Fledgling [Part 3 of 3]
[Players: serenityw, mai_lovely and tristan_taylor_]
[Scene: Over a period of several days and with the help of a few friends, one little bird tries her wings. Serenity's Interview is Backdated to Thursday, 11/15/2007]
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3
Tristan had intended to approach the menu with wariness. It was a restaurant in an area of the city more likely to cater to locals than the masses. Who knew what the options would be, and how likely he'd be able to understand them?
The interior of the restaurant was absolutely not what he'd anticipated. Indian food suggested curry and other rich spices. Tristan expected a deliciously dark and shadowy place, but the counter was brightly lit and trim as any fast food restaurant. The menus were bright blue plastic panels behind the cashier, with explanations of each dish beneath the entries. It smelled heavenly, but even he had to admit, he was a little disappointed.
Until he saw 'vindaloo.' Instantly, a tall transvestite spread her arms wide in his memory, short black wig flying as she boogied in bilious green tights. Angel and the curry vindaloo beckoned, and he found himself grinning helplessly at the menu.
"Beef Vindaloo?" Tristan asked Serenity, leaning down so as to lower his voice and not betray his ignorance.
His sister beamed as if she had just won the lottery. “Good pick. Wanna try a samosa? And naan, we got to have naan…” She flipped through towards the back. “Ooh, cheese naan! And chapattis-what?” He was eyeing her. “Exchange students at college,” Serenity explained, turning a page backwards. “Vicky, that’s how she knew about the piercings place, she was dating this exchange student-- they'd sell Indian-style food on Club Day-- and he was staying with his cousin, he had this really weird-“
“Orders, miss?” said the boy at the counter, interrupting in what was probably an Act Of God. Red could get kind of wound up sometimes when she got talking.
Tristan waved Serenity towards the counter after he confirmed his interest in the vindaloo and... whatever else she wanted to share with him. He was swimming in a sea of words and trying to navigate it in the space of relative peace while his sister ordered.
Negotiations were underway and over for something that (besides his vindaloo) involved Tandoori Chicken, just a half, couple of samosas, naan? Garlic naan, and yeah, cheese naan too before Serenity handed over a surprisingly modest amount of cash. "I haven't had Indian in more than a year," she remarked, inhaling the spicy scents contentedly as she stuffed her wallet back into her bag. "Ash Springs, it had what, maybe five restaurants? Vicky would've hated it."
Waiting until they'd settled down at a table just out of the main stream of traffic, Tristan leaned his elbows on the surface and raised his eyebrows. "Hey, I don't know much about Vicky. Some, but it's been a long time. How's she doing?"
His sister took a long swallow of her drink (nothing more exotic than soda) and considered; the stress of her interview had long since faded by now into relaxation. As she made a skranking noise with her straw, the Serenity that quirked one corner of a smile up at her brother looked a lot more like the woman he’d grown up with than the faded creature that had arrived so short a time before in the middle of a rainy night. “Not too bad. Still working for that vet’s office, the same place Duke uses; she’s engaged, did I tell you? I haven’t met the guy-I think his name’s Seth or Jacob or, uh, something Biblical like that…” The plastic on her soda-lid skreeked again. “We’ve been setting it up since I got back; she wants me to be at her bachelorette party on Valentine’s, and that’ll be fun so long’s we don’t get arrested.”
Serenity hitched one leg up, crossing it beneath the table; the seats were a little high, and she dangled one ankle like a child. “Haven’t seen her, though; we've just emailed back and forth. Not her, not Kath Jotteson, none of my friends from my old job-I didn’t really keep in touch much, except with you and Joey and Duke. And Téa, a little. Emails, some texts, that's it,” she said with regret. “Do you ever see anybody anymore from your old job?”
Tristan opened his mouth to say "I take Robin there, too," when he realized that it had been a while since he'd seen Duke on more than a superficial level, and wondered if they still took their pets to the same place. How was he doing with Zaphod? Tristan drew his thoughts back into line at Serenity's ending question, and nodded enthusiastically. "Rodney. The paint guy. Don't laugh, he calls himself the paint guy. Unless he's trying to write his resume, then he's an "automotive customization specialist." Though Tristan resisted miming air quotes, his tone deftly attached them anyway. "We're working out a custom job for my Victory. Using the wings you gave me, s'matter of fact."
That was way more than enough to make the young woman opposite him break out into a huge, delighted grin. “Really? Seriously? --hah, 'Winged Victory'. You know, the statue?" Serenity drew a line across her neck with one finger and then flapped her hands at shoulder height, either waving away gnats or imitating wings. “Of Samothrace. That one…” She leaned forward, elbows inelegantly on the table as she considered. “Think maybe I talked to Rodney a couple of times on the phone but I don’t know if I ever met him. What’ll your bike look like?”
It's gonna be white," Tristan curved his palms through the air before him, as if he were holding the Victory's softly contoured gas tank, "all of it, really pristine white, metal flake and pearly. Rodney's gonna do fiberglass work on the tank, and maybe the back fender, so it'll have raised white feathers with some banding; haven't decided what color. I'm gonna help make a fitting right below the gas cap where we can put your wings, too. So they'll stay put and I can see 'em while I'm riding, and nobody can steal 'em. If I have to let the bike go someday, I can always just dig 'em out of the fitting." The description poured out, eager and intense, because he'd been sitting on it for ages and was desperate to tell the one person he'd like to show the most. Afterward, Tristan snagged his soda closer with a sheepish curve of his shoulders and sucked on the straw. "Kinda long-winded," he added with chagrin.
Serenity had been sitting back, fascinated and doing her best to imagine what was being described for her. “I never thought you’d-when I saw those wings,” she said slowly, “I knew who they were for right away, no question about it. But I didn’t expect you to…” She ducked her head, absurdly happy at the effects of her small gift. “Wish I knew where it came from and who had it in the beginning, y’know? He’s probably not even alive still. But whoever it was, I bet he’d like knowing where his wings are going to end up.”
She glanced up at Tristan, smiling. “Still flying. That’s… really good, Tristan.”
"Heh, thanks," Tristan said quickly, then paused, swallowed, and repeated himself before his self-depreciation had a chance to let him dismiss the compliment. "Thank you, Red. I like building custom designs... it was always just the really ostentatious stuff that put me off about my job before. To be honest, I miss it. I'm thinking about picking it up again, a little, on my own. Been just working nights at the Phoenix for way too long now, I'm gonna go crazy if I keep on not having anything to do during the day but dishes and laundry and sleep." It was an exaggeration; he picked up groceries and searched forums and trading posts online for Omega leads and more than occasionally took the neighbor's Sheltie for walks to the dog park. But he was past restless and bored now; he was nearing stir-crazy.
Their order arrived then, brown trays and lipped white platters of puffy things and crispy things and flat things and things in sauces; the large brown chunks of beef in a rich sauce over rice looked appetizing, as did the garlicky-smelling flatbread that Serenity tore in half and passed over. But... the chicken dish was red, and not a barbeque-sauce red, either. Very few edible things were the shade of the offspring of a firetruck and a cheap neon sign, but Tristan's sister tucked in with enthusiasm.
The waiter left extra napkins.
Tristan watched Serenity dig into the tandoori with a fascination. He'd seen chicken skewers that color in other places... but he had no idea what made them that lurid shade. "I didn't know curry involved Kool-Aid," he teased, tugging what he assumed was his plate towards his edge of the table.
The flavor of the saturated meat exploded in his mouth with an indescribable mix of satisfying bite and tang. His nose and tongue picked up the alien flavors as well as familiar garlic and chilis, and the combination made his mouth water for more reasons than one. He forked up another bite, eagerly, too busy filling his empty stomach to stop and make a crack about his own instant conversion.
His sister, however, just grinned to herself and forked up another bite. She remembered her introduction to East Indian food from college; there were a lot of things she hadn’t tried yet, but considering where she was going to live if she-
Oh. Wow. -if I get the apartment--
It hadn’t hit her before this, not really; but now it did, and Serenity froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. New job (hopefully), new place (all hers!), new start-- I’m really… back. Really going to be here, be home, start over.
Even if it’s not how I planned it, I’m HERE.
She hugged the thought to herself; it was liberating and terrifying in a curious way… There were so many emotions mixed up with it that she couldn’t sort it out in her head, all the anger and fear and half-crazy joy of feeling herself slotting back into place so hard Serenity could almost hear the click.
So-she didn’t try. Instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat and took another bite of Tandoori Chicken, pretending that the sudden stinging in her eyes came from the spices.
* * *
Mai shuffled through the pages she was holding one more time. It was amazing to recall all of the half-hour interviews that she had sat through in a matter of seconds, but the real kicker was that only a couple of them stuck out of the pile. She pulled the two names that were appealing to her and put the rest aside.
She dialed the first contact number sitting in front of her. She waited on the line for two rings before the person on the other end picked up. "Hello, this is..."
"I thought I told you not to call me again, Jane!" the booming voice yelled at her. She jerked the phone away from her ear. "Son of a bitch, isn't it enough that..."
Mai let the timbre of her voice echo his. "I am not Jane! Excuse me, sir!"
"Huh?" He almost squeaked.
"I assume this is Elijah?"
"Yes; who's this?"
"This is Mai Valentine, and I was calling about your interview at the Phoenix Rising last week."
"Oh, well..."
"I'm sorry to say that your application has been denied. Thank you. Have a nice day."
If she could have slammed a cell phone down, she would have. The paper was crumpled and tossed.
OK, Fates, I accept it," she smiled. The world is small.
She punched in the numbers of one Serenity Wheeler, and anticipated her answer.
* * *
'Inbetween tonight and my tomorrows,
Tadzio, where've you been--'
Rufus Wainwright just wasn't cutting it this evening; scowling a little, Serenity pulled her earbuds out and clicked out of her laptop player; the relative silence was easier to deal with than music that didn't fit her mood, even though the lyrics kept playing in (and with) her head.
...honey, I'm a rover, concrete clover...
The tune that broke through that wasn't Rufus Wainwright, though; it was her cell phone. Sitting up with a grimace from her sprawl across the bed, Serenity fumbled with the phone before flipping it open. "--Hello?"
"Hello, Serenity? This is Mai Valentine, from the Phoenix Rising."
Awkward flutter of fear, flicker of hope; commanding herself to get a GRIP already, Red, Serenity wet her lips. "Oh-- hello?"
"I was just calling to tell you that I've reviewed your application"- those words were always like the drumroll- "and that we'd like to accept you as the newest employee at the Phoenix."
Mai could hear the warmth in her own voice that reassured her that this was the right choice. "Are you still available?"
The cell almost creaked in its owner's grip; Serenity drew in a deep, happy breath and let it out. "Absolutely. Whenever. I mean, when do you want me to be there? ...and, uh..." She laughed at herself, feeling like an idiot (but an employed idiot) "...sorry. I'm-- that's great. So, when do I start?"
"Well," Mai said as she shifted everything to see the large calendar on her desk, "how about Monday?"
She pulled a pen from her stash of stationary and uncapped it. They chatted options and times, letting the conversation sink into the important mundane talk. While Mai was still talking she scrawled in cursive-type lettering on the page, Serenity: Training, and capped the Bic with an inaudible *snap*. Finally, something new on the calendar, she thought genially. It's good to see some red.
[Scene: Over a period of several days and with the help of a few friends, one little bird tries her wings. Serenity's Interview is Backdated to Thursday, 11/15/2007]
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3
Tristan had intended to approach the menu with wariness. It was a restaurant in an area of the city more likely to cater to locals than the masses. Who knew what the options would be, and how likely he'd be able to understand them?
The interior of the restaurant was absolutely not what he'd anticipated. Indian food suggested curry and other rich spices. Tristan expected a deliciously dark and shadowy place, but the counter was brightly lit and trim as any fast food restaurant. The menus were bright blue plastic panels behind the cashier, with explanations of each dish beneath the entries. It smelled heavenly, but even he had to admit, he was a little disappointed.
Until he saw 'vindaloo.' Instantly, a tall transvestite spread her arms wide in his memory, short black wig flying as she boogied in bilious green tights. Angel and the curry vindaloo beckoned, and he found himself grinning helplessly at the menu.
"Beef Vindaloo?" Tristan asked Serenity, leaning down so as to lower his voice and not betray his ignorance.
His sister beamed as if she had just won the lottery. “Good pick. Wanna try a samosa? And naan, we got to have naan…” She flipped through towards the back. “Ooh, cheese naan! And chapattis-what?” He was eyeing her. “Exchange students at college,” Serenity explained, turning a page backwards. “Vicky, that’s how she knew about the piercings place, she was dating this exchange student-- they'd sell Indian-style food on Club Day-- and he was staying with his cousin, he had this really weird-“
“Orders, miss?” said the boy at the counter, interrupting in what was probably an Act Of God. Red could get kind of wound up sometimes when she got talking.
Tristan waved Serenity towards the counter after he confirmed his interest in the vindaloo and... whatever else she wanted to share with him. He was swimming in a sea of words and trying to navigate it in the space of relative peace while his sister ordered.
Negotiations were underway and over for something that (besides his vindaloo) involved Tandoori Chicken, just a half, couple of samosas, naan? Garlic naan, and yeah, cheese naan too before Serenity handed over a surprisingly modest amount of cash. "I haven't had Indian in more than a year," she remarked, inhaling the spicy scents contentedly as she stuffed her wallet back into her bag. "Ash Springs, it had what, maybe five restaurants? Vicky would've hated it."
Waiting until they'd settled down at a table just out of the main stream of traffic, Tristan leaned his elbows on the surface and raised his eyebrows. "Hey, I don't know much about Vicky. Some, but it's been a long time. How's she doing?"
His sister took a long swallow of her drink (nothing more exotic than soda) and considered; the stress of her interview had long since faded by now into relaxation. As she made a skranking noise with her straw, the Serenity that quirked one corner of a smile up at her brother looked a lot more like the woman he’d grown up with than the faded creature that had arrived so short a time before in the middle of a rainy night. “Not too bad. Still working for that vet’s office, the same place Duke uses; she’s engaged, did I tell you? I haven’t met the guy-I think his name’s Seth or Jacob or, uh, something Biblical like that…” The plastic on her soda-lid skreeked again. “We’ve been setting it up since I got back; she wants me to be at her bachelorette party on Valentine’s, and that’ll be fun so long’s we don’t get arrested.”
Serenity hitched one leg up, crossing it beneath the table; the seats were a little high, and she dangled one ankle like a child. “Haven’t seen her, though; we've just emailed back and forth. Not her, not Kath Jotteson, none of my friends from my old job-I didn’t really keep in touch much, except with you and Joey and Duke. And Téa, a little. Emails, some texts, that's it,” she said with regret. “Do you ever see anybody anymore from your old job?”
Tristan opened his mouth to say "I take Robin there, too," when he realized that it had been a while since he'd seen Duke on more than a superficial level, and wondered if they still took their pets to the same place. How was he doing with Zaphod? Tristan drew his thoughts back into line at Serenity's ending question, and nodded enthusiastically. "Rodney. The paint guy. Don't laugh, he calls himself the paint guy. Unless he's trying to write his resume, then he's an "automotive customization specialist." Though Tristan resisted miming air quotes, his tone deftly attached them anyway. "We're working out a custom job for my Victory. Using the wings you gave me, s'matter of fact."
That was way more than enough to make the young woman opposite him break out into a huge, delighted grin. “Really? Seriously? --hah, 'Winged Victory'. You know, the statue?" Serenity drew a line across her neck with one finger and then flapped her hands at shoulder height, either waving away gnats or imitating wings. “Of Samothrace. That one…” She leaned forward, elbows inelegantly on the table as she considered. “Think maybe I talked to Rodney a couple of times on the phone but I don’t know if I ever met him. What’ll your bike look like?”
It's gonna be white," Tristan curved his palms through the air before him, as if he were holding the Victory's softly contoured gas tank, "all of it, really pristine white, metal flake and pearly. Rodney's gonna do fiberglass work on the tank, and maybe the back fender, so it'll have raised white feathers with some banding; haven't decided what color. I'm gonna help make a fitting right below the gas cap where we can put your wings, too. So they'll stay put and I can see 'em while I'm riding, and nobody can steal 'em. If I have to let the bike go someday, I can always just dig 'em out of the fitting." The description poured out, eager and intense, because he'd been sitting on it for ages and was desperate to tell the one person he'd like to show the most. Afterward, Tristan snagged his soda closer with a sheepish curve of his shoulders and sucked on the straw. "Kinda long-winded," he added with chagrin.
Serenity had been sitting back, fascinated and doing her best to imagine what was being described for her. “I never thought you’d-when I saw those wings,” she said slowly, “I knew who they were for right away, no question about it. But I didn’t expect you to…” She ducked her head, absurdly happy at the effects of her small gift. “Wish I knew where it came from and who had it in the beginning, y’know? He’s probably not even alive still. But whoever it was, I bet he’d like knowing where his wings are going to end up.”
She glanced up at Tristan, smiling. “Still flying. That’s… really good, Tristan.”
"Heh, thanks," Tristan said quickly, then paused, swallowed, and repeated himself before his self-depreciation had a chance to let him dismiss the compliment. "Thank you, Red. I like building custom designs... it was always just the really ostentatious stuff that put me off about my job before. To be honest, I miss it. I'm thinking about picking it up again, a little, on my own. Been just working nights at the Phoenix for way too long now, I'm gonna go crazy if I keep on not having anything to do during the day but dishes and laundry and sleep." It was an exaggeration; he picked up groceries and searched forums and trading posts online for Omega leads and more than occasionally took the neighbor's Sheltie for walks to the dog park. But he was past restless and bored now; he was nearing stir-crazy.
Their order arrived then, brown trays and lipped white platters of puffy things and crispy things and flat things and things in sauces; the large brown chunks of beef in a rich sauce over rice looked appetizing, as did the garlicky-smelling flatbread that Serenity tore in half and passed over. But... the chicken dish was red, and not a barbeque-sauce red, either. Very few edible things were the shade of the offspring of a firetruck and a cheap neon sign, but Tristan's sister tucked in with enthusiasm.
The waiter left extra napkins.
Tristan watched Serenity dig into the tandoori with a fascination. He'd seen chicken skewers that color in other places... but he had no idea what made them that lurid shade. "I didn't know curry involved Kool-Aid," he teased, tugging what he assumed was his plate towards his edge of the table.
The flavor of the saturated meat exploded in his mouth with an indescribable mix of satisfying bite and tang. His nose and tongue picked up the alien flavors as well as familiar garlic and chilis, and the combination made his mouth water for more reasons than one. He forked up another bite, eagerly, too busy filling his empty stomach to stop and make a crack about his own instant conversion.
His sister, however, just grinned to herself and forked up another bite. She remembered her introduction to East Indian food from college; there were a lot of things she hadn’t tried yet, but considering where she was going to live if she-
Oh. Wow. -if I get the apartment--
It hadn’t hit her before this, not really; but now it did, and Serenity froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. New job (hopefully), new place (all hers!), new start-- I’m really… back. Really going to be here, be home, start over.
Even if it’s not how I planned it, I’m HERE.
She hugged the thought to herself; it was liberating and terrifying in a curious way… There were so many emotions mixed up with it that she couldn’t sort it out in her head, all the anger and fear and half-crazy joy of feeling herself slotting back into place so hard Serenity could almost hear the click.
So-she didn’t try. Instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat and took another bite of Tandoori Chicken, pretending that the sudden stinging in her eyes came from the spices.
* * *
Mai shuffled through the pages she was holding one more time. It was amazing to recall all of the half-hour interviews that she had sat through in a matter of seconds, but the real kicker was that only a couple of them stuck out of the pile. She pulled the two names that were appealing to her and put the rest aside.
She dialed the first contact number sitting in front of her. She waited on the line for two rings before the person on the other end picked up. "Hello, this is..."
"I thought I told you not to call me again, Jane!" the booming voice yelled at her. She jerked the phone away from her ear. "Son of a bitch, isn't it enough that..."
Mai let the timbre of her voice echo his. "I am not Jane! Excuse me, sir!"
"Huh?" He almost squeaked.
"I assume this is Elijah?"
"Yes; who's this?"
"This is Mai Valentine, and I was calling about your interview at the Phoenix Rising last week."
"Oh, well..."
"I'm sorry to say that your application has been denied. Thank you. Have a nice day."
If she could have slammed a cell phone down, she would have. The paper was crumpled and tossed.
OK, Fates, I accept it," she smiled. The world is small.
She punched in the numbers of one Serenity Wheeler, and anticipated her answer.
* * *
'Inbetween tonight and my tomorrows,
Tadzio, where've you been--'
Rufus Wainwright just wasn't cutting it this evening; scowling a little, Serenity pulled her earbuds out and clicked out of her laptop player; the relative silence was easier to deal with than music that didn't fit her mood, even though the lyrics kept playing in (and with) her head.
...honey, I'm a rover, concrete clover...
The tune that broke through that wasn't Rufus Wainwright, though; it was her cell phone. Sitting up with a grimace from her sprawl across the bed, Serenity fumbled with the phone before flipping it open. "--Hello?"
"Hello, Serenity? This is Mai Valentine, from the Phoenix Rising."
Awkward flutter of fear, flicker of hope; commanding herself to get a GRIP already, Red, Serenity wet her lips. "Oh-- hello?"
"I was just calling to tell you that I've reviewed your application"- those words were always like the drumroll- "and that we'd like to accept you as the newest employee at the Phoenix."
Mai could hear the warmth in her own voice that reassured her that this was the right choice. "Are you still available?"
The cell almost creaked in its owner's grip; Serenity drew in a deep, happy breath and let it out. "Absolutely. Whenever. I mean, when do you want me to be there? ...and, uh..." She laughed at herself, feeling like an idiot (but an employed idiot) "...sorry. I'm-- that's great. So, when do I start?"
"Well," Mai said as she shifted everything to see the large calendar on her desk, "how about Monday?"
She pulled a pen from her stash of stationary and uncapped it. They chatted options and times, letting the conversation sink into the important mundane talk. While Mai was still talking she scrawled in cursive-type lettering on the page, Serenity: Training, and capped the Bic with an inaudible *snap*. Finally, something new on the calendar, she thought genially. It's good to see some red.