Who: Claire Edwards [HUSH] & Sadie Sullivan [SCREAMER] Where: Capers When: Wednesday evening What: Newcomers getting to know each other Warnings: N/A
Claire was not much of a drinker, but she did like to have a drink every now and again. Lately that tended to be when she’d had a loud, long day (the loud part being far more frustrating - she was used to the long). She usually took sleeping pills to help her get to sleep at night, but occasionally she’d skip them and go with a drink or two instead. And since her options, unless she used one of her precious day passes, were fairly limited, Capers was usually the place she went.
Today she took a seat at the bar and nodded at the woman behind it. “Got any specials today?” she asked. Not that it mattered - she’d probably get the same glass of white wine anyways, but it didn’t hurt to ask.
"It's Happy Hour," said Sadie, pausing from wiping the bar. "$3 margaritas. But…" She was still somewhat new to this job, having only been given the position just over five months ago. But Sadie had always felt that she could read people a little more than others. And Claire Edwards was someone who she'd paid attention to since she'd arrived. Like Sadie, Claire hadn't been happy to be here. No one is happy to be here, she'd heard time and time again. But some people were different. She was one of them. Claire, too, was someone that was hurt more by her power than others, Sadie thought.
"You look like you could either use wine or something much harder," Sadie guessed.
“Wine would be perfect,” Claire admitted. “Chardonnay or pinot grigio, either works.” Claire was not a wine snob, so as long as Sadie didn’t put a red wine in front of her, it probably wouldn’t have made much of a difference to her. “Could I get a glass of water with that also?” she added. Ever responsible, Claire wasn’t the type to drink without water breaks.
She sighed and turned slightly in her seat to try and pinpoint the person who was making an extremely annoying snuffling sound. “God, why can’t people just use tissues?” she asked, the question largely rhetorical, as she didn’t expect Sadie to have an answer to that.
Sadie poured chardonnay for Claire, her lips in a thoughtful line. The two of them had never really spoken to each other. Sadie wasn't someone who went out of her way to make friends. Sometimes friendships just fell in her lap, like with Betty. But she didn't expect that to happen a lot, especially not here. She had so little in common with the majority of the residents of the facility. True, she hadn't really tried to look… But it didn't matter. The thing that was most important to her was off limits.
She understood what Claire meant, even if she didn't have an answer for her. It suddenly amused her. Hush and Screamer. She slid a glass of ice water toward Claire wondering if the irony had occurred to her. "Bad day?"
Claire shrugged and took a sip of her wine, then alternating with a sip of water. “No more than usual, I guess.” She shrugged and tried to give a smile. It was a good effort, almost a real one. “You must get a lot of people who come here and complain a lot,” she said sympathetically. She mused over that for a second. “Although I guess technically speaking, that’s what my job consists of as well these days.” Funny how that worked.
“Did you bartend before you came here? You’re pretty new too, aren’t you?” Claire asked. She was fairly certain Sadie came to the Lock before her, but she didn’t get the impression it was that much earlier.
"Everyone's got something on their mind that bothers them," Sadie said. To be honest, some of the woes that people had made her want to start writing music again. She was feeling the itch, but she kept making excuses for herself even when she thought she'd go mad without putting pen to paper.
"No, I didn't," Sadie said slowly. "Spent a lot of time at bars." She paused, realizing that it made her sound like a drunk. "Not the way you're thinking. But I did it for fun sometimes. I knew most of the drinks, but doing this is pretty easy, honestly. "You were involved in medicine, weren't you?"
“I didn’t think anything,” Claire said in her most reassuring voice. The kind she’d actually practiced when she’d been told she needed to work on her bedside manner.
“Yup, I was in the middle of my oncology fellowship,” she said. “At the University of Chicago, hence why I’m here. I’m from Boston.”
Sadie was a little relieved. But she didn't show it, listening to Claire with a thoughtful frown. "I'm sorry," she said. "That must have been horrible to have to give up." Sadie understood that most metas were dangers. She was dangerous. But this wasn't fair, or right. Something had to change. She just didn't know what.
"I don't really know the rhyme or reason of being in Chicago," she said, referring to herself. "Jail was jail to me at the time." Maybe she should ask someone who would know.
“Maybe they had extra room here,” Claire offered. “I’ve heard some DMS places are overcrowded.” And while Chicago seemed to have a lot of people, it didn’t seem like it was overcapacity to her.
Claire took another sip of her wine. “And it’s okay,” she said, referring to Sadie’s first comment. “I mean, it’s not really okay,” she admitted, “but there’s nothing I can do about it.” And even trying to transfer to Boston didn’t seem all that appealing. Being able to see her family regularly and being constantly reminded of how little freedom she had? No thank you.
"Yes, I'm not surprised." It was already overcrowded, in Sadie's opinion. But that didn't really seem to matter. She had to share a unit with three other girls. It was ridiculous. She closed her eyes with a sigh but opened them with a weak smile. "I'm not supposed to be the one sighing," she said.
“I won’t tell if you drink on the job,” Claire said, giving Sadie a smile, before groaning abruptly. “Ugh, the Tom Jones fan is at it again,” she said, wincing. Someone a few floors up had started playing “What’s New Pussycat” on...some kind of instrument. Maybe a tuba or trombone? She wasn’t really musical enough to know the difference. “Seriously, whomever this is, all they know how to play are Tom Jones songs. When I figure out who it is…” She trailed off, having no idea what she would actually do.
Sadie wasn't going to drink on the job, but she did smile at Claire, glad that she'd have her back if the need presented itself. She listened to Claire, realization dawning on her. "I wish I could help you. I don't know who it is. Maybe they'll get the courage to sing at karaoke or open mic and you'll discover them."
“I probably don’t want to know,” Claire said, tipping back her glass of wine and finishing it off quickly. “I’d hate them forever and it’s not their fault I can’t control this.” She shook her head and pushed her wine glass towards Sadie for a refill. One more glass couldn’t hurt. “Although seriously, Tom Jones,” she said. “I can’t think of any more obnoxious songs.”
Sadie understood. Some people had wonderful control of their powers. She was deeply jealous of them. She was training to be better at controlling her pitches but she wasn't advancing like she'd wanted to. She felt a raincloud inside of her, dusting her innards with coldness. "Are you getting better at controlling it?" Sadie asked.
Claire snorted. “Sometimes it seems like it’s getting worse,” she admitted. She’d always been a high achiever, but controlling her powers didn’t come as easily to her as she would have liked. “It hasn’t been that long, though, and they tell me I’ll get better. Do you know Ben Harper - Sonic? I occasionally bribe him with coffee to make it go away for at least a little bit. It keeps me moderately sane.”
"I think it will." Sadie hoped that one day she might be able to sing again. But even now she was afraid to let herself have that pleasure even in the shower. "I don't know if I know him," she said, trying to think if she knew him. "What does he do?"
“He’s an operative. Can’t remember which team, but he can control sound. He’s cute, but he’s got a weird piercing on this ear,” Claire said, gesturing to her right side. Claire, coming from a WASPish family, wasn’t one for piercings or tattoos, although she tried to remind herself that no one was forcing her to get one.
"Oh," said Sadie, wondering if he could do anything for her. She wouldn't ask, but it was something to ponder. "That's very fortunate for you. It'd be nice if we all had someone to help balance us out."
“I try not to ask too often - don’t want to overstay my welcome or bite the hand that feeds me. Something like that,” she said, realizing the alcohol was definitely making things a little pleasantly fuzzy now. And making her slightly less articulate than usual. She finished up her glass of wine and drank a few more sips of the water.
“Speaking of overstaying my welcome, I should probably head home,” she said. Calling it home wasn’t quite right, but it was close enough. “How much do I owe?” she asked, pulling out her wallet.
Sadie let her know the amount, writing it down on a receipt for Claire's benefit. She saw a group of other people coming into the bar. And although she would have been happy to keep talking with Claire, she was starting to feel a bit worried that the conversation would turn more to her and her issues and her past. She wasn't good at talking about it.
Claire left a few bills on the bartop, leaving a generous tip. “Thanks Sadie,” she said, giving a small wave before heading out.