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Post by demikara on Apr 4, 2020 18:23:10 GMT -6
"I'll help you to your cell." She said simply. "And I'll see if I can't convince them to hurry with the cane. I don't think the real Amanda will be quite so helpful, after all." She was kind enough, Hope supposed, but she was also not the same person and didn't have skin in the game like Hope did. The shapeshifter gently helped Drulovic to the railing regardless and carefully shored up her other side. "Should I have someone bring you dinner?" She didn't seem like she'd be up for much after all. "It would take only a thought." And if would be something she could actually eat that was tasty.
Hope may be many things, but she was certainly not heartless.
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Post by Ylanne on Apr 4, 2020 18:46:44 GMT -6
"I'm sure I'll be fine," said Drulović, almost entirely from habit. She shifted her weight to use the railing for leverage instead, and moved slowly towards the cell doors, though a bit faster with its help than she'd be able to walk while outdoors. "Though I suppose you'll be here, too, and you could bring my tray to the cell if it's not too much trouble. I hate to trouble you so, for such a trivial thing." But she was exhausted already and the day only half gone. Leaning on the bannister across the hall from the cell door, left open during the day, the old woman paused again, centering her breath, and then released her grip from it, teetering precariously on her own legs to manage the five feet from wall to wall until she could grab the side of the cell door again. When she lost balance her hand slammed onto the little card with her name and number.
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Post by demikara on Apr 4, 2020 18:53:23 GMT -6
Hope was there in a second, having been close the entire time. She grabbed Arianne about the waist and pulled her upright. "That looked like it hurt. Let me help you." She wasn't about to take no for an answer. "And of course I'll bring your tray to you." She helped Arianne to the bed, and examined her hand. "IT doesn't look like you tore the wound open, but you are bleeding, if only a little." Hope reached into her pocket and pulled out the strap of her goggles. She ran a finger over one of the stitches and a first aid kid popped out. "I only have character bandaids. There's sailormoon, pokemon, and barbie." She offered cheerfully. Hope opened the kit and dug into it for a disinfectant wipe.
"The only thing that fit in this was the strap, so I don't have everything with me. Just the emergency essentials."
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Post by Ylanne on Apr 4, 2020 19:16:30 GMT -6
Drulović allowed Hope, reluctantly, to touch her hand as she caught her breath, sitting on the edge of the bed. "It would have been fine," she said, shaking her head, "really. It's a small thing. You needn't fuss so much." She shuddered, a bit, already cold now that they were out of the sun and inside. They hadn't turned on heat or air conditioning, but she felt the noticeable temperature change between the yard and the cellblock, had noticed it on her skin the instant they'd stepped inside. "I've had much worse before."
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Post by demikara on Apr 4, 2020 19:21:09 GMT -6
"People who complain about needed it get Barbie." Hope decided and pulled out a barbie bandaid. She ran the disinfectant wipe of the cut, then skillfully put the bandaid on after that. "I'd offer to kiss it better, but I'm told that's entirely too childish and doesn't work." It was the thought that counted. Hope put away the first aid kit and frowned at the shudder.
"I'm terrible at my job. My second does most of the work." Hope confessed and considered the stitching on her goggle strap. She tapped one and a pink comforter popped out, covered in purple flowers. She laid it over Arianne. "But I do notice things. You're cold. I can pick up the blanket when you get one of your own." It was left over from a sleepover than Rachel had attended as a kid. The stitch had stayed packed, in case another emergency sleepover was needed.
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Post by Ylanne on Apr 4, 2020 19:33:38 GMT -6
"You do realize half of this is contraband, don't you?" said Drulović, eyeing the bandaid closely, though a bemused look came over her face at the little pink Barbie image. She rested her fingers on the edge of the blanket, pulling it slightly closer to her body. "We're about to be counted, you know. We're supposed to be standing for that, something that Ms. Jones would know to do." Her gaze flicked to the hall, where a pair of guards were meandering past the cell doors, calling out numbers as they passed by, and making marks on a tablet for each person's presence or absence. This happened at specific intervals throughout the day, and was in theory meant to safeguard against escape, though, the old woman suspected it was primarily to intimidate the inmates rather than to actually prevent escape. She already knew several ways she would do it were she planning to. It was in her training.
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Post by demikara on Apr 4, 2020 19:38:13 GMT -6
"That's what bribes are for." She tucked the goggles strap away. "And I better go stand in front of my cell, shouldn't I?" Hope smiled. "I'll handle the bribes on these. They'll stand down." Or be replaced. Hope could manage either. "Still, I shouldn't get Amanda in trouble. I'll bring you dinner." She assured the other, and hurried to stand in front of 'her' cell so she could be counted appropriately. She wasn't trying to get the owner of this form in trouble after all. She wanted to be able to use it again, after all.
It had been in interesting day. Hope failed miserably as a field agent, but it had been nice talking to the older woman.
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Post by Ylanne on Apr 4, 2020 19:55:33 GMT -6
"I appreciate it," said Drulović, but Hope was already gone, slipping from the door. With great effort, the old woman rose to her feet, setting the blanket over the bed, and she edged carefully to the doorway, holding tightly to the side of the door to stay upright, though she knew she wouldn't be able to manage for long. As soon as the guards passed her, marking her with a pointed look, clearly for the contraband blanker, she stumbled back to the bed, rolling her eyes at the guards. Of course, someone here would have no qualms whatsoever about denying an old woman an extra blanket. The mattress was decidedly uncomfortable, and thin, not anything she'd call a proper bed at home, or anything even remotely close to it. And the provided sheets and blanket were also worn and thin, giving only the smallest amount of warmth and comfort. They were as far removed from luxurious as imaginable, and by design. No one wanted to be seen as coddling prisoners, or even simply as wasting precious budget money on them, not when the TNG was already stretched so thin as it was. For her part, Drulović moved into a lying position, on her side, facing the small writing desk jutting from one of the walls. The space was small enough in the cell that she could reach to it from the bed, and she, with some fumbling attempts, grabbed for one of the sheets of paper and a pencil. With halting movements, she painstakingly scrawled a note in an obscure old Terran language, folding it carefully into smaller and smaller squares, until it was almost undetectable. At the next count, Balthazar would be making the rounds, and she would slip it to him then. It would be almost painfully easy to kickstart the whole process in motion. And then Hope might actually be free. At least that would make one of them. The old woman knew she never truly had been.
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Post by demikara on Apr 6, 2020 18:23:11 GMT -6
Hope had managed to get through the day. These things could take time, and she knew it. She knew that it wouldn't be immediate. But she dared to hope it would be soon. If it could be done at all, let it be done soon. She had been busy getting things set up for a new identity, shifting money and memories alike. She hadn't decided on a solid name yet, but had transferred through a series of bank accounts enough money to live off of, for some time. She made good money after all, and she'd need the startup to live off of after her surgery.
She'd need time to recover, after all.
She sat in the front room of her home, going through a photo album. Liese had been kind enough to put it together for her and she cherished it more than she did most things. She was a terrible mother. She knew perfectly well how terrible a mother she was. But she still loved her children very much, even if they did end up raised by someone who had shot at her on more than one occasion.
She'd lose the ability to port, when the chip came out. That was still something she was struggling with.
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Post by Ylanne on Apr 6, 2020 18:48:32 GMT -6
Dusk offered deep, long shadows from the regal trees swaying gently overhead along West Manchester Park Court, and the cover of several cars at any given time pulling up to the gated houses or pulling away, taking the would-be high society residents to and from their galas and fêtes and dinner reservations downtown. Qahtani drummed her fingers on the steering wheel of the decade-old car, a foreign import from offworld, of a kind commonly used by delivery services, which had sprung up like weeds around the city since the end of the second occupation, making a killing off the restaurants and bars that dotted all parts of Wing City. She'd made a few other deliveries that night, but now, as she approached the Erutin intelligence chief's private Terran residence, she slowed, pulling over and setting the blinkers on. She wore ragged cutoff jeans with chains and converse sneakers, a leather jacket and striped tank top, a leather spike-studded bracelet, and a loosely wrapped scarf hanging from her head down to her waist. She looked like an aging punk, down and out of luck, holding the insulated container for the pizzas she carried. This wasn't the oddest errand the old woman had sent her on, not by far, especially when you considered that bizarre trip to Cairo with that obnoxiously womanizing agent, or the trip to Ga'aret with spiders bigger than the average lightflight fighter, or the harrowing trip to Langara. But it was still up there.
Qahtani sighed, ringing the doorbell, quirking her head slightly to the side. Of course, this would only be the first step in the old woman's current convoluted scheme. They were never easy. At least, she consoled herself, the pizzas really did smell delicious. They came from another friend of the former director's down by the riverfront, who made each one to order in his own hand-built oven. No wonder. These delivery recipients were lucky.
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Post by demikara on Apr 7, 2020 11:21:09 GMT -6
Hope was dressed for relaxing, which meant shorts and a t-shirt, though she was barefoot and wore no jewelry. There was no point in it all, after all. She Only even assumed a more human form to answer the door. Which of course meant there was a slight delay in the opening of the door, so she could actually put on human clothes. She smiled at the delivery person, not entirely certain why they were here. This could be from the old woman, or it could be someone had the wrong address.
"Hello." Her hair was bright neon pink today. She didn't look at all like an intelligence chief. She definitely didn't look like she belonged in the neighborhood. She looked more like she should live in the slums than she did in a nice neighborhood like this. Frankly, she'd be just as comfortable in the slums, but she was well aware she had to keep up some sort of appearances. And that included clothes and shoes and living in a nice neighborhood. Besides, the neighborhood...she had wanted to raise the kids here. A nice neighborhood for them would have been worth everything.
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Post by Ylanne on Apr 7, 2020 11:43:27 GMT -6
"Hi, I've got your Stella's order, through Food Hero," said Qahtani, unzipping the insulated container's cover and balancing it on one arm as she removed two pizza boxes with the other. "Two large everythings. Balance already paid." She handed the boxes over to Hope. Steam rose from them, and the aromas of oregano and Italian sausage and pepperoni and anchovies and olives quickly filled the ornate front entryway. Neither Qahtani nor Hope really seemed to belong here. But at least for Qahtani, there was almost a whole other kind of anonymity in the outlandishly loud outfit she wore, down to the multiple layers of necklaces and the array of buttons with vaguely rebellious, anarchistic slogans on the back of her leather jacket, the glitter on her scarf. The old woman had taught her that. Qahtani stood on the doorstep though, holding out her hand, with delightfully engraved iron rings and colorfully threaded rings on each finger, as if waiting to receive a tip, like she'd seen the actual Food Hero delivery people do dozens of times before.
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Post by demikara on Apr 7, 2020 11:47:04 GMT -6
"You're sure you have the right address?" Hope set the pizza boxes aside and dug into the side table, pulling out a ten credit bill. That was probably enough. She could never remember how much she was supposed to tip anyway. The pizzas would be delicious though and she would happily down both. Two pizzas was about the right about, serving wise, for an erutin of her age. So long as she didn't pick any unfamiliar form to shift into, at least. She handed over the bill.
If Qahtani has gotten a glance into the cabinet, she would have seen it had several different types fo currencies there, and not just terran credits. Hope tended to like to be prepared. And right now, she was liking the idea of two pizzas for ten credits.
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Post by Ylanne on Apr 7, 2020 11:58:50 GMT -6
"83 West Manchester Park Court, for ... Manehi?" Qahtani spoke with an annoyed tone, raising an eyebrow as if this were yet another punk kid's stupid prank that she'd now be on the end of, but the experienced agent actually made a decent approximation of the correct Erutin sounds in Hope's given name. She snatched the bill from Hope, like any pissed delivery person might, stuffing it in a pocket bulging with a few other bills from the earlier deliveries. "You already paid. You sure it wasn't some dumbass kid?" She shrugged, zipping the cover back around, and tossed her head, part of her scarf falling back over her shoulder. "Whatever. You get 10% off your next order from Stella's, dine in or take out, or 15% delivery if you use Food Hero again. Details on the receipt, in the second box. Don't forget the coupon; you don't show it, you don't get the discount, and talking about it does nothing. And you can only use it once. No photocopying. No selling. You know the drill." Qahtani turned to leave.
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Post by demikara on Apr 7, 2020 12:04:02 GMT -6
And only one person would call her by that name. "Thanks." She closed the door behind Qahtani and took the pizza to the kitchen, which was split between an erutin style kitchen, made for someone without proper hands, and a Terran style one. There was a low table, close to the ground and she took a seat at one of the pillows in front of the table. The table had also been a compromise. It was high up enough you could sit cross legged at it, but low enough she could sit at it in her four legged form too. Curiously, the two legged terran portion of the kitchen saw more use. Hands made cooking easier, in Hope's experience.
Now the question was what message had she been given. It was apparently in the second box, so she set them two side my side and opened both.
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