(2016-09-21) Is This Goodbye?
Is This Goodbye?
Summary: A bittersweet evening
Date: 9.21.2016
Related: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank. You have to use full URLs, like http://mushname.wikidot.com/logtitle)

Projector Room

The small room is almost exactly what one would expect in a projector room in a theater…except it isn't. It's not dusty for one. It is relatively clean, the sofa that sits along one wall has a few pillows and a blanket or two. The coffee table that sits before it has a few candles, though they haven't been recently burnt. More candles dot other surfaces and a few clean glasses and bottles of wine that sit on a table in the corner signal that this room has seen some frequent use. It's not a stretch of the imagination to figure out what it was used for either.

There are a lot of things going on over at the complex at the moment. Preparations are being made, supplies being packed. Over the last week, volunteers from the other settlements have been arriving, able fighters and guards to help with the assault on the military base. Emotions run from excitement to anxious. Tomorrow could go either way, the first day of the rest of their lives or the end of all human life.

Piper has never said what she plans on doing tomorrow. She is being pulled in various directions. Her skills could be useful during the assault, but she has other responsibilities. It all weighs heavily so she has fallen into the anxious category. She needed to get away from all that, clear her head and she has something she needs to do. Hands clutching the straps of her backpack she heads into the theater, looking around as she begins to cross the lobby toward the rooms where she knows Quinton has been staying.

Quinton's there, although there's no sign of his roommate. The poet is laying on the couch, several candles lit as he writes something in a note book. On the table is an open bottle of booze that's clearly been dipped into.

The weather is starting to cool so Piper is wearing the oversize ochre cardigan and has at least socks on her feet. Of course she makes no effort to move quietly but socked feet and carpeting makes it easy. She takes the stairs slowly, building up courage with each step, hoping that is doesn't falter when face-to-face with the poet. She has never worried about being a coward but today it is a fear. As she comes to the doorway she watches him a moment before rapping her knuckles on the doorframe "Quinton?" she queries, her tone soft and in control even if the body language isn't, so much conflict. It's like she is of a precipice and deciding whether to make the leap or not…or maybe its fight or flight, not that big of a difference in the long run really.

Quinton's head swivels and he moves, sitting up, "Hey Savannah." The notebook is set to the side, closed. "Everything ok?" The poet's hair is mushed up on the side from his he was laying, but he doesn't seem to notice…or care.

Her dark eyes, all pupil in the candlelight, look around the room a moment, so many memories, and he doesn't remember any of them. They then lock on him when he speaks. She hasn't been back to this room since she brought him here after his initial breakdown. "Would you believe me if I said yes?" everything is not okay, and she has never been all that good at hiding it. A few tentative steps are taken into the room and then she is eyeing that bottle of booze "May I have a drink?" she gestures to it. Liquid bravery, for when the real thing just won't do.

Quinton chuckles, "No, but I could fake believing you on that if it would help." He watches her, not giving any indication that he doesn't want her there. He nods, then bending over to get another glass. "Sure."

The laughter from him has her looking confused, but she shakes her head "No." she simply tells him as she removes her pack setting it down at her feet after sitting down near him on the couch "Are you ready?" she asks softly watching him grab the glass and pour the drink for her.

Quinton shrugs, the glass set down on the table before he reaches for the bottle. "As ready as I can be." The liquid is poured and the glass scooted to Piper. "Have you decided what you're doing?"

The glass is picked up and its contents quickly shallowed. Piper hasn't had any hard liquor in quite a while, probably not since the rum in the sunroom. She forgot how awful the stuff tastes and how it burns going down, so there is she same humorous, gagging coughing reaction this time as last time. She covers her mouth as she coughs trying to answer the question with a nod of her head at least.

Quinton laughs again, reaching over to pat her back, "Slow down." He sips on his, much easier than Piper. His age showing in the motion.

"Yeah. You'd think I would have learned the first time." Piper says around her burning throat "You laughed at me then too." despite the reaction she is pouring herself another. Clearing her throat a few times she wipes her tearing eyes as she studies him. The easy laughter and seemingly relaxed attitude has her still looking at him with so much confusion "How can you laugh and be so at ease right now." especially when she is a bundle of nerves. She does take his advice though, sipping on the drink this time instead of just shooting it down, giving the first dose a chance to work its magic.

Pale eyes narrow, but it's more at her second drink than anything, "Slow down." His chest rises with a deep breath and he lets his gaze move to the door, "Because it’s set. We're going to stop them. Or die trying. It will be done."

Hands tighten on the glass in her hands, but she doesn't take another sip just yet but Piper has dropped her gaze to stare into the amber liquid that is in the glass "I've come to terms with the dying." if Devon and Quinton fail that means they all die "It's the living that I'm afraid of." that is how she was when they first meet and how she is again. It's come full circle. That said she takes another sip, this time there is no coughing just a wince at the burning flavor of it.

Quinton's head tilts, "It's not going to be easy, but there's reasons to live if we win." he finishes off his drink and sets the glass down. "You have your kids….Focus on that."

Piper bites her lip, the words are easy to say, much harder to do. Her body starts to relax a bit, starting with the tension in her shoulders, as she alcohol starts to do its work "In the last year and a half there is only one thing I have found easy." its been a few months longer than that, but close enough. She finally raises her head to look at him once more "Will you come back?" her eyes plead even though she knows that blowing up the ship is going to be a one way mission.

Quinton watches her, eye softening. "Savannah…" There's a brief hesitance and then he reaches to rub her back slightly, "There's plenty to life for…" And then that question, "If i can…..I will. I don't know exactly what the pod is going to need."

The slight change of expression and the comforting gesture has Piper moving closer to lean against him, if he lets her. She wants to believe him, that his isn't the suicide mission that it sounds like it is going to be. There is a smile at his answer but it doesn't quite reach her eyes, though it is sincere despite that. A glance goes to the notebook he was writing in "Did I interrupt you writing something important?" she'll change the subject to something less heavy her thoughts lightening thanks to the liquor.

Quinton stills, giving her a steady pillar. "Nothing important, just rambles." His hand casually strokes her shoulder, "Nothing good. I won't be publishing another book anytime soon." He smirks at that.

She's been nursing her drink this time and takes another sip of it as she answers "Everything is important." especially now, at least it is to her "I doubt that." the not being good part. "May I read it, I think a second opinion may be needed."

Quinton's smile is warm, "Yeah…I guess it is." A low chuckle, "I do write crap, ya know." So much crap. His nose wrinkles, "Not now…I don't feel like getting critique tonight." His arm moves and eh leans forward to pour himself another drink.

"I will take your word for it." being a writer of songs she knows the truth of that. You have to write a lot of bad stuff to get to the good stuff. Piper isn't sure there will be a later, but she tries not to think too heavily on that, nothing worse than a sad drunk..except maybe an angry one. And she doesn't want that. "Not soon no." but assuming they all survive it isn't impossible "I would have been gentle." she does point out as she reaches up to fix his smooshed hair, after he is done pouring his drink.

Pale eyes rise to meet her's, but he doesn't move his head away, "That's even worse. I don't need gentle. If something's wrong…fix it, right?" A sip and he looks at her, "What do you need, Savannah?"

There is a half-smile "Right, but there is no need to be harsh to do it." she deals with a children on a daily basis so has probably perfected the gentle scolding as well as the tough love approach in equal measure. Then he is reminding her of why she came in the first place. The smile fades and there is a glance into her now empty glass then back up at him "A refill." that's probably the last thing she needs actually but she mentions it anyway. "I just…" why is this so hard for her to say? Because the truth is hard maybe and the truth right now isn't all unicorns and rainbows "Time…with you, that's all." Translation: They could all die tomorrow, she wants to make the rest of her hours count.

Quinton scan do that, he reaches for the bottle, "I think Sophia is a better barkeep then me…" he takes a deep breath, finishing off her glass and topping off his. "Sure…ok. We can do that. Time." He smiles, most likely agreeing. He lifts his glass, "To time?"

"Good thing it isn't a bartender I want." that could be borderline flirting. Something Piper has never really been particularly skilled at. That sounded like agreement to her and she clinks her glass to his nodding to his toast but adding a bit of her own "And making each moment count." and she sips, there is no wincing this time.

Quinton snorts, "What? My pourings not good enough for you?" He smiles, agreeing with what she added and sips his as well. The poet's cheeks are fairly flushed, he's drank quite a bit more than her. "Did you want me to recite poetry then?" She was asking about the notebook.

"For me..yes." She moves so she is sitting more up and not so much leaning on him and she puts her face closer to his. She is too dark of complexion to flush but she has drunk enough to be heavily buzzed. She is tiny "If you are offering how can I say no. You can start with my favorite one." she is to buzzed to realize he probably doesn't remember what that one is.

Quinton gulps down the rest of his drink, he can see where this is going, and his sense of pride (Or is it his morality?) is drunk too. "Which one is that?" A hand reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "And how many do you want me to recite?"

She knows the poem by heart. And Piper could recite it word for word herself but she doesn't. Setting the glass down she reaches into her pack to remove the jewelry box she has been carrying in there for a long time now. Turning the key on the bottom a couple of times she opens it and Bolero plays from it. Inside is a collection of photographs, a few hair pins and ponytail holders and a piece of paper folded in half, this she removes and hands it to him "This one." as for how many "This one is enough, but I won't stop you if you want to recite more."

She knows the poem by heart. And Piper could recite it word for word herself but she doesn't. Setting the glass down she reaches into her pack to remove the jewerly box she has been carrying in there for a long time now. Turning the key on the bottom a couple of times she opens it and Bolero plays from it. Inside is a collection of photographs, a few hair pins and ponytail holders and a piece of paper folded in half, this she removes and hands it to him "This one." as for how many "This one is enough, but I won't stop you if you want to recite more."

Quinton takes the paper and reads it, a few emotions skitter across his face be he then nods, "Alright…" He clears his throat, "Lost in the waves, curls crashing in my mind, There is no coming back , lost in the sea of your hair, No Lighthouse to warn of the rock shore
A sailors prayer to guide me, My north star" Pale eyes drift up to hers and he offers a soft smile, "The lost year."

There is a moment of nervousness as he reads the page, but that flees when he agrees. Piper wasn't sure how he was going to react and this is much better than she could hope for. As he reads, her eyes close and she leans against the back of the sofa, listening to the words he wrote for her, for the first time in its entirety. When he finishes her eyes open to look at him her mouth opens to remind him that it was stolen, not lost but she closes her mouth on those words. Why ruin a moment with bad memories. "If I could give it back I would." well she sorta could, but those are her memories and that isn't quite the same.

Quinton smirks, "Yeah, but at what cost?" He seems to understand some of it. "It's a year, there's always more years." Well, hopefully. Instead of focusing on that, he reaches a hand up and gently gives a lock of hair a tug.

"Somethings are worth any cost." Is this one? That one she is unsure of so Piper doesn't pursue it, instead she nods in agreement to his words "After you take out the mothership and the kamo kids are rescued…it will be like starting over." well it could be. The hair tugging, helped by the booze, gets her to laughing, it’s been so long since she has laughed that she is surprised by it, the look is priceless.

Quinton slowly blinks, letting Piper steer the conversation. "Yeah it will. The new Eden." His finger curls around the lock, but then he joins in her laughter, "That's a nice sound."

Piper tilts her head at the name, but not in a way that interferes with his playing with her hair. She seems to enjoy that. New Eden?" she echoes the name, testing it out "I like that. Maybe we should change the name of the town to that once this is finally over." she can only assume he means her laughter. "You recited poetry for me," she takes the paper with its typed words and puts it back in the jewelry box with the pictures and other things "does this mean I sing for you?" she scooches a bit closer as she asks.

Quinton chuckles, "Yeah…that would be nice." His last impression on the town. There;'s a gentle nod, "Only if you want." He's heard her sing, but gets the feeling that doesn't happen very often. His drunken smiles browns and he shifts to lean little closer to her, eyes starting to roam her face.

Not as often as it used to no. Piper has had little reason to sing lately, but now though she is heavily buzzed and feeling better than she has in a long time. Maybe she should have turned to the alcohol sooner. As he studies her face she begins to sing an old Beatle's song. It's usually the classics with her, "Turn off your mind, relax and float down stream…" Tomorrow Never Knows, not only appropriate, but also from the first album he ever gifted her, not that he would remember that. she continues "…Love is all and love is everyone, It is knowing, it is knowing…that ignorance and hates may mourn the dead, It is believing, it is believing…" as she sings she starts to relax even more going to that place in her head briefly where the music lives.

After the first few words, Quin smiles recognizing the song. He shifts more, settling into the couch more. His fingers twirl her hair, his eyes traveling over her face and then onto the curls around his fingers. He also seems to be relaxing.

As Piper comes to the end of the song her singing gets softer as she curls up against him. This time she doesn't segue into a different song, just ends it naturally and after a moment gives a contented sigh and the feeling of fingers twining in her curls and a warm body next to her "Thank you."

"You sang to me. Thank you." Quin lets to a relaxed sigh, "You ok there?" He lets his arm shift around her so Piper can nestle into him better.

There is that laugh again, only softer this time "I meant for letting me stay, for sharing your drink…for lots of things." so many things and none of them he remembers. Well if he is making room for her she is going to take advantage of it, and she is the right size to fit nicely beside him "Perfect."

Quinton's head shakes softly, his hair barely long enough to move, but it does. "Drinking with someone is way better than alone." He was drinking alone, but still, this is better. He laughs softly again, "I think that's the first time that's ever been said about me."

Piper hmmms at the comment, lifting her head to look at him "I could go get Terry. I'm sure he wouldn't mind drinking with you." she's teasing of course, she would never do that, one she can't talk to him, two she likes where she is just fine. "Would you like me to say it again? Make it twice?" more teasing…or is it?

Quinton doesn't remember his frustration with their new sheriff, but he's heard just enough to wrinkle hi nose and tighten his arm around her, "No. Shit, no…"He considers his empty glass, but he's pretty drunk. And eh knows it. "Sure…I could use the built up." Is that a hint of nerves about the up coming mission?

"You sure…" she starts to continue the teasing, though the arm tighteng around her makes her just smile up at him, "Okay." Piper studies him a moment, reaching over to take his other hand "You are. You always have been my kind of perfect."

Quinton smirks, almost boyishly, "Perfect makes for boring.." His fingers start toying with her curls again. "I don't get it. " Them, that is. "From what everyone says, I was really screwed up…"His eyes are drunkly starting to focus more on her lips than her eyes.

"We were both in bad places when we met." Piper certainly was "I was terrifed of everyone back then." she still is to a certain degree, "I hardly spoke myself back then." she tries to explain as best as she can, without going into the grim details of the hows and whys they were both screwed up. He doesn't need to know that. Of course she only knows if from her point of view, so has no idea what was going through his head during all this, not exactly, but she does her best and she keeps it short "You were less screwed up than most, to me." because despite all that had happened he hadn't gotten the 'every man for himself, looking out for number one' attitude.

Quinton smiles lopsided, "I doubt that. Losing my words, I can't even imagine how fucked up I would have felt…" His fingers finally uncurl from her hair and move the inch down to start playing with the edge of the sweater's neckline . "Are you leaving in the morning?"

"Some days were better than others." Piper will admit that much "You were frustrated…often." when the hand shifts from hair to sweater she reaches up to pull her wild mane back. Then the question as to her plans, "Yes. Everything is packed and ready. The children are one part excited and one part terrified." they don't get out much and certainly not beyond the safety of the walls. She is feeling more of the terrified and less of the excitement.

Quinton can imagine that, being frustrated. Hell, he gets frustrated now. His finger, and gaze, follow the edge of the sweater, "They'll be ok. They're smart, and have you…" The feel of the knit, and maybe the booze seems to be relaxing him even more, his eyes half closed.

There is a sigh, Piper is a mess on conflicting emotions right now, and the statement brings them churning up to the surface. "They will be yes." and she will live no matter what happens. Her face turns up to look at him. It's been a long time since she has seen him this relaxed and at ease "Are you falling asleep on me?"

Quinton makes a scoffing nose, "No." But he does shift and sit a little straighter, less chance of falling asleep that way. He looks over to where there's a small shelf of some foods and books. And a puzzle box. "Are you hungry? Cold?"

Piper gives a softer laugh this time at his answer "Liar." once more teasing him as her fingers begin to draw patterns on his chest "I'm good." snuggled up to him she defintely isn't cold at least. Her gaze does follow his to the shelf, nothing there surprises her though the box is curious. She hasn't seen it before "Is that yours?" she points to it.

Quinton takes a deep breath, pale eyes lowering to watch eyer fingers on his chest. His heart is thumping, but not rapidly. It takes him a moment to figure out what she's talking about, swiveling his head to look at the box, "Yeah…I can't be writing all the time."

Naturally she is curious about the thing and her eyes stay on it for a few more moments, then they return to the tracing of her fingers "At least not consciously." writing that is. Piper's own eyes close briefly, immersing herself in the moment for a bit before speaking once more "Have you figured it out yet?"

Quinton's head tilts as he studies her with her eyes closed, "Figured what out?" His voice is low, not quite husky yet. "My poem?"

One eye opens to look at him, then the other, "the puzzle box." Piper reminds him, her fingers breifly pausing their motion. The voice variation is picked up on and a tinge of sadness comes to her eyes "Did you want me to go so you can sleep?" she'd clearly rather stay, but he has a long day ahead of him…one that hopefully is hangover free, and she isn't going to assume the invitation to stay means overnight.

Pale eyes stay on Piper's fingers, "I did." They dart up though when she suggests leaving, his eyebrows furrowing together, "No. You don't have to go." There's a beat, "Unless you need to. You probably need sleep for tomorrow…"

Apparently that was the answer Piper wanted to hear and another contented sigh comes from her "I'd rather stay." and this is where the courage comes in and enough of the liquid version is still in her system to make it easier to speak her mind "I can sleep anywhere, and tonight I'd rather not sleep alone."

Quinton's not as much a coward since getting his words back, and as soon as Piper gives the affirmative his head dips and he presses his lips into hers. It may not be the smoothest he's ever been, but he's drunk and she's at an angle and they're all probably going to die tomorrow.

Well that response leaves no doubt in Piper's mind of what he thinks of her staying. There is no hesitation in her response, and she shifts slightly to make it more comfortable for them both all without pulling away. And there is that hand of hers, balling into a fist as she clutches at his shirt. So much for sleeping.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License