The Ravello - Savoy Corporate Apartment
Mignonette is working out of home today, which, while not common, well, it happens. So when she received the call from Young, regarding the incident of the evening before, she picks up the cell, in the middle of the kitchen, "I'm at the condo today, why don't you come over? I'll have the doorman key you up in the elevator, it's number 480."
—-
Right, soon enough with combing a hand over his head James is left with standing there at the bottom of the ritzy building waiting to be given access. While granted access, the man moves swiftly up despite his lack of knowing pointedly where to travel, using scents and brief instructions alone. He knocks on the aforementioned door with two eased raps while pocketing his car keys with the other hand. As he stands there in the hallway, the man digs his hands into his pockets and waits.
—-
The door opens a few moments later, after the sound of soft feet on hardwood tracks the woman within's movement from the kitchen through the living room, and to the door. Her hair is pulled up in a bun, held in place by a paintbrush, of all things, and she's dressed casually, tracksuit bottoms and a camisole, but she seems well enough, and the smile is genuine, as she opens the door, and seeing you, pulls it open to allow you access, before she pads back towards the kitchen. The apartment itself, is as ritzy as the downstairs, but in a careful elegant way, rather than anything ostentatious, "Come in, make yourself at home, can I get you anything to drink?" The smell of cooking gives the condo a much more homely feeling than it might have alone. It's obvious not much living gets done here. The only room you can see that looks decidedly rumpled, is what looks like a painting studio where the master bedroom should be. The door is only half open, but a riot of colours and canvasses are visible.
—-
"Alright, thanks," James wrinkles the bridge of his nose a bit at the sight of the apartment, finding it just as fancy as the rest of the complex - which doesn't surprise him much of anything at all after a passing second though matched alongside a look given towards Mignonette. He nods once and slowly paces into the room, taking a moment to deposit his chilled boots near to the entrance, walking along through the rooms after her until he's at the kitchen as well. He lingers in the entrance of it, hands still buried into the front pockets of his jeans. "Oh? Oh, sure, water's fine," he answers in turn.
—-
Mignonette takes a moment, to pop her head in the oven, as it were, checking on whatever it is she's cooking. Once it's closed, and she hears your order, she heads to the refrigerator, pulling down a glass from the rack over the center island on her way. Water is poured, with a few ice cubes thrown in before, she sets it down on the island next to you, "Coffee should be ready in a little while." The coffee in question, is steeping in a french press not far from where you're standing, "I'm still getting used to the place. It's a company apartment, so I'm using until I find something more suitable. Did you eat yet?" She heads back to the stove, turning the fried green tomatoes in the skillet, "You have have a seat, if you like."
—-
"Won't be having any today, I don't think, thanks," he politely refuses with a small dip of his chin, respectfully so, before looking at the glass and moving to accept it. He merely holds it within his right hand for the time being rather than try his hand at actually dealing with it for the time being. Instead, he shifts into his left hand and he looks around once again, slowly nodding. "I'm sure you are… No. No, just something around two, whenever that was," in the morning, he doesn't bother adding that fact given what had been going on the other time at the garage and having to drive about with Doctor Cox. He moves to sit though, finally drinking.
—-
"Well, alright then." Mignonette sets the tomatoes aside, allowing them to rest on a set of paper towels to soak up the excess oil, before she dips into the oven again, pulling out what look sort of like crab cakes, heavier on the meat, lighter on the breading, the way they should be, the small woman looking at home in the kitchen, content even, as if she truly enjoyed the simple pleasure of cooking. "Did you manage to check in on Miss Wallace?" There's genuine concern on her voice, as she pulls the cast iron skillet out of the oven to rest for a while on the island, using the marble to her advantage. She pauses, looking out at the apartment, "I hate it here." An idle comment, before she turns back to the refrigerator, pulling out some eggs, "Eggs benedict alright?"
—-
"Who? Oh, yeah," it takes James a good second or two to actually notice Abbey's last name and he eases his shoulders into a simple shrug. He said he would call when he was done checking on his friend and since then he has called; that's suffice enough information for him to reveal. He sets the glass of water aside and closes his eyes, reaching up to rub his chin idly, thoughtfully. "Yeah, she'll be fine. You don't need to worry or anything, all patched up and such. She's probably up and running about right now," is added, since he doesn't believe her when it comes to the apartment itself. Then, he continues, "Yeah."
—-
Mignonette moves easily around the kitchen, plating brunch, such as it is. The eggs are cracked, done over medium, before she puts it together. English muffin, the fried tomato, eggs and homemade hollandaise sauce. A serving if cheesy hash brown casserole, and one of the crab cake, which, if you taste it is actually crawfish. A moment, to set the plate just right, before she carries it over to you, depositing it, along with a set of silverware and a napkin. Salt, pepper, hot sauce, before she goes to make a plate for herself, "Thank you for that. She seemed in need of help, but clearly, I was not the person to give it to her."
—-
James casts his gaze downwards to the plate of food sat down before him and he eyes it patiently over before lowering his face when Mignonette's back is turned. While watching her to make sure she isn't looking, he sniffs at it before peering down at it. He only takes the pepper, dashes four times in a small succession over the plate, and then holds up the eating utensils to begin eating. It won't last for long, the food that is. "Are you entitled to be or something? I don't see why not, could easily let someone trained to handle it then toddle off without regret. Would've figured you to call the ambulance and then head for the hills," comments the man with an eased shrug. "I guess - you're welcome, by the way."
—-
"Of course I wasn't entitled to anything. I came in as a customer, saw that she was hurting, and offered to call for medical assistance. She refused, but was in obvious pain, and did not wish to go to the hospital. But I couldn't just leave her suffering. I did the only thing I could do in the circumstances. I don't like to see people in pain." Mignonette comes back, setting down a second plate next to the first, at least close to your hand, before she returns to the stove. Clearly, that's your second helping. She's seen how you eat, "What is it about me that you hate so much?"
—-
"I wouldn't be here if I hated you," is his honest response, leaving it at that. James lifts the second plate up and sets it on top of the first, this time lacking pepper or salt or the like. He merely sets it on top and then continues eating. Upon that plate, he leaves it at that and holds off on anything else, offering the half-drained glass of water a sidelong glance before looking towards Mignonette. "So, why do you keep questioning if I do? This is - what - the umpteenth time of you mentioning it? It's starting to happen every week now," though, it's not that James is perfect as he calmly speaks up, but he does trust that he is rather upfront about potential hatred, to the least.
—-
"I'm just trying to figure out why you seem to go out of you way to insult me whenever you can, and try to get me to do the same. That crack about not trusting me because I was a vampire," clearly she means figuratively, "I am what I have been made to be, what I have to be, James, and I have never lied to you. Whatever choices I might have are few and limited, and I have tried to live the best that I can. I have tried to develop a friendship with you, but," she shakes her head, "This place, that job, the things I have to do, none of that is me."
—-
"Yeah, because calling me a paper-pusher or saying I do a shit-job, or hey - let's just bring up the entire past of bullshit spewed out of your mouth as well, since you seem so inclined to constantly bring mine up." She may mean it figuratively, which causes him to briefly narrow his gaze as if to gauge its truth, but given common sense he relaxes and moves to sit back in the chair he has borrowed. In expecting lawyers to have thick skins just as much as officers, James attains a moment of silence at that much being said while clearing his throat. "We're friends, okay? I'm not anything more, though, I can't be."
—-
"I -am- so inclined, because it's the only way to get it all out on the table." Her tone is still quiet, still gentle. She's not angry in the least. "I won't deny that I've been as horrible to you as you've been to me. Part of it was being upset at the things you would say to me, but just as much was just…survival. I've had to keep people at a distance all of my life. To protect myself, to protect them. From me, from my family. It's hard to let go of that, hard to trust someone not to hurt you, not to want you for your money, or for your connections." She sets aside her plate, having touched almsot none of it, and comes around the island, holding out a hand to you, "There was a time, James, when I would very much have liked for us to be something more, but that time isn't now. Right now, all I want, really want, is to be your friend and for you to be mine." She turns her palm up, and for a moment, she looks almost…shy, "Come, I want to show you something."
—-
"Yeah, well," James has already blown off most of his steam, so there he is with those two words and nothing else to do beyond sit there and look towards Mignonette. He reaches aside for the glass of water and slowly, patiently, drains it off before focusing back on the conversation. The man ends up only voicing a, "Well," when it comes to potential relationships. He looks at the hand offered and then near-reluctantly he holds his up to accept it and move to stand, allowing the woman to lead him around the house. At least now he doesn't have a chip on his shoulder.
—-
Mignonette doesn't lead you far, only over to her studio, free hand pushing the door open, before she steps in, as soon as you're inside, though, she lets go of your hand, stepping back to give you a chance to look at the canvases. There's so many of them, some small, some large, some abstract, some almost photographic. If you go through them, you're there, usually in your human form, very rarely in your shifted one, but so are a few of the other people around town, so are people you'd recognize from her family, some other places you know she's been. But the majority, if they have figures at all, are strangers. The emotions captured as well run the gamut, fear, pain, love, joy, ease. All are vibrant, not shimmering, but somehow…almost alive with potential.
—-
James folds his arms over his chest once he's physically able to and upon that he begins to pace slowly and patiently deeper into the room, looking over one painting and then the next. There is no fanfare to his studious expression or the heavy footfalls, or in his gaze wandering from point of interest to the next. The man comes to stand before a wolf. It's one of very few that exist, the wolves. He points to it. In pointing, he looks towards Mignonette and bluntly asks of her, "Why do you paint me?"
—-
Mignonette doesn't seem to be looking for praise, or fanfare. She's allowing this man, her friend, to see a part of her she's had to keep secret all of her life. Trusting him with it. He's already seen some of it, now she's allowing him to see all of it, "I paint what I dream, I paint what I see. The past, the future, the present, sometimes people I know, sometimes complete strangers, like the woman in my office. But always real, always the truth." She indicates this canvas and that, "Not all of them are visions, some are just my own ideas, mostly the abstract ones." As you point to the wolf, she looks at you, shaking her head, "I don't know why I paint you like that. Sometimes I just see him, and I know it's you. They're never clear in my head, sometimes, they're not even clear once I get them down on paper, on canvas. I've been trying to improve, trying to learn how to trigger the visions when I want them, but I haven't had much success. Yet."
—-
James tightens his hold and tucks in his hands tighter against his sides while looking at the large wolf. He doesn't speak up any further beyond that; in fact, he turns to look towards Mignonette in a passing sweep before his pivot completes itself and he begins to head for the exit. No words, not one, he merely moves to step out after asking the question and beginning to hear the answer. In the process, he drops his arms and moves to bury them into the front pockets of his jeans. Within the right pocket the man rolls his cell phone between his concealed fingertips. It's something to do with his hands, which is a lot better than doing nothing and growing frustrated.
—-
Mignonette's expression in caught, somewhere between being upset, though not at you, and confusion, but she follows you out, though she knows better than to get too close. She stops a short distance away, behind you, but the concern is evident in her voice, in the way she holds herself, "What have I done? I thought…I didn't want to keep the secret, keep you in the dark. What did I do wrong?" She pauses, her voice soft, "I'm sorry. I never meant to upset you."
—-
James shakes his head once and upon that he brings up his right hand in order to hold at his temples, trying to wade through a myriad of thoughts in the process of standing there outside of the room. He turns, just enough to stand at an angle compared to Mignonette's stance. "What am I supposed to do - just stand there smiling - what?" He extends his right hand from his face and in her direction, a vague gesture. "Just… you don't understand, do you? You probably never will." He turns to head to the kitchen, for more water, helping himself and ignoring the urge to be polite and request it beforehand. "Never clear in my head my ass."
—-
Mignonette continues into the house, moving out of the studio. She makes no fuss as you help yourself to water, but she stays on the other side of the island, a hand resting on the edge, "They started when I was twelve. I thought they were nightmares. I didn't know how to articulate them, how to get them out of my head. Because they don't go, they just get stronger and stronger and stronger, until I can't see, I can't think, I can't breath." Very much the way she was in her office, until you gave her her drawing tools. "Feelings and shapes and images. My mother helped me. She doesn't have the same ability, but their are other women in my family that do. The gift of Sight, but it isn't a gift. It hurts." She pauses, "It's the truth. When I get them, I can't just see them in my head, like a motion picture, or a freeze frame. I have to put them down on something. And I don't know what they mean, though I try to figure it out later, if they're clear enough." She frowns, "What don't I understand?"
—-
With all the sudden ire and frustration in the world mounting upon James's shoulders, he looks down into the glass of water and then pours it all back down the drain as he listens to Mignonette speak. It's a steady backdrop of spilled water that ends just prior to her words cutting off. Slowly, he turns around but only after depositing the overturned glass down into the basin of the sink. With his hands pressed to the counter, his fingers tap upon the surface, listening to the dull responses they give. Tap-tap-tap, it continues for a lingering moment within his mind even though he has stopped physically doing it. He looks aside, towards the studio; "Me, werewolf, can I go now?" It comes out in a massive blurb and he turns to head for his boots, even if he isn't given a response.
—-
Still, she makes no move to come closer to you, to put a hand out, lest it get slapped away. And after her words she's silent. And through your brief ones, so is she. To say Mignonette looks absolutely floored would be an understatement. But such as it is, is it. She just stands there, looking completely at a loss. It's more than clear that the woman honestly doesn't have any idea what you're talking about. But once she sees you start to move, well, she doesn't really try to intercept, but she does stay within your line of vision, "You're a what?" Okay, psychics she can handle, hell, she is one. Vampires, well, they're a fact of life now, but, "They exist?"
—-
James sweeps a hand just above his rear end as if there were a tail there and as if he were to try and grab it and move it out of the way, but he only fishes his fingertips through the air within his wake and ends up standing there. He might not slap her, but he does sit and stand there. Shoving his hands back down into his pockets while near to his boots at the front door, he moves to face Mignonette. "So answer my question," states the man flatly, losing most of his vigor but still retaining his damn accent. He doesn't answer hers. Instead, he reposes it: "Why do you paint me?"
—-
Mignonette lifts her chin, and for a brief moment, she looks defiant, as she steps in towards you, not so close that it's invasive, but close enough that with your longer arms, you could reach her, if you chose to. She's not about to let you think she's afraid of you, that she sees you as a monster or anything other than the man she's known. Lords know, she's had enough experience with that herself. Regardless of what you say you are, and what stories and myths have told her about your kind, she's not going to cower. And so, when she hears the question, a second time, she takes a moment, finding…not the right answer, but the honest one. "Because you're part of my visions. Because I dream you. I see you when I sleep, and I paint what I dream." She pauses, almost as if she were considering whether or not to continue, and then, with a deep breath, she does, "I paint you because I love you, though that doesn't matter. And perhaps that's why I see you so often, I don't know." And then she waits, having given him the only answer she can give him.
—-
James lifts his brows a bit and it's out of curiosity, since he's just standing there and all. He doesn't budge beyond to blink. The rest of him is rather stuck in place. After studying her face, he sniffs a bit and casts his gaze down to the flooring near to his feet. He rolls his shoulders into a brief shrug, passive and a touch ambivalent. "I don't know either," he finally responds at it is lackluster in his opinion. He presses his lips together into a thinned smile and then moves to quietly slip his boots back on. "I'm going to go home now. I'm going to shower and then I'm going to call my girlfriend to see when the two of us are going out tonight. I promised her I would. Between now and then, I'm going to call you." He stands up, "But, as my best friend around here, I hope you understand that I can't talk to you right now."
—-
Mignonette steps back, allowing the room to go through the motions of putting your boots back on, and she remains quiet, while you do so, quiet through the speech, quiet through your rising again, hands, lacking any sort of pocket to slide them into, simply remain open at her sides. Her expression is only slightly touched with something caught between sadness and regret, but she finds a smile to answer the one you offer, "I'll have my phone. So call whenever you like." And she'll remain there, quiet, until you step out, moving only to close the door behind you.
—-
James looks to Mignonette and then he quirks into a brief but reassuring smile. He steps up and lifts his hands in order to wrap his arms around her shoulders and bring her into a close hug. Aside from his ambivalence, it's rather intimate given the closeness. He leans down and presses a kiss to her brow before whispering his apologies and taking a step back. "I just want to keep you safe from me, you're the only… human I've ever told." The man slowly turns about and then holds up his right hand near to his ear to mimic a phone call, thumb and pinky extended out from a fist. With that, he departs for the cold world beyond.
—-
Mignonette lifts her arms, returning the hug, arms around his waist, holding him as tightly as she can, as if she could communicate all of the trust and belief she has in him in that single gesture, before she steps back, feeling him release her shoulders, feeling the kiss on her brow, and she offers a warmer, smile, the smile of a friend. "I would always be safe with you, James. And you with me. I would never allow anything to happen to you, if i could prevent it, nor will I ever reveal your secret." And she means that. A nod, at the gesture to call her, and when she closes the door, A hand rests gently on the door, "Go safely, James." And finally, there's nothing left, but to clean up. And so, back to the kitchen, as she looks down at the plates, "That man can eat." But it's said with a smile, as she goes back to her day.
