On the rocks
I can't win with Sabby sometimes. Maybe most of the time. I hate having to walk on eggshells around her.
Well, not that I don't prod her where I shouldn't, I guess. My fault for bringing up Shaw in the first place, but damn, girl. I'm a reporter, and I have reporter friends who've interviewed him (and let's not talk about Jaz's run-in with him after the rally!) - I gotta ask, at least once.
And she has the right to freeze me out over it. Fair enough. I did offer a topic change, for all the good it did. She's tired from the shit going on in Washington, which is hitting her desk, too. Also fair enough. I'm just not capable of backing that far off. Did she not want to vent a little? Girl-talk, you can get anywhere, and she seemed to have a hell of a lot on her mind, so.
I don't know. I'm not a good friend, what can I say?
Got a voicemail from Aaron. What a sweetie. Will have to call him back in the morning to arrange some "hanging out" time. Will also call Sabby to apologize and wish her the best and a good weekend, all that nice stuff. She deserves it, poor kid.
9/8/2005
Logfile from Leah.
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Sabitha has chosen a bar with some quiet flare - the sort that promises a hopping crowd and throbbing music on the weekends, but that's still low-key early on a Thursday evening. The crowd is small, the music is quiet enough to hold a conversation, and the bartender leans lazily against his bar to make idle smalltalk with a customer. Sabby, for her part, is seated somewhat further down the bar, with a margarita (fruity and frozen and rimmed with sugar) already in front of her. Her dress is lazy and casual - jeans and a printed T - and she looks a bit worn as she studies the scrolling text on the television behind the bar. Breaking news. CNN headlines.
Leah's eyes go to the TV as soon as she comes in, with old, old habit's speed and accuracy. She turns away quickly enough, however, if with forcible, visible effort, and spins her gaze around the bar to find -- ah. Smiling, she works her way over to Sabitha, clad as well in casual jeans and a snug green blouse of short sleeves and button-down decolletage (not to mention stylish strappy sandals). "Don't look at it," she advises, low and wearily amused, once she's near. "It'll rot your brain. Evil, evil cable news. Trust me, I know. I've been there."
"/Leah/!" There's honest delight in Sabby's greeting, and she slides down from her stool to loop an arm around her in a hug, unthinking and instinctive. "Hell," she answers, pulling back. "My brain's already rotted to hell. Started without you," she adds, leaning to collect her drink. "Hope you don't mind."
Returning the hug, Leah laughs a little and plops onto a seat of her own. "Are you kidding? A day like today -- a /week/ like today -- I'm surprised you're not holed up in your apartment with a bottle and a pack of cigs. Thanks for coming out," she twinkles sardonically. "And damn the news, anyway. Let me just catch up to you, and we can make a good night of it."
"I would have /died/ if I'd have to spend one more night in my apartment with my laptop and my work and it hasn't /stopped/ for the past fucking /week/," Sabby shares with Leah, gaining momentum as she goes. And then there's a careful sip of margarita. No brain-freeze, here. She manages a wry grin. "Nothing to catch up /on/. I haven't done a damn thing but work for the past two weeks."
"Shit, I hear you. I think my four walls are closing in and will squish me when I'm not looking, one of these days." With the prompt delivery of her own frosty, salt-rimmed alcoholic treat, Leah glances appreciation at the bartender and then at her drink. Then she takes a sip. Eyes close in brief, relieved satisfaction. "Mmm, better. Definitely better. Nothing to catch up on? Really? Damn. Guess I'll have to do all the talking."
Sabitha grins dryly, and jerks her chin toward the tables along one wall. "I'm not balancing on one of /those/ things all night." She moves after one, drink in hand, and adds, "Trust me, after spending all day on the phone going 'no comment' and 'we don't have further details,' you can talk my /ear/ off. Tell me what's going on with you."
Leah folds her hands tidily around her glass's base and nods, prim as a schoolgirl. "No tables, and I don't have my reporter hat on." A reply grin. "I'm thinking of one of those old-timey fedoras, with the 'PRESS' tag sticking out of the band. But let's see. Well, I had an interview with the Daily News, and they're going to get back to me tomorrow -- if I'm lucky -- or probably next week." Her smile shows a little strain, then fades. "It's not much, probably just stringer work on whatever metro stories their staff doesn't have time to do, but hey, a job's a job, right?"
"Hear, hear," Sabby answers, lifting her glass in a mock (and mocking) toast. "Brings in the money, pays the... /Oh/. Something did happen this week. They want to move me. Out've research, into PR. How's /that/ for upping the stress level? Maybe I can hold a press conference and you can ask me questions." Her lips twist with the absurdity of the thought.
Leah snorts a tired chuckle into the toast. "You got it. I promise to lob a few softballs your way. PR, huh? Sabitha Melcross, flack for hire. Still with Williams's office, though, right?"
"I know, can you believe it?" Another sip, weary and grateful at the same time. "I doubt I'd be doing anything like that, though. Just... writing basic press releases, answering phones, questions, keeping up the occasional interview..."
"You do do well in front of the camera and on the radio," Leah points out. "You've got a good sense of rhythm, and you keep your head, unlike a lot of us supposed pros. You're photogenic as hell, too. I'm sure you'll be great. Are you happy? Or just kinda ... taking it in stride?" She sips again. "It's something /new,/ at least."
Sabitha snorts a quiet laugh. "I'm also scripted out the ass," she answers, and then can't resist a dazzling grin. "Photogenic, huh? Should've been a model. Rake in the cash, avoid the headache." She shrugs, then, absently. "Haven't told them yes or no yet. I have til Monday."
Leah presses a hand to her heart and feigns a swoon. "Oh, /Sabitha/! --A model, sure," and her quite-plain face breaks into a truer smile. "But then you'd have to lose about eighty pounds and be on heroin all the time. Or cocaine. Meth? Whatever the drug du jour is. And you could be defeated by the mere sight of a sandwich. No, flack is better. What do you think you'll say?"
Sabitha lifts her drink again. "Liquid diet. Nothing wrong with /that/," she answers, amusement tugging at the corners of her lips again before settles back and shakes her head. "I don't know," she answers honestly.
"Fair enough." Leah toys with her glass and then squints up keenly. "Are you happy where you are now?"
Sabitha shrugs one shoulder, and swirls her margarita before lifting a finger to scoop sugar from its rim. Mm. "Fair enough. I'll survive either way, I'm sure." She lifts her eyes to smile at Leah. "What about you? I mean... are you gonna keep trucking at the freelance thing?"
Leah sighs. "Well, even if the News thing comes through, it's still /kinda/ freelance, and I do like the freedom ... even if my bills don't necessarily agree. I'm good for another couple months, don't get me wrong, but the future? And I'm such a worrier. Ha. I can pinch a nickel better than any five people you know, and I /still/ freak if I go a few weeks without a check. You just never know. So, I guess, long story short: we'll see. If the offer's good, I'll take it, but keep looking. If it's not, I'll just keep looking."
Sabitha wrinkles her nose in distaste. "I think the wondering would be enough to drive me batty," she answers, and tilts her glass toward Leah. "You are a stronger woman than I."
Leah makes a face. "I'm a coward and a wuss. And a commitment-phobe. Are you kidding me? I should've settled back into nine-to-five years ago, 'specially to hear my mother, God bless her harridan soul, tell it. God," she mutters into a larger sip.
Sabitha drops an elbow onto the table and settles her chin heavily into her hand. "Man, I miss college," she shares after a moment. "Nine to five was just a myth." A pause, and then she snorts, "Well, it's been a myth this week anyway. But in the bad way."
"No /shit,/" is Leah's heartfelt agreement. "Is it too late to re-enroll somewhere? I went to NYU, you were at Emerson -- right? -- and hey, there's always grad school...."
"Emerson, yeah," Sabby answers. Her chin sags in the cradle of her hand. "Wow. We're so postive tonight. Tell me something /good/ that's happened."
Leah ponders. "Met a guy at a bar the other night. He asked me for my number. That hasn't happened in -- Jesus. Way too long."
"Oh?" Sabby lifts her eyes in bright interest. "Was he cute?"
"I guess." Leah chuckles. "Honestly, I wasn't really noticing, or I'm just not picky anymore, Rossi being Exhibit A /there./ Jewish, dark, about my height -- not exactly cute little Jon Stewart or anything, but he loves the Mets, hates the Yankees, and is a Brooklyn boy. And endearingly awkward, once he recognized that, hey, I was a /woman,/ oh, no! Not just a baseball fan at a bar." She shrugs, and her eyes are bright, too. "He wants to hang out. We'll see how that goes."
Sabitha gives a quiet, amused snicker. "C'mon. Whatever else you can say about Christopher Rossi, you can't say he's not /hot/. Honestly, Leah." She lifts her chin and flicks her fingers absently against her glass. "Get along with him, then? Well, hey. Maybe it /will/ be a good thing. Hanging out."
Leah protests, "Hot's one thing, and yeah, I'm not denying that, but the guy's not exactly Mr. Nice when he doesn't want to be. And /he/ is a Yankees fan, so grrr." She even bares her teeth for the growl, though with lips' amused lift. "I could use the hang-out time. Get out of the apartment, meet people, meet /new/ people... What about you? Anyone new?"
Sabitha, who is not born and bred New York, has no strong feelings on the Mets /or/ the Yankees. She recognizes a passion when she sees it, though, and restrains an amused smile. "Beat 'im up for it," she suggests, and then levels a shrug. "Met a neighbor, actually. Odd guy. He showed up at my door, dead drunk and with a chocolate cake last week. No idea why."
"Nah. Just fucked him on the couch and left it at that," reports grimly victorious Leah. Her eyes go round over her marg's rim at this new information. "--Did you know him before he did that? Damn. I need to move into your building. He cute? Nice? Gay?"
Sabitha's brows shoot up dramatically, and she lets out a low, startled whistle. "/Did/ you? Well. Bet that made the day better, anyway." She waves a hand, and drags a long swallow from her glass. "Oh, yeah. Met him a few times. Felt him up at a club, even. Holy /shit/, Leah, can this boy kiss, let me tell you. Does this thing..." She shakes her head, distracted on a smile that tightens toward the end. Remembering other bits of trivia about Percy. "Cute, sure. Gay, yes. Nice..." A sigh echoes out, and she admits, "Yes."
Leah pauses in her swallow. Um. Nearly a choke there. "Well, if he's kissing you, he's not /all/ gay, I'm thinkin'. Unless you have something you want to share with the rest of the class, /Ms./ Melcross." A thin grin dances out and away again. "So, you got yourself a new pal. You fag hag, you. I want to meet him! What's his name?"
Sabitha snickers again, quietly. "No, he's bi. But after dishing about Patrick Stewart..." she shrugs. "Kinda ruins the vibe, huh? Anyway. Percy. /Percival/. He's... bizzarre." And fucking Emma Frost. The last thought sends her back into a long drink.
"Percival? Seriously? Who names their kid that in this day and age?" Leah's gaze narrows. "He's not a Kennedy, is he?"
Sabitha's snicker returns. "I know, right? His middle name is /Randolph./ Has a brother named Oliver." She shrugs, and leans forward to ask, "What's yours named?"
Leah supplies, "Aaron Grossman," and looks entertained. "Is he mine? I should tell him that."
"Think he's the type to like that?" Sabby questions. "Not good with the girls, you say? Shy type?"
Leah tips her head in thought. "I gueeeeess," she draws out. "One meeting's not enough to make a good assessment, is it? But yeah, let's go with that. Shy. Socially awkward." She snorts; gaze gleams. "Trainable."
Sabitha sputters into laughter at that. "You sure?" she asks, poking a finger out. "'Trainable' sometimes means 'giant pain in the ass.'"
Leah joins in the laugh and waves a hand at that finger. "I know, I know, but hey, I can dump with the best of 'em. It /is/ just hanging out. I don't think he's looking for a hook-up right off the bat."
Sabitha subsides into abrupt silence, briefly sulking. Her chin comes down into her hand again, hard, and there's a moment of silence, spent swirling melted margarita in the bottom of her glass before she reveals from nowhere, "I saw Travis again."
Quietly Leah watches her, and then quietly she ventures, "Good, bad, indifferent?"
"Astounding, painfully indifferent," Sabby reveals, just as quietly. And then she pulls herself up and forces a smile. "Moving on, right? Was just a surprise, though, y'know? You look up, he's coming down the stairs. Not sure what to do with yourself." Herself. Whichever.
Leah nods. "Did he say anything? I mean, did you guys talk, or was it just, like, outside your apartment or whatever?"
Sabitha waggles her fingers. "Small talk," she answers. There's a moment's heavy silence, and then she adds, "I apologized to him."
"Oh, Sabby," Leah breathes, caught visibly in an awkward balance of sympathy against disappointment. "Why?"
Sabitha's hand comes down flat on the table. "Come on, Leah," she answers, shaking her head. "I treated him like crap. I mean, I was unhappy as hell, but that whole thing with Chris? Sleeping with Sebastian and throwing it in his face? /Crap/."
Leah frowns and sits up a bit, pulling her drink with her. "Yeah, I know, but I thought you had valid reasons to break up with him, and -- hell. We all get unhappy and throw shit around when we do have those reasons. So you treated him like crap. How did he treat you? You broke up with him for a reason, didn't you?"
Sabitha shrugs wordlessly, and pulls her glass toward her. A long swallow finishes margarita number one. "Doesn't matter much anymore, anyway. Moved on, right? I have, he has, and if I see him again, smalltalk."
"Right," Leah says after a minute and mulls over the margarita for a moment. Then she forces fresh brightness. "So, at my family's Labor Day picnic? Got up and announced to everyone, but to my mother in particular because I was looking right at her, that I will be dying alone and penniless in the gutter, just to set their mind at ease about my current situation and my future. Should've seen their faces."
Sabitha brings forth a quietly amused smile. "Did anyone have a heart attack? Choke on their potato salad?"
Leah smiles back a little sadly. "No. Didn't get her off my back, either. But hey, gotta have drama at a family get-together. It's tradition! And I maybe had had one too many beers. It's a bit fuzzy."
"At least the beers keep it fuzzy, huh? Hey, you want another drink?" Sabby's gaze levels on Leah's drink, and then back to her eyes, queryingly.
Leah shakes her head, cupping it in joking protection. "I'm trying to ease off before someone sends me to detox." Well, not much of a joke, as it turns out, though she tries to make the best of it with a merry expression. "You go ahead, though. You're the one getting caught in this shitstorm down in Washington, right?"
Sabitha breathes heavily over her glass, and shakes her head. "I'm not gonna if you're not. Hell. /Yes/. It was just slacking off, too, with the filibuster slowing down, and then today... shit exploded all over the place."
Leah bites her lip. "Is it wrong that the first thought I had was, 'Hey, maybe someone will call me to get me on TV to talk about it'?"
Sabitha leans forward to poke a finger across the table at Leah's arm. "/Someone/ ought to get /something/ out of it, right? I mean, /shit/. The Senate floor? What the /fuck/?"
Leah's arm can take it, but she does slouch a bit and turn her mouth down. "/Yes./ First the attack on Lowe in the park, now this -- well, we could go back to Liberty Island, too, huh? Is this /any/ way to run a country? To fix whatever the fuck is going wrong between our species?"
Sabitha's head comes down heavy into her hands again, both cradling against her chin. "Wish they know who did it," she mumbles. "And why."
"Well," Leah starts. Stops. Finishes off her marg. She clears her throat and resumes, a bit pedantically, "Maybe we can figure it out. Why /would/ you attack the Senate in the middle of a filibuster on a mandatory-registration bill? What would someone get out of that? Blind confusion's always a possibility, but I think we can disregard that, given how much effort would have to go into planning and getting past security and so on. So what does that leave?"
Sabitha's face falls into an annoyed pout, directed at her companion. "Leeeeeah," she draws out on a whine. "Please don't make me think about it anymore. Unless you have answers. Answers are good. Speculation makes my brain /explode/."
Leah reaches over to pat Sabby's hand. "Aww," she says with distinct lack of sympathy. "Okay, I'll turn my busy little brain off. Girl-talk, then?"
"We can trade sex-tips," Sabby agrees gratefully.
Leah laughs. "But I don't have any!"
Sabitha gives Leah a look of profound disbelief. "You're friends with Julia," she answers.
Leah grins. "Yeah, but I don't take /notes./"
Sabitha flicks her fingers against her glass, making it ring. "She tell you about Vincent?" she wonders after a moment.
"Nooooo," Leah pushes out on a sudden fascinated stare. "I know that she slept with him -- Rossi had plenty to say about /that/ -- but we haven't talked much. What happened? Do you know?"
"I wonder if she's told /him/," Sabby muses, and then shrugs. Casual. Disinterested. "Jumped on him in the hospital. Sent him a card... he showed it to me. I guess he called her, and... y'know." A wave of her hand accompanies this statement. "That's about as far as I've got. Except that I thought Chris might blow an artery if Vincent kept prodding at him with it. Or they might kill each other, right there in my living room."
Leah catches a chortle in the hand flung over her mouth; above it, pale-brown eyes are quite, quite wide. "That happened at /your/ place? Right in front of you? Oh, man. The testosterone must've been so thick, you couldn't have seen through it."
"I nearly blew up at the pair of them," Sabby admits. "And then Vincent had the /gall/ to suggest that I was PMSing! The pair of them going at it like... like... /hell/. I don't even /have/ a simile for them!"
Leah the writer suggests, "A pair of screeching chimpanzees jumping up and down in the forest, waving sticks and their erect penises at each other?"
Sabitha smirks quietly. "I asked them if they'd figured out who measured up better."
"Good for you." Leah lets the caught chortle go at last as she gestures for another margarita, after all, dammit. "How did they end up at your place, anyway? Was it like when we four were all there?"
Sabitha ponders this for a moment, with a blinking frown as a mildly fuzzed brain thinks. "Um. Chris came down... from something else, while he was waiting for Julia to show up. Vincent came over to apologize for being an ass when I'd seen him last." Her shoulder lifts and she grins. "Then they started in with the gay jokes. I swear, thirteen."
Leah snorts. "/If/ that. Maybe eight. Ten, if I'm being generous. So, you got a perfect storm of little boys at your apartment, and Julia got herself a Vincent. Man. I do need to move into your building. This shit never happens up in Salem. It's a total bedroom community, blah blah blah. Boring."
Sabitha leans forward tiredly. "The excitement gets a bit tiring after awhile," she assures her. "I'd rather know a bit less, I think."
"About Vincent's sex life?" Leah grins and scoops up her second drink for a practiced, polished swig. "Move over; I wanna be in that boat, too."
"Oh, me /too/, please," Sabby requests as Leah's drink appears. Margaritas, all around. "Well. He sounds /smug/ about it, anyway. I guess it did him some good."
Leah pulls a long, sympathetic face for her friend. "You aren't feeling jealous, are you? Oh, man, Sabby. Are you going through a dry spell now? It used to be me, but if it's switched over to you..."
Sabitha wrinkles her expression in response to Leah, instantly annoyed. "Could've fucked Percy if I wanted to," she maintains steadfastly, with no comment at /all/ on jealousy.
Unfazed, Leah asks, "Did you not want to, or did you not ask?"
Sabitha slumps backward, sulking, into her seat. "Like him too much," she mutters after a moment. "Never ends well."
Leah does back into some sympathy at that. Grimaces around a sip. "Yeah. Don't mess up a friendship with fucking. You did have the kissing with him, though. Was that before or after Drunken Chocolate Cake Night?"
"Before," Sabby answers. And then questions, mournfully, "Is it bad that I almost regret the drunk chocolate cake, because otherwise I could've fucked him?" And isn't /that/ a good time for her drink to appear, with a waiter grinning in bemusement until Sabby shoots a death glare upward at him.
Leah loyally joins in the glare until the guy scoots off. "Bastard," she tosses after him, just because, and then swings her attention back to the younger woman. "No, that's not bad. I've done some bad things in my life, and that wouldn't even make the Top 100 list."
Sabitha swirls her glass up for a drink. "If I do PR," she states on a sulk, "I can't pick up guys in clubs like that anymore." A pause, and she adds, "Shouldn't be doing it now, really."
Leah hesitates, then shrugs and says, "Well, if you're wanting guys, you mentioned 'Sebastian'...." And does she put in the little quotes around the name in her voice? Yes. Yes, she does, for all her honestly tentative manner around the subject.
Sabitha's eyes flash up at Leah, sharp for a moment before they're clouded again by alcohol and weariness. "I thought you didn't approve of him."
'Tentative' becomes 'rueful,' with a soupcon of 'disgusted.' "Hell, yeah, I don't, 'specially after he jerked one of my friends at the Post around the other day, over Jean Grey's rally. But--" she shrugs, drinks "--your grave, sweetheart. And your bed."
Sabitha's expression edges toward a pout. Or perhaps a proper sulk. "Happy to hear the concern," she mutters, and then adds, "You'll be /happy/ to know, then, that I am no longer sleeping with Sebastian Shaw."
"Well, I'm not going to break out into a jig at the news, Sabby." Leah eyes her pensively. "Couldn't even figure out /why/ you'd go there in the first place."
Sabitha shrugs silently. Oh, yes. That's definitely a sulk. "If you knew him, you'd get it," comes her answer. Excuse.
Leah offers, "I've seen him on TV. I guess if you go for the 'tall, dark, handsome, and really fucking evil behind a nice smile and patter for the cameras' type..."
Sabitha's eyes flicker, annoyed, over the rim of her margarita, and she leans back. "I should probably go. Work in the morning. Into the fire again."
"Fine." Leah slashes a finger across her throat. "Done. Finished. Finito. Not another word out of me on that subject. Pick something else, then."
Sabitha's expression is /really/ annoyed now, and she struggles to tuck it away behind bland tiredness. A visible struggle, hidden only by her search for her purse. "I'm picking sleep, Leah. Thanks for coming out."
Leah flashes a breath's annoyance, too, but can't sustain it in the face of something far worse: sympathy. Compassion. /Pity./ "Get some sleep, then. I'll probably head back, too.... And thanks for having me, huh?"
Sabitha stands, with purse thrown over her shoulder, and edges toward Leah's chair. A smile appears. "I'll call you next week, let you know what I decided. And let me know if Aaron calls, ok? Seriously, Leah. Thanks for coming, even with my inevitably crappy mood. My sanity tonight."
"Shit happens," Leah summons with a smile and grips her forearm comfortingly. "Take it easy. Get some sleep and dream no dreams tonight. I'll give you a call."
Sabitha raises a hand, silent farewell, and disappears out the door.
[Log ends.]
Well, not that I don't prod her where I shouldn't, I guess. My fault for bringing up Shaw in the first place, but damn, girl. I'm a reporter, and I have reporter friends who've interviewed him (and let's not talk about Jaz's run-in with him after the rally!) - I gotta ask, at least once.
And she has the right to freeze me out over it. Fair enough. I did offer a topic change, for all the good it did. She's tired from the shit going on in Washington, which is hitting her desk, too. Also fair enough. I'm just not capable of backing that far off. Did she not want to vent a little? Girl-talk, you can get anywhere, and she seemed to have a hell of a lot on her mind, so.
I don't know. I'm not a good friend, what can I say?
Got a voicemail from Aaron. What a sweetie. Will have to call him back in the morning to arrange some "hanging out" time. Will also call Sabby to apologize and wish her the best and a good weekend, all that nice stuff. She deserves it, poor kid.
9/8/2005
Logfile from Leah.
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Sabitha has chosen a bar with some quiet flare - the sort that promises a hopping crowd and throbbing music on the weekends, but that's still low-key early on a Thursday evening. The crowd is small, the music is quiet enough to hold a conversation, and the bartender leans lazily against his bar to make idle smalltalk with a customer. Sabby, for her part, is seated somewhat further down the bar, with a margarita (fruity and frozen and rimmed with sugar) already in front of her. Her dress is lazy and casual - jeans and a printed T - and she looks a bit worn as she studies the scrolling text on the television behind the bar. Breaking news. CNN headlines.
Leah's eyes go to the TV as soon as she comes in, with old, old habit's speed and accuracy. She turns away quickly enough, however, if with forcible, visible effort, and spins her gaze around the bar to find -- ah. Smiling, she works her way over to Sabitha, clad as well in casual jeans and a snug green blouse of short sleeves and button-down decolletage (not to mention stylish strappy sandals). "Don't look at it," she advises, low and wearily amused, once she's near. "It'll rot your brain. Evil, evil cable news. Trust me, I know. I've been there."
"/Leah/!" There's honest delight in Sabby's greeting, and she slides down from her stool to loop an arm around her in a hug, unthinking and instinctive. "Hell," she answers, pulling back. "My brain's already rotted to hell. Started without you," she adds, leaning to collect her drink. "Hope you don't mind."
Returning the hug, Leah laughs a little and plops onto a seat of her own. "Are you kidding? A day like today -- a /week/ like today -- I'm surprised you're not holed up in your apartment with a bottle and a pack of cigs. Thanks for coming out," she twinkles sardonically. "And damn the news, anyway. Let me just catch up to you, and we can make a good night of it."
"I would have /died/ if I'd have to spend one more night in my apartment with my laptop and my work and it hasn't /stopped/ for the past fucking /week/," Sabby shares with Leah, gaining momentum as she goes. And then there's a careful sip of margarita. No brain-freeze, here. She manages a wry grin. "Nothing to catch up /on/. I haven't done a damn thing but work for the past two weeks."
"Shit, I hear you. I think my four walls are closing in and will squish me when I'm not looking, one of these days." With the prompt delivery of her own frosty, salt-rimmed alcoholic treat, Leah glances appreciation at the bartender and then at her drink. Then she takes a sip. Eyes close in brief, relieved satisfaction. "Mmm, better. Definitely better. Nothing to catch up on? Really? Damn. Guess I'll have to do all the talking."
Sabitha grins dryly, and jerks her chin toward the tables along one wall. "I'm not balancing on one of /those/ things all night." She moves after one, drink in hand, and adds, "Trust me, after spending all day on the phone going 'no comment' and 'we don't have further details,' you can talk my /ear/ off. Tell me what's going on with you."
Leah folds her hands tidily around her glass's base and nods, prim as a schoolgirl. "No tables, and I don't have my reporter hat on." A reply grin. "I'm thinking of one of those old-timey fedoras, with the 'PRESS' tag sticking out of the band. But let's see. Well, I had an interview with the Daily News, and they're going to get back to me tomorrow -- if I'm lucky -- or probably next week." Her smile shows a little strain, then fades. "It's not much, probably just stringer work on whatever metro stories their staff doesn't have time to do, but hey, a job's a job, right?"
"Hear, hear," Sabby answers, lifting her glass in a mock (and mocking) toast. "Brings in the money, pays the... /Oh/. Something did happen this week. They want to move me. Out've research, into PR. How's /that/ for upping the stress level? Maybe I can hold a press conference and you can ask me questions." Her lips twist with the absurdity of the thought.
Leah snorts a tired chuckle into the toast. "You got it. I promise to lob a few softballs your way. PR, huh? Sabitha Melcross, flack for hire. Still with Williams's office, though, right?"
"I know, can you believe it?" Another sip, weary and grateful at the same time. "I doubt I'd be doing anything like that, though. Just... writing basic press releases, answering phones, questions, keeping up the occasional interview..."
"You do do well in front of the camera and on the radio," Leah points out. "You've got a good sense of rhythm, and you keep your head, unlike a lot of us supposed pros. You're photogenic as hell, too. I'm sure you'll be great. Are you happy? Or just kinda ... taking it in stride?" She sips again. "It's something /new,/ at least."
Sabitha snorts a quiet laugh. "I'm also scripted out the ass," she answers, and then can't resist a dazzling grin. "Photogenic, huh? Should've been a model. Rake in the cash, avoid the headache." She shrugs, then, absently. "Haven't told them yes or no yet. I have til Monday."
Leah presses a hand to her heart and feigns a swoon. "Oh, /Sabitha/! --A model, sure," and her quite-plain face breaks into a truer smile. "But then you'd have to lose about eighty pounds and be on heroin all the time. Or cocaine. Meth? Whatever the drug du jour is. And you could be defeated by the mere sight of a sandwich. No, flack is better. What do you think you'll say?"
Sabitha lifts her drink again. "Liquid diet. Nothing wrong with /that/," she answers, amusement tugging at the corners of her lips again before settles back and shakes her head. "I don't know," she answers honestly.
"Fair enough." Leah toys with her glass and then squints up keenly. "Are you happy where you are now?"
Sabitha shrugs one shoulder, and swirls her margarita before lifting a finger to scoop sugar from its rim. Mm. "Fair enough. I'll survive either way, I'm sure." She lifts her eyes to smile at Leah. "What about you? I mean... are you gonna keep trucking at the freelance thing?"
Leah sighs. "Well, even if the News thing comes through, it's still /kinda/ freelance, and I do like the freedom ... even if my bills don't necessarily agree. I'm good for another couple months, don't get me wrong, but the future? And I'm such a worrier. Ha. I can pinch a nickel better than any five people you know, and I /still/ freak if I go a few weeks without a check. You just never know. So, I guess, long story short: we'll see. If the offer's good, I'll take it, but keep looking. If it's not, I'll just keep looking."
Sabitha wrinkles her nose in distaste. "I think the wondering would be enough to drive me batty," she answers, and tilts her glass toward Leah. "You are a stronger woman than I."
Leah makes a face. "I'm a coward and a wuss. And a commitment-phobe. Are you kidding me? I should've settled back into nine-to-five years ago, 'specially to hear my mother, God bless her harridan soul, tell it. God," she mutters into a larger sip.
Sabitha drops an elbow onto the table and settles her chin heavily into her hand. "Man, I miss college," she shares after a moment. "Nine to five was just a myth." A pause, and then she snorts, "Well, it's been a myth this week anyway. But in the bad way."
"No /shit,/" is Leah's heartfelt agreement. "Is it too late to re-enroll somewhere? I went to NYU, you were at Emerson -- right? -- and hey, there's always grad school...."
"Emerson, yeah," Sabby answers. Her chin sags in the cradle of her hand. "Wow. We're so postive tonight. Tell me something /good/ that's happened."
Leah ponders. "Met a guy at a bar the other night. He asked me for my number. That hasn't happened in -- Jesus. Way too long."
"Oh?" Sabby lifts her eyes in bright interest. "Was he cute?"
"I guess." Leah chuckles. "Honestly, I wasn't really noticing, or I'm just not picky anymore, Rossi being Exhibit A /there./ Jewish, dark, about my height -- not exactly cute little Jon Stewart or anything, but he loves the Mets, hates the Yankees, and is a Brooklyn boy. And endearingly awkward, once he recognized that, hey, I was a /woman,/ oh, no! Not just a baseball fan at a bar." She shrugs, and her eyes are bright, too. "He wants to hang out. We'll see how that goes."
Sabitha gives a quiet, amused snicker. "C'mon. Whatever else you can say about Christopher Rossi, you can't say he's not /hot/. Honestly, Leah." She lifts her chin and flicks her fingers absently against her glass. "Get along with him, then? Well, hey. Maybe it /will/ be a good thing. Hanging out."
Leah protests, "Hot's one thing, and yeah, I'm not denying that, but the guy's not exactly Mr. Nice when he doesn't want to be. And /he/ is a Yankees fan, so grrr." She even bares her teeth for the growl, though with lips' amused lift. "I could use the hang-out time. Get out of the apartment, meet people, meet /new/ people... What about you? Anyone new?"
Sabitha, who is not born and bred New York, has no strong feelings on the Mets /or/ the Yankees. She recognizes a passion when she sees it, though, and restrains an amused smile. "Beat 'im up for it," she suggests, and then levels a shrug. "Met a neighbor, actually. Odd guy. He showed up at my door, dead drunk and with a chocolate cake last week. No idea why."
"Nah. Just fucked him on the couch and left it at that," reports grimly victorious Leah. Her eyes go round over her marg's rim at this new information. "--Did you know him before he did that? Damn. I need to move into your building. He cute? Nice? Gay?"
Sabitha's brows shoot up dramatically, and she lets out a low, startled whistle. "/Did/ you? Well. Bet that made the day better, anyway." She waves a hand, and drags a long swallow from her glass. "Oh, yeah. Met him a few times. Felt him up at a club, even. Holy /shit/, Leah, can this boy kiss, let me tell you. Does this thing..." She shakes her head, distracted on a smile that tightens toward the end. Remembering other bits of trivia about Percy. "Cute, sure. Gay, yes. Nice..." A sigh echoes out, and she admits, "Yes."
Leah pauses in her swallow. Um. Nearly a choke there. "Well, if he's kissing you, he's not /all/ gay, I'm thinkin'. Unless you have something you want to share with the rest of the class, /Ms./ Melcross." A thin grin dances out and away again. "So, you got yourself a new pal. You fag hag, you. I want to meet him! What's his name?"
Sabitha snickers again, quietly. "No, he's bi. But after dishing about Patrick Stewart..." she shrugs. "Kinda ruins the vibe, huh? Anyway. Percy. /Percival/. He's... bizzarre." And fucking Emma Frost. The last thought sends her back into a long drink.
"Percival? Seriously? Who names their kid that in this day and age?" Leah's gaze narrows. "He's not a Kennedy, is he?"
Sabitha's snicker returns. "I know, right? His middle name is /Randolph./ Has a brother named Oliver." She shrugs, and leans forward to ask, "What's yours named?"
Leah supplies, "Aaron Grossman," and looks entertained. "Is he mine? I should tell him that."
"Think he's the type to like that?" Sabby questions. "Not good with the girls, you say? Shy type?"
Leah tips her head in thought. "I gueeeeess," she draws out. "One meeting's not enough to make a good assessment, is it? But yeah, let's go with that. Shy. Socially awkward." She snorts; gaze gleams. "Trainable."
Sabitha sputters into laughter at that. "You sure?" she asks, poking a finger out. "'Trainable' sometimes means 'giant pain in the ass.'"
Leah joins in the laugh and waves a hand at that finger. "I know, I know, but hey, I can dump with the best of 'em. It /is/ just hanging out. I don't think he's looking for a hook-up right off the bat."
Sabitha subsides into abrupt silence, briefly sulking. Her chin comes down into her hand again, hard, and there's a moment of silence, spent swirling melted margarita in the bottom of her glass before she reveals from nowhere, "I saw Travis again."
Quietly Leah watches her, and then quietly she ventures, "Good, bad, indifferent?"
"Astounding, painfully indifferent," Sabby reveals, just as quietly. And then she pulls herself up and forces a smile. "Moving on, right? Was just a surprise, though, y'know? You look up, he's coming down the stairs. Not sure what to do with yourself." Herself. Whichever.
Leah nods. "Did he say anything? I mean, did you guys talk, or was it just, like, outside your apartment or whatever?"
Sabitha waggles her fingers. "Small talk," she answers. There's a moment's heavy silence, and then she adds, "I apologized to him."
"Oh, Sabby," Leah breathes, caught visibly in an awkward balance of sympathy against disappointment. "Why?"
Sabitha's hand comes down flat on the table. "Come on, Leah," she answers, shaking her head. "I treated him like crap. I mean, I was unhappy as hell, but that whole thing with Chris? Sleeping with Sebastian and throwing it in his face? /Crap/."
Leah frowns and sits up a bit, pulling her drink with her. "Yeah, I know, but I thought you had valid reasons to break up with him, and -- hell. We all get unhappy and throw shit around when we do have those reasons. So you treated him like crap. How did he treat you? You broke up with him for a reason, didn't you?"
Sabitha shrugs wordlessly, and pulls her glass toward her. A long swallow finishes margarita number one. "Doesn't matter much anymore, anyway. Moved on, right? I have, he has, and if I see him again, smalltalk."
"Right," Leah says after a minute and mulls over the margarita for a moment. Then she forces fresh brightness. "So, at my family's Labor Day picnic? Got up and announced to everyone, but to my mother in particular because I was looking right at her, that I will be dying alone and penniless in the gutter, just to set their mind at ease about my current situation and my future. Should've seen their faces."
Sabitha brings forth a quietly amused smile. "Did anyone have a heart attack? Choke on their potato salad?"
Leah smiles back a little sadly. "No. Didn't get her off my back, either. But hey, gotta have drama at a family get-together. It's tradition! And I maybe had had one too many beers. It's a bit fuzzy."
"At least the beers keep it fuzzy, huh? Hey, you want another drink?" Sabby's gaze levels on Leah's drink, and then back to her eyes, queryingly.
Leah shakes her head, cupping it in joking protection. "I'm trying to ease off before someone sends me to detox." Well, not much of a joke, as it turns out, though she tries to make the best of it with a merry expression. "You go ahead, though. You're the one getting caught in this shitstorm down in Washington, right?"
Sabitha breathes heavily over her glass, and shakes her head. "I'm not gonna if you're not. Hell. /Yes/. It was just slacking off, too, with the filibuster slowing down, and then today... shit exploded all over the place."
Leah bites her lip. "Is it wrong that the first thought I had was, 'Hey, maybe someone will call me to get me on TV to talk about it'?"
Sabitha leans forward to poke a finger across the table at Leah's arm. "/Someone/ ought to get /something/ out of it, right? I mean, /shit/. The Senate floor? What the /fuck/?"
Leah's arm can take it, but she does slouch a bit and turn her mouth down. "/Yes./ First the attack on Lowe in the park, now this -- well, we could go back to Liberty Island, too, huh? Is this /any/ way to run a country? To fix whatever the fuck is going wrong between our species?"
Sabitha's head comes down heavy into her hands again, both cradling against her chin. "Wish they know who did it," she mumbles. "And why."
"Well," Leah starts. Stops. Finishes off her marg. She clears her throat and resumes, a bit pedantically, "Maybe we can figure it out. Why /would/ you attack the Senate in the middle of a filibuster on a mandatory-registration bill? What would someone get out of that? Blind confusion's always a possibility, but I think we can disregard that, given how much effort would have to go into planning and getting past security and so on. So what does that leave?"
Sabitha's face falls into an annoyed pout, directed at her companion. "Leeeeeah," she draws out on a whine. "Please don't make me think about it anymore. Unless you have answers. Answers are good. Speculation makes my brain /explode/."
Leah reaches over to pat Sabby's hand. "Aww," she says with distinct lack of sympathy. "Okay, I'll turn my busy little brain off. Girl-talk, then?"
"We can trade sex-tips," Sabby agrees gratefully.
Leah laughs. "But I don't have any!"
Sabitha gives Leah a look of profound disbelief. "You're friends with Julia," she answers.
Leah grins. "Yeah, but I don't take /notes./"
Sabitha flicks her fingers against her glass, making it ring. "She tell you about Vincent?" she wonders after a moment.
"Nooooo," Leah pushes out on a sudden fascinated stare. "I know that she slept with him -- Rossi had plenty to say about /that/ -- but we haven't talked much. What happened? Do you know?"
"I wonder if she's told /him/," Sabby muses, and then shrugs. Casual. Disinterested. "Jumped on him in the hospital. Sent him a card... he showed it to me. I guess he called her, and... y'know." A wave of her hand accompanies this statement. "That's about as far as I've got. Except that I thought Chris might blow an artery if Vincent kept prodding at him with it. Or they might kill each other, right there in my living room."
Leah catches a chortle in the hand flung over her mouth; above it, pale-brown eyes are quite, quite wide. "That happened at /your/ place? Right in front of you? Oh, man. The testosterone must've been so thick, you couldn't have seen through it."
"I nearly blew up at the pair of them," Sabby admits. "And then Vincent had the /gall/ to suggest that I was PMSing! The pair of them going at it like... like... /hell/. I don't even /have/ a simile for them!"
Leah the writer suggests, "A pair of screeching chimpanzees jumping up and down in the forest, waving sticks and their erect penises at each other?"
Sabitha smirks quietly. "I asked them if they'd figured out who measured up better."
"Good for you." Leah lets the caught chortle go at last as she gestures for another margarita, after all, dammit. "How did they end up at your place, anyway? Was it like when we four were all there?"
Sabitha ponders this for a moment, with a blinking frown as a mildly fuzzed brain thinks. "Um. Chris came down... from something else, while he was waiting for Julia to show up. Vincent came over to apologize for being an ass when I'd seen him last." Her shoulder lifts and she grins. "Then they started in with the gay jokes. I swear, thirteen."
Leah snorts. "/If/ that. Maybe eight. Ten, if I'm being generous. So, you got a perfect storm of little boys at your apartment, and Julia got herself a Vincent. Man. I do need to move into your building. This shit never happens up in Salem. It's a total bedroom community, blah blah blah. Boring."
Sabitha leans forward tiredly. "The excitement gets a bit tiring after awhile," she assures her. "I'd rather know a bit less, I think."
"About Vincent's sex life?" Leah grins and scoops up her second drink for a practiced, polished swig. "Move over; I wanna be in that boat, too."
"Oh, me /too/, please," Sabby requests as Leah's drink appears. Margaritas, all around. "Well. He sounds /smug/ about it, anyway. I guess it did him some good."
Leah pulls a long, sympathetic face for her friend. "You aren't feeling jealous, are you? Oh, man, Sabby. Are you going through a dry spell now? It used to be me, but if it's switched over to you..."
Sabitha wrinkles her expression in response to Leah, instantly annoyed. "Could've fucked Percy if I wanted to," she maintains steadfastly, with no comment at /all/ on jealousy.
Unfazed, Leah asks, "Did you not want to, or did you not ask?"
Sabitha slumps backward, sulking, into her seat. "Like him too much," she mutters after a moment. "Never ends well."
Leah does back into some sympathy at that. Grimaces around a sip. "Yeah. Don't mess up a friendship with fucking. You did have the kissing with him, though. Was that before or after Drunken Chocolate Cake Night?"
"Before," Sabby answers. And then questions, mournfully, "Is it bad that I almost regret the drunk chocolate cake, because otherwise I could've fucked him?" And isn't /that/ a good time for her drink to appear, with a waiter grinning in bemusement until Sabby shoots a death glare upward at him.
Leah loyally joins in the glare until the guy scoots off. "Bastard," she tosses after him, just because, and then swings her attention back to the younger woman. "No, that's not bad. I've done some bad things in my life, and that wouldn't even make the Top 100 list."
Sabitha swirls her glass up for a drink. "If I do PR," she states on a sulk, "I can't pick up guys in clubs like that anymore." A pause, and she adds, "Shouldn't be doing it now, really."
Leah hesitates, then shrugs and says, "Well, if you're wanting guys, you mentioned 'Sebastian'...." And does she put in the little quotes around the name in her voice? Yes. Yes, she does, for all her honestly tentative manner around the subject.
Sabitha's eyes flash up at Leah, sharp for a moment before they're clouded again by alcohol and weariness. "I thought you didn't approve of him."
'Tentative' becomes 'rueful,' with a soupcon of 'disgusted.' "Hell, yeah, I don't, 'specially after he jerked one of my friends at the Post around the other day, over Jean Grey's rally. But--" she shrugs, drinks "--your grave, sweetheart. And your bed."
Sabitha's expression edges toward a pout. Or perhaps a proper sulk. "Happy to hear the concern," she mutters, and then adds, "You'll be /happy/ to know, then, that I am no longer sleeping with Sebastian Shaw."
"Well, I'm not going to break out into a jig at the news, Sabby." Leah eyes her pensively. "Couldn't even figure out /why/ you'd go there in the first place."
Sabitha shrugs silently. Oh, yes. That's definitely a sulk. "If you knew him, you'd get it," comes her answer. Excuse.
Leah offers, "I've seen him on TV. I guess if you go for the 'tall, dark, handsome, and really fucking evil behind a nice smile and patter for the cameras' type..."
Sabitha's eyes flicker, annoyed, over the rim of her margarita, and she leans back. "I should probably go. Work in the morning. Into the fire again."
"Fine." Leah slashes a finger across her throat. "Done. Finished. Finito. Not another word out of me on that subject. Pick something else, then."
Sabitha's expression is /really/ annoyed now, and she struggles to tuck it away behind bland tiredness. A visible struggle, hidden only by her search for her purse. "I'm picking sleep, Leah. Thanks for coming out."
Leah flashes a breath's annoyance, too, but can't sustain it in the face of something far worse: sympathy. Compassion. /Pity./ "Get some sleep, then. I'll probably head back, too.... And thanks for having me, huh?"
Sabitha stands, with purse thrown over her shoulder, and edges toward Leah's chair. A smile appears. "I'll call you next week, let you know what I decided. And let me know if Aaron calls, ok? Seriously, Leah. Thanks for coming, even with my inevitably crappy mood. My sanity tonight."
"Shit happens," Leah summons with a smile and grips her forearm comfortingly. "Take it easy. Get some sleep and dream no dreams tonight. I'll give you a call."
Sabitha raises a hand, silent farewell, and disappears out the door.
[Log ends.]