2007-08-11: DF: Your Turn, Cain


DFJane_icon.gif Candy_icon.gif

Summary: In the ruins of Times Square two women talk about themselves

Dark Future Date: August 11th, 2009

Your Turn, Cain

The ruins of Times Square, Manhattan, NYC

In the midst of the dismal scar that is Time Square, sits a pink Jeep Cherokee. It's not a perfect Barbietastic vehicle - a crack runs through the wind shield, dust gathers on the wheels and scrapes from flying rocks mar the paint work on the sides. There are even clips here and there suggestive of bullet shots. Either way, it's pastel tone does it's job in trying to be cheerful in a dreary world, and sticks out obviously in the city ruins.

Right now, its engine is shut off, and its own has abandoned it, but not far away. Off the main road and closer to the buildings, a temporary little flea market has been set up, racks of clothes on display, likely stolen goods set out on tables that can be easily folded and taken if need be. Candy is there, wearing a midriff bearing denim vest and tight black pants, gold highheels on her feet. She browses a rack of clothing, a glittery handbang dangling from her shoulder.

Booted feet approach the jeep, coming from the direction of what used to be Broadway and Greenwich Village. The space Jane took Portia to so recently is there, in the building which used to be a recording studio she played in. The vehicle is scanned briefly as she moves past it, headed toward the nearby flea market.

She looks different than that first encounter. For one, she's no clad only in a Yankee pinstripe shirt with Candy's son's name on the back. And for others, she's leaner now. The face is a bit gaunt, her eyes show mixture of anger and hauntedness. There's a backpack over one shoulder and a guitar case over the other, but these days it often conceals a rifle. Basic black is the color of her shirt and jeans, the boots a sturdy type.

There is much about this Candy Cain that is similar to the one Jane knew. There is, perhaps, a slightly athletic bent to her figure than the previous fashionable curvy, and her hair is cut in wisps above the shoulders rather than full, moviestar waves down her back - but otherwise, no drastic change. She's even shopping. Right now, she's found herself a dress with sequins, pulling it off the rack to press against her body. "You don't have a mirror, do you?" she asks of one of the marketers, and gets a blank stare for her trouble. Fine. She turns around to hold the dress up to the nearest female - which happens to be Jane. "Just a moment," she says, not really apologetically, glancing at Jane's face then downwards to see how the dress looks - then up again, eyes wide when she recognises the girl.

She'd begun to let her attention settle on the garments there, and not noticed the person about to turn toward her. That particular segment doesn't interest her long, though; just in time to be turned toward Candy she's angling in that same direction. Her own eyes widen a bit at the sight before her, of cheating ex boyfriend's mother and the sequined dress she holds up. The corners of her lips twitch, Jane exhibits some mild surprise. "Miss Cain," she greets in a calmly neutral tone.

Odd what we remember. Even after two years of warring terrorist hell, a single name just drifts up into Candy's consciousness. "Jane!" she states, now withdrawing the dress quickly, heavily mascara'd eyelashes fluttering as she blinks. "I hardly even recognised you. What are you still doing in New York?" Because one can assume quite a big portion of the City's population had fled at this point - just look around. Once busy sections of Greater New York are, on occasion, comparable to ghost towns. Times Square certainly gives that vibe, depending on the hour.

"Living, making music sometimes, helping people where I can," the younger woman replies solemnly. It's a fairly standard thing Jane tells people who aren't on the inside track of knowing some of her experiences, or that she on occasion freelances with under the radar groups. This may be known to Candy, given her association with the Saints, but the younger one has no knowledge of her attachment. "Holding my own, really. You seem to be doing well."

"Well. Holding my own," Candy repeats back at Jane, with a slightly weaker smile than the dazzling one she used to beam into cameras. Apparently, the sequined dress isn't satisfactory, for it gets pushed back into the clothing rack, the tag from whatever store it was looted from flicking with the movement. "I didn't— " She glances towards those running the little market as well as those browsing as well, making deals, but they don't seem to be paying any attention. "I didn't know you were… you know." A flimsy flap of her hand, hazel-green eyes regarding Jane seriously. "One of— you know. Evolved." That's the assumption she's making, anyway - rarely do humans walk the streets. As usual, she makes herself into the exception.

A slight grin tugs at the corners of her mouth for a moment before vanishing. "I'm a real screamer, Miss Cain," she answers. "It came over me about two months before we met. In the time since I've learned to do some interesting things with my voice." Jane takes a moment to assess Candy after stating her ability in those terms, her mind going over the situation. Is she Evolved too? Her son is, and it does run in families, she'd learned early on, and here the woman is, out in the open. But it proves nothing. And she won't ask that million dollar question. At least not yet.

Candy picks through the clothes without really seeing them, eyes on Jane mostly as she talks, a nicely shaped eyebrow raised. "Boy, that's— with your voice?" A calculating look is donned, perhaps Candy is evaluating exactly how she can get her special effects team to mimic something like that. "Well I hope it's useful. Even us Evolved get it rough." There, that answers Jane's unspoken question! Candy quickly turns to looksee the items on the table, picking up a jewelry box and turning it in her hands.

"Ultrasound," she states, her own attention focused on Candy as she speaks and calculates, because she's doing the same thing. Mental wheels are turning, definitely. "It functions as a concussive force with a variety of outcomes depending on pitch, and can be used to navigate the dark. Even sometimes tell what an obstacle is made of." With one unspoken question answered another surfaces, the natural follow-up to the first, it being also held back for now.

A small handful of money is passed over to the blackmarket merchant, and the jewelry box is Candy's. She opens the lid, and music - though a little distorted - rings out. She shuts the lid before the tune can be identified, however, and stuffs the pretty trinket into her handbag. "I think I understood every second word of that, sweetheart," Candy titters, flashing Jane a smile. "But you can… make sonar, kind of? Like a submarine?"

The opened music box's tune catches her ear in the brief time before it can be identified, she looks toward it, then back to Candy as she speaks, to listen. "Or a bat, often knowing what sort of thing returned the echo. I hear my own voice at all pitches." she answers stoically. "And break things small or large, to put it simply." The question in mind remains unspoken, but it can likely be seen on her face, Jane's wondering what Candy's got.

Yeah, that question lingers between them like a big float neon sign. 'YOUR TURN, CAIN'. Candy just smiles blandly, looking remarkably like herself actually, as she purchases a few more things - a mens' watch, a few necklaces, the exchange of money happening rather quickly. "That's cool," she says, smoothing out her skirt in a slightly restless manner. "Well, I. I can. It's hard to explain, but— I can— do this." And. And then, she cartwheels. After quickly setting down her handbag, that is, but it's a very smooth cartwheel, and she lands in a classic cheerleader pose. Just not very fantastical, even if she is 43. "Optimal human potential," she blurts, and then looks pleased with herself for remembering. "Biological mastery. Let's just say, Botox didn't do this," and she gestures at her features with a flourish.

It's Elena Gomez she immediately thinks of, while watching the cartwheel and hearing the formal title of that ability stated, comparing them in her mind. "Impressive," Jane offers. "You manipulate your own body chemistry. Can you affect others as well?" Curious, yes. "It's an old habit, really. Before things got like this, I spent a good bit of time meeting people like us and thinking about how things worked. Even drew some of the wrong attention, before we all got outed." Her tone is wistful in speaking of those better times, and the eyes wander over toward where a certain headquarters was. The memory makes a darkening scowl form.

Relief. Candy's shoulders sag a little as she goes to pick up her handbag, swinging it in a sort of carefree way. "Only me," she answers, quickly. "Yes. My body sort of just does what it should only better, I don't have much control— " The lie is flowing free, an easy smile on her face… except that's when the sound of cars can be heard in distance, and Candy's gaze flicks over Jane's shoulder to see humvees appear in the area. There is still some distance, but their presence writes fear across her face. Without a word, she starts running for her Jeep, highheeled shoes piercing through the rubble. For an Evolved, she sure is cautious of Homeland Security. "It was nice talking to you again~!" she does manage to cry over her shoulder, tone shrilly. "I like you much better when you aren't making my son fall in love with you~!"

She doesn't particularly seem inclined to stick around with Homeland Security arriving either. Booted feet take to moving at a decent pace back the way she came. The words spoken over Candy's shoulder draw out a mildly saddened reply. "He didn't love me, really. Maybe he thought he did, but he didn't. He'd not have been found in bed with twins if it were so. And I couldn't be enough for him, couldn't make him happy. In the end, that was the most important thing. See you around, I hope, Miss Cain." Jane's words are spoken in a quieter tone just before she veers off in another direction while passing the vehicle Candy's getting into. Maybe she was heard, maybe not, but she's not waiting to find out.

She runs alongside the girl, half-listening, and mostly focused on getting out of there. Once Candy swings herself into the car, slams the door shut, she sighs as she grips the steering wheel. "Oh Jaden," she says to herself, glancing in the rearview mirror at the fleeing Jane, the flea market also scattered by now. With a shake of her head at the conversation best suited for another day, perhaps, Candy starts up her Jeep, and tears on out of there and back to her sanctuary.

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