Jewel Calderón sees right through you. (lovelyesque) wrote in theinvincibles, @ 2015-07-11 21:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, grace o'phelan, jewel calderón, lionel rosa |
Who: Grace O'Phelan [Index] & Lionel Rosa [Einstein] & Jewel Calderón [Doppler]
Where: The Commissary
When: Backdated to Monday July 6th; late morning.
What: The girlfriends and Mr. Rosa are in the business of calculated risks.
Warnings: Nada
There were very few things which granted Jewel and Grace that very understated sense of normalcy. Naming their cats after the animal characters in The Road to El Dorado, meeting up at Brewed Awakening after Grace got off work as a substitute teacher, and shopping at the commissary were some examples. But if they allowed themselves the space to step back and view the situation as a whole, they might laugh at the ridiculousness of it all: holding hands, chatting airily, the high-heeled Peruvian woman carrying a shopping basket filled with ingredients and bathroom necessities. It was supposed to be that simple, but they were in a commissary in a government-operated and run facility where Grace taught metahuman teenagers and Jewel risked ("risked", really, she'd seen action here and there, but they mostly kept her at a distance because she wasn't blind) her life as an operative. It wasn't what one would call a typical scenario. It was a scenario made even more unique by the fact that they spoke in completely different accents, sometimes pulling out their phones to text each other because occasionally one couldn't quite catch what the other was saying. Though that was more Jewel's shortcoming than Grace's, as the redhaired Irish goddess had the powered ability to remember pretty much every word Jewel had ever uttered. And though the light and fluffy discussion seemed to be that, it was only so on the surface. Because the subject they were discussing was the latest way they could break out of the facility. In the past, it had been a conversation which had sustained them through bitter times and later as a joke to fluster the agents (because the truth was they'd make an excellent spy team with their otherwise "useless" Delta powers), but now it was in reaction to Stonewall's death, X-Rays suspension, and most recently the APEX attack while the Orange Team was on patrol. Tension was escalating and Jewel had a temper and an opinion ready to fire off at a moment's notice. But Grace held her hand tight, turned the conversation to something more summery and daydreamy, distracting them from any undercurrent of anger and, in the case of Jewel's job, growing concern. "Where do we go first when we escape here?" Jewel asked as she rifled through the hosiery. "I was thinking maybe a beach. Ohh, but you don't tan. What about university?" She leaned into Grace a bit, her voice dropping low. "We can slip under the football bleachers and reenact our first kiss, ah?" Neither woman really cared if they were overheard or if people really believed their plots. But for those who might be within hearing range, it was certainly an attention-grabbing topic. Escape from Alcatraz was always a good game. Pulled out when tensions were high or feathers were ruffled or even when the daily routine had just gotten a bit too mind-numbing. But after a good six or seven years of not escaping in any fashion, it garnered less suspicion than it once had. Especially from the less green of the Agents, who were more than used to their nonsense. (Though there was a certain, specific joy in watching the new children side-eye them in displeasure.) “Of course, love.” Grace snorted, indelicate and unladylike, easily bumping Jewel’s hip with her own. “Because we won’t look at all out of place - two old ladies busy snogging under a metal stairway.” She plucked things from the shelves lazily, not really putting much attention into the proceedings. After all, if they were where they were supposed to be, it really didn’t matter much if she looked or not. And if they weren’t? Well, then they went home with some interesting surprises. And possibly without sugar. A disappointed click of her tongue: “And returning to the scene of the crime. Criminal stereotype number one. Very cliche. I expect better from you, Operative.” "Yes, well!" Jewel laughed. Not only was this a shameful suggestion for an Operative, but Jewel had intended to go into law before they were caught. It was a textbook bad decision and anybody knew that. "Indulge me my girlish fantasies, mi cielo. I do like a little risk." She grabbed something off the shelf, also not paying much attention to what was making its way into the basket. "But anywhere in the world, we could go. You know, if the risk of returning to campus is successful." This was the wistful part of the conversation. "Imagine España...anywhere along the Mediterráneo... We will get you sunscreen. And a nice big straw hat." There was a little risk - and then there was asking to get locked up in a little cell without any windows. Or doors. There was nothing wistful about solitary confinement. “I do rather like those really big hats -” Her nose twitched, head tipping back and forth in some mild internal debate. “No real use for them when all the sun’s stuck behind windows, but they’re very nice. With a fancy ribbon all around, yeah?” From the looks of things, they were going to be eating a lot in the way of breakfast foods after this trip. Breakfast foods and a mildly alarming number of condiments. “But how will we get there?” she mused. “All the way across an ocean. Will we pull a D.B. Cooper?” She flashed a grin, wide and mischievous. “Steal ourselves an airplane and extort the government for a million dollars? Disappear and mystify the FBI for decades?” “Too easy,” came a voice from behind the two women, and Lionel gave a smile in greeting when he met their eyes. All he’d come to the store for was yogurt, but when he’d heard the two familiar voices and their particular topic of conversation, he couldn’t help but listen in -- literally couldn’t help it, his mind automatically following and silently adding in his own comments while he absently scanned the different containers and evaluated which was the best value for price, all factors considered. Eventually he picked up his winner, and by that point couldn’t resist, intrusion though it might have been. “Sure, you could live out the rest of your days in Sardegna and no one would be any the wiser, but that would get boring. It might be a kindness to give them something to chase, if only to make them not so painfully aware of how much they are lagging behind.” How to escape was a topic that was often -- no, almost always -- on Lionel’s mind, idly spinning in the background as he went about his day and attempted to occupy his thoughts. Sometimes he even wondered why he didn’t try any of his theories out, especially when too much of his time and brainpower was spent enumerating, over and over again, the many flaws of the wretched place that he was now forced to live in. The answer was probably that he was too lazy. He stepped closer to them in a few easy steps, and glanced down into their basket. “Or perhaps I’m mistaken, and you’ve already thought of this. Planning on leaving a trail of ketchup?” The third voice drew the women sharply from their conversation. It wasn’t uncommon for people to interrupt their schemes, but it was certainly rare for them to add a new perspective to their plans, and it drew an immediate grin to Jewel’s face as she recognized Lionel. Naturally in a small place like this, they’d spoken to him several times and his name had come up in conversations between them, but regardless of where he cropped up, he always was a welcome addition. The grin turned into a mild pinch of confusion and she looked into her basket at the five bottles of ketchup. “We...we are not even in the right aisle…” She muttered in Spanish, putting back all but one of the containers. Quick to turn it around, though, as she slid the fourth one back: “See? How much more painful is this lagging behind if they cannot even apprehend us at the university? Risk. Risk. Risk is fun, and then relax.” Grace blinked down into the basket and let out a laugh as Jewel replaced the ketchup bottles. She must have lost a step somewhere. (Jewel was a distracting thing - all the hand motions and the language-switching and she tended to tug, rather than keep pace.) So it was a bit of a surprise, perhaps - but sometimes it was a relief to be surprised. Even if it was only by an extra package (or four) of ketchup. And then there were more pleasant surprises. Her own smile widened in greeting as she turned, eyes crinkled at the corners and a finger rising to side her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “I have no objections to taunting the authorities,” she clarified. “Just to being caught due to stupidity. We’ve done that already. Risk is best when calculated.” Lionel’s gaze slipped back to her and his smile grew, turned approving. The same words had been on the tip of his tongue, but Grace had beat him to them: calculated risk. “Which is why our future partners have all undergone...rigorous screenings." Jewel supplied. And nobody named Joel came with one hundred feet of them. "We learned." “Sounds like a process,” Lionel replied, and placed his container of yogurt in their basket without preamble. “I can get that, if you want.” He held his hand out in offering for the basket, a gesture he almost surprised himself with. Good mood today, clearly. He knew that Jewel-and-Grace were not always only just the two of them, and on an intellectual level the concept intrigued him; relationships were complex enough between two people, after all, the webs between them layered and fraught as it was. To say that he hadn’t thought of it on a level that was something other than intellectual would’ve been a lie, but they were idle and theoretical thoughts. “Is the content of these screenings top secret information?” “My,” Grace demurred, reigning in her grin and lightly fanning a set of fingers over her chest as Jewel graciously relinquished their basket. “It seems we have ourselves a gentleman, bird.” She herself relinquished Jewel’s fingers with a squeeze, moving to Lionel’s side and tucking a hand into the crook of his elbow. “Ah, yes. Pain of death, love.” The index finger of her spare hand sketched out a mild slice across her throat. Then she leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “Between the three of us, though, there may or may not be keelhauling involved.” A pause, frowning mildly. “Or there would be. If we had a boat.” “Yes, you see.” Jewel’s eyes were aglow, finding Grace and Lionel to be a handsome pair. “Even I, the very passionate one,” because someone ought to balance out the two cerebral personalities in front of her, “know that revealing this content is itself a calculated risk. But we make do with improvising for lack of boats. Sometimes there are interviews. Sometimes there are shackles.” Her bright eyes slid from Lionel’s to Grace’s, an unspoken message between them. “But sometimes we are benevolent and prefer an old-fashioned date over a screening. The latter is so dreary and there is no food involved. We have appetites, after all.” “I’m sure,” Lionel replied, deadpan, allowing a goodnatured smirk, uncaring whether or not the slight innuendo was intended or imagined. “As entertaining as a good old keelhaul sounds, an old-fashioned date intrigues me just as much, if not more. Now, might I ask, is there a waiting list going for such an experience? I’ll risk the chance of getting the shackles.” It might’ve seemed a question added on impulse, were it not for the fact that this particular man did not do impulse. While they spoke his thoughts ran on different levels, considering his previous interactions with the two women, his history with relationships (short and mostly unsatisfying), the possibility that, in any case, he could fail whatever metaphorical test they had (though he had never before failed a test in his life). Unfortunately, his ability tended to stop at literally seeing the future. Jewel, after all, among the three of them was the one with superhuman vision. He’d also considered the way his run for yogurt had brightened, infused by a vibrant quality of life, the moment he’d run into them. Perhaps it was a risk, but it was, at the very least, a calculated one. Lionel wasn’t the first to ever approach the two girls, intrigued and curious, perhaps misled and expecting something the women weren’t offering. But he was certainly the first in a good, long while. As they grew older and came to the facility, what was once viewed as something that could be dismissed as a “college phase” remained solid, and unsurprisingly as others their age paired off the potential for a third partner dwindled. She and Grace had discussed on occasion the possibility that they might never be a polyamorous relationship again, but as they always concluded: never say never. Enter: Lionel Rosa. “Oh, the longest.” Jewel laughed, good-natured and light. “So many people that even Grace must write their names down.” Though the laughter faded into a bright smile, she shook her head. “Keelhauling and shackles are...em...passé? To most. It is a rare character who comes knocking anymore.” “I do not have to write things down,” Grace shot back immediately, mildly scandalized at the very thought. Her nose scrunched, lenses sliding themselves a few centimeters out of place. “Don’t you listen to a word she says, love. She’s absolutely gone in the head, that one. Mad as a hatter.” An incredulous noise, her tongue briefly poking out in Jewel’s direction and her steps picking back up, breezily snagging Jewel’s arm for her other side. No one negotiated dates in the condiments aisle. It just plain wasn’t done. Her chin tilted, the smile sliding rather helplessly back into place rather effectively ruining the affected pride, but she couldn’t really bring herself to mind overly much. This particular brand of fizzing excitement hadn’t shown its face in quite some time. “If we had a waiting list I’d have it annotated. And prioritized. And not written down in any fashion.” Jewel giggled. Even if it was all in jest, it made her unequivocally happy to see Grace flustered. She pressed a soft kiss to her cheek as the three navigated away from the aisle. “Of course, mi cielo. I did not mean to offend.” Where someone else might’ve looked away, Lionel mildly watched the two women interact, expression not giving away anything he might’ve been thinking. The check-out counters were hardly far, and they were already almost there, walking in a line, the basket hanging over the man’s free arm. “And here we are,” he said, extracting himself from the linked arms with, perhaps, a tinge of regret, placing the basket on the counter and pulling out his yogurt. “I’ve got to say, this conversation -- though too short -- has given me something I rarely get: something to think about that’ll take me longer than a minute.” His words were accompanied with a raised brow and a corner of the mouth that pulled up, clever, but relaxed soon enough into a glimpse of a genuine smile, the sort with a flash of teeth. “I should certainly hope so,” Grace replied - equally sly - and, at her side, her fingers flexed and curled in the absence of warmth. “Think about it all you like. And I’m sure an appointment’ll be available, should you care for one.” Her other arm squeezed lightly at the bend of Jewel’s elbow and her gaze cut to the side for (needless, she was certain) affirmation. “Top priority, hm?” As Grace missed the brief warmth of Lionel, Jewel returned his handsomely genuine smile before her girlfriend swept up her attention. Her lip twisted in a wry, amused smile. “Absolutamente.” As Lionel completed his transaction, clear that he was to go on his separate way now, she waggled her fingers in farewell before yanking Jewel down the aisle they were supposed to be in so that they could gossip about an entirely new fantasy. |