlight.

Relaxed, her eyes close as she leans back in the chair. "It's a beautiful day," she murmurs breathily as she breathes in more of that fresh air, allowing her lungs to bask in the fresh air; she's had such little amounts of it since May.

A glance is given to the porch, "I think I need to strip the paint. And refinish it… maybe Laurie will help…"

Lizzie's rocking on her chair, she was told not to do it before but she doesn't like to listen very well. Apparently it has something to do with, it'll wear down the feet of the chair, the legs will break, the back will break, the list goes on and on and on. The tiny blonde's inventive though and in theme with abusing her new power like she has been since she moved in, she's turned her chair to gold. Take that all you Anti-Chair Rocking Nazis.

She, on the other hand, doesn't mind the peeling paint, the old looking deck, or any of that. She's got new curtains, that's the most important thing. The younger woman takes a sip of her minty mojito and breathes out a long 'aaaaahhhh' after swallowing. "Why not just get a man in?" she says as if Laurie isn't a man. He's not really, in Lizzie's mind, he's the cupcake maker, the chef, the painter, but not the man.

Sydney's eyes shift at Lizzie's comment, but only for a second before she's closing them again, relishing in the little bit of quiet. Birds chirp. The sun shines. And the porch is just about perfection, even if Lizzie essentially emasculated Laurie without meaning to. With a quiet hmm that comes out more like a breath, the blonde therapist leans forward in her seat. "So." There's a substantial pause as she lets that word hang. Sitting outside progress, actually talking about something is even moreso. "What do you think of him…?"

Her eyes flutter open lazily as she leans forward. "…Laurie, I mean…" Her lips press together into an unusual flicker of some emotion not entirely realized.

"He's nice," she replies almost too quickly. "He makes good cupcakes, I was thinking about asking hmi to my next meeting. The woman that runs them said she wanted him to bring them next time. I don't think she likes me much… but she's sort of a Rule-Aholic, you know? I think instead of a Superpower Support Group, she could be going to Rule-Aholics Anonymous or something."

Another long sip is taken from her drink and Lizzie smacks her lips in satisfaction. Nothing like a good mojito on a hot summer day, especially when it's made from fresh garden mint. "Why? Are you asking for my permission to date him or something? Because I'm too young to be his mom. I think he's old enough to be my dad."

"Wait. What?" The whole quip about the meeting is lost on Sydney, even though she's heard vaguely about it before. "I… no. Not asking permission, thanks. Just… You know what? Never mind. It doesn't matter." And this is what brings her out of her sunbathing reverie. Feet are planted on the ground as Syd presses her hands into her legs, leaning forward to rise to her feet. But as she leans forward, her eyes narrow. "Do you… how… how long has that car been there?"

She squints to try bringing the driver into focus, but the entire door is obscured by shadow, impossible to see who is actually in the front seat. Strangely, the vehicle isn't running, it's not idling, and it doesn't look like it's going to be moving any time soon.

"Kind of hot outside to just sit in your car, isn't it?" she wrinkles her nose as she glances down the street, but otherwise it's quiet. A single butterfly in her stomach pushes against her insides.

Again, Lizzie is rather unconcerned about everything outside of her minty drink. After yet another sip, she shrugs and focuses on the more important issue than anything Sydney has been talking about. "Well since you're not asking my permission. I think you should totally date him. He's cuter than Doctor Fish-Lips," her nickname for Fred, "and he can cook, andAND!! he calls me Princess. You can't go wrong with a man that butters up your friends like that."

When Sydney continues to prattle on about the car, the smaller and less dressed of the pair (bikini top and daisy dukes) glances out to the road. "Yeah, I guess it is a little hot. Maybe they're on a call. It is against the law to drive and talk on your cell phone, you know. By the way, what kind of a stupid law is that anyway?"

The street continues to look normal, with the only activity coming from the mailman walking up and down it.

Dark eyes squint further as she tries to make out the figure in the car. Her hyper-vigilance having failed her, Sydney actually stands. She swallows as she shuffles towards the ledge of the porch, leaning on it for a closer look. As she does so, as if on cue, the car door opens, just a crack, the occupant stirring within. Against her will, Sydney backs up as it opens further producing… a woman. Right.

Breathing a little easier, Sydney turns to face Lizzie, a smile spreading across her lips, more relaxed as she rolls her eyes at her own ridiculousness.

"Right. Silly law," her tone edges on relieved until something tugs at her feelings. Something odd. Something mixed. A vague glance is given over her shoulder, but again, nothing unusual stands out.

"Hey! The mail's here! I wonder if we got another check~" Lizzie's precious drink is places on the peeling deck floor and her chair lands with a loud slam against the wood. When she gets up, Lizzie pats her feet on the deck to shake off any paint chips that might have stuck to them. In a moment, she's walking at a fast pace down the walk to meet their stack of envelopes and fliers.

They didn't get very much, a free newspaper, a bunk of letters to the occupant, two more bills that are quickly shuffled to the back, and a personal letter. "Eeee! I got a letter!!" Whoever it's from is likely to receive a very prompt reply.

The little blonde pauses on the walk, tucking the bundle of mail under her arm as she opens the letter. The paper is unfolded carefully and she reads.

Sydney pays little attention to the mail that off-feeling still putting her on edge as her gaze moves to the street again, sweeping it for any sign of unusual activity. "Who's the letter from?" the question is honest, but Syd doesn't stick around for the response, "Just a second I need water — " It's so hot outside. Her gaze travels to the screen door which she opens and walks through with quiet careful steps.

The mailman, their usual mailman, lingers there on the sidewalk before walking up the walkway to the porch, particularly when the blonde therapist finds herself inside. Oddly, this man has never spoken two words to either of the women, choosing to deliver the mail in complete and total peace. Lizzie is issued a bright almost too-pleasant smile, as he speaks through a very thick Southern drawl that has an almost metallic quality to it, lacking an emotive lilt to his voice, "Ma'am. I think you should go inside now."

Meanwhile, the dark haired woman who stepped out of her car has, albeit, temporarily, disappeared.

Lizzie is still reading her letter when the mailman addresses her. She gives him a rather confused look and raises her eyebrows at him. "What? Why? I… " Boy he sounds weird. Folding up the letter and carefully putting it back into its envelope, the tiny former celebrity dawdles, meandering up the sidewalk at a leisurely pace. When she gets to the porch, she pads up the steps and turns toward their carrier. "Wait.. why do I have to go inside?"

She's being a little indignant and spoiled. Lizzie doesn't want to go inside, she wants to stay outside and drink her mojito and bask in the heat.

Sydney runs the tap allowing the water to cool before putting it in her glass. Yes, it's wasteful, and she knows she should put the water in the fridge instead, but today she can't be bothered. Oddly, the kitchen radio was left on. With a faint twitch, she leans towards it as it crackles some news almost inaudible, the water still running to reach optimum temperature, she turns the dial to raise the volume, "…escaped from the Manhatten Psych Centre earlier today. Citizens are advised not to deal with this man, and instead to call police immediately…" the blondes eyebrows knit with concern as she increases the volume again, unknowingly holding her breath as she does so.

Where he'd been lingering at the side of the townhouse just out sight, a blonde man pads up the walkway now. A deliciously wicked smile spreads over his lips. Immediately he holds out a hand to Lizzie, "Hello there!" He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a colourful package, "Skittle?"

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TO BE CONTINUED…?

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