Crow

[Máiréad Vrána]

Eyes softened in a bemused and sincere trace of welcome, no taste of regret in her throat as she transferred her coat in delicate fashion onto the shoulders and around the arms of Abigail. It wasn't exactly ceremony, but even if the tipsy Naboo native was not aware, Máiréad was signaling her permanent parting with the vestment and passing it on. Maybe it was a sort of heirloom-imparting moment. But Abigail would never understand that. She was merely a stranger passing through, was she not? As long as she liked it...

It was then that she realized the weight removed from her shoulders, in both physical and figurative senses. What use was there in holding on to this woven material, after all? She had lost everything else, so she might as well throw out the last of that life. But why her? She had 'known' this Abigail for only an hour's time, and not much of note had been spoken between the two of them in so much as words. But maybe that was the real trick to it all: how they had communicated so much with so little deliberate dialogue. It was a rare connection for Máiréad to make, and even rarer to invite anyone into her home, even if only for a single night.

"You're welcome," she stated without even waiting for a thanks, backpedaling to retrieve her bottle once more. She carelessly kicked at the battered red coat, the thought crossing her mind for a moment to pick it up. But red had not exactly served her well in the past either. Plus she was feeling warm already.

Máiréad lingered silently in place for a generous amount of time before aiming her bottle-clutching hand in the general direction of the peach building a score of meters ahead. She took a swig before explaining in deteriorating prose: "Tha-at building. I live on the opposite side. Not the canal side." It was apparent that she was starting to feel the buzz. So she tipped back another helping to boost it along.

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Abigail took a a few steps away from the local woman, allowing herself some room to move. She just had to give the new coat a test drive, and it wouldn't do to give the lady an accidental smack. Falling into the drunken mockery of a proper stance, the woman threw a few punches, throwing her shoulders more than she had to to truly examine the garment's flexibility. So far so good... Planting an armored boot tight to the ground, she brought the other up high in a violent kick to an imaginary jaw.

She found no problems with the coat so far, but that flashy spin her practice had warranted strained the extent of the intoxicated woman's balance, bringing her down hard straight on her ass. Had she been any deeper in the bottle there may have been an injury, but as luck would have it, Abigail still had a bit of her wits left. With a girlish giggle, the slicer landed into a backwards roll, practiced hands flying back to cushion her head as her shoulders came between her and the concrete. Whooping like an excitable child, she redirected the energy from her stumble, bringing herself into a tall, wobbly handstand. Releasing a relieved huff from her lungs, Abigail brought her legs back down to the ground, completing her drunken, backward cartwheel with a flourish.

"Perfect!" In all that nonsense, the garment had not given her a single problem. What's more, the slicer was certain that she had looked awesome throughout the duration, flaps flying behind her in the heavy nighttime wind. She would definitely have to find some way to thank the local lady for the gift.

Snatching the discarded bottle back into her hands, Abigail took a long swig to make up for lost time before catching up to Máiréad, coming to an unsteady stop beside her as she pointed out a lightly colored building in the distance. It was far enough away that it tested the bounds of the Hapan's technologically enhanced vision, most of the building fading into the darkness behind it. The sight made her mouth feel dry, so she saw to that problem by gulping back another mouthful of wine before leaning a heavy hand on the local's shoulder. "S'always so dark that way?"

[member="Máiréad Vrána"]

 

[Máiréad Vrána]

If she had any doubt in handing over her coat, it was retired as she watched the other woman take to it with surprising energy. Her stance was wonky, but that was to be expected after consuming voluminous amounts of alcohol on a presumably empty stomach. Abigail held her own against the imaginary forces of evil and the forces of gravity. That was me. It was like she knew exactly what this piece of clothing was made for. Even when she fell down, she exhibited an impressive amount of control and coordination. Máiréad stared down the neck of her bottle, reflecting on her youth and whether she could have been so competent while under the influence. Hell, where had time gone?

Noticing that her company had gotten back to her feet properly and regained what composure she might have, the dark woman allowed a distant smile--one that hinted at approval; satisfaction. "Perfect... is the right word." Her words dripped out with a quiver, eyes dropping as her lips fell uncontrollable with a tremor. She whirled around to face away from Abigail, and a hand could be seen rising to rub near her eyes. Her opposite hand was on the job, also rising to quench her rasping throat and goad her towards a less cognizant state. A red stream found its way out of the trembling mouth and stained the white blouse at her breast. There was more at home. Not to worry if she wasted a few drops.

Máiréad took a breath and shuffled onward, intent on getting inside soon before she got too unstable to climb the stairs. "Always dark?" Well, of course, being that it was nighttime. There were streetlights along the side, but the could not eliminate every shadow. It seemed like a juvenile, obvious observation. Caught up in the curiosity of the question, she neglected to answer it. Oh, she was starting to feel that alcohol now.

Approaching the door to the building, the hostess dug her free hand into her pants before she remembered she wasn't wearing the coat anymore. "Oh. You have the key." She blinked with strained eyelids, then pointed at the right outer pocket of Abigail's new apparel. It barely concerned her that she had forgotten her personal items when delivering the coat to its new owner. Just needed the key was all.

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Bringing the bottle to her lips once more, Abigail's steps took on a rather clumsy swagger. Her bottle was lifted almost perpendicular to the ground, the wine taking a straight path down her waiting gullet as she chugged with a renewed purpose. There was a round of mirthful giggles building up in her chest, but she did her best to keep it down. It would be a terrible shame to sully the sexy new coat she had received so soon after getting it, especially since it fit her so beautifully. Rather than further risk it, the woman lowered the wine back down to clutch tightly against her chest, a dreamy sigh leaving her parted lips before descending into another giggle fit.

Casting her tinted, wondering gaze down the length of the local lady's form, she narrowed her eyes with renewed focus as her new friend seemed to search for something in those pockets. When it was revealed that she was in possession of the key, it took the intoxicated newcomer a few moments to put the pieces together. "What do you... oh!" Eyes lighting up as if she had made some wonderful discovery, she finally took that groping hand away from the other woman's shoulder. "I got it!"

With her handhold released, Abigail briefly fell against the local woman, an apologetic grunt falling from her lips as she dug her hand through all the pockets she could find on her new trench coat. There was a surprising amount of space, and several choice items she couldn't wait to discover, but nothing that felt like a key. Redirecting her controlled fall to lean her shoulder against the door, she finally closed her searching fingers around a small, flat rectangle in the last pocket she checked. Mumbling something about the last place you look, the woman brought her digital prize up towards the unassuming scanner next to the door.

Once... Twice... It was on the third attempt that she finally got it to register, the door behind her sliding open to allow the pair to enter. It was a major victory, but the removal of her supportive wall caused the drunken slicer to fall back into the darkened room, landing hip-first in a clumsy heap on the floor with an excited, whooping laugh. At least she hadn't spilled the wine.

[member="Máiréad Vrána"]

 

[Máiréad Vrána]

She heard the wine slosh within the bottle as Abigail stumbled into her, the digits of the other woman's hand prying at her shoulder for leverage as she teetered about. She braced her back against the recess of the doorway to keep from falling over herself. It was a lot of effort to retrieve a key, but who was she to judge? She had forgotten it in the first place.

After her guest had righted herself, Máiréad wrapped her bottle into her chest tightly for preservation of her drink. It was almost a childish display on her part. What was she doing, anyway? It was apparent that neither of them had thought this night through, and yet that oddly made it all okay. She just wanted to stop thinking about anything. There was nothing good to her life, so what worse things could possibly befall her by inviting a stranger to spend the night? Abigail looked happy right now. She wanted to be happy.

Shaken out of her thoughts by the abrupt chirp of the lock and thump against the floor, she brought her void gaze down to the flailed black coat and the woman on top. Máiréad cackled like the raven, scuffing into the hallway and allowing the door to slide shut behind her before pressing her shoulder into it and easing down onto her knees while pressing a raised finger against her lips. "Shhh. C-careful." Her finger then ascended the wall and tapped the blinking panel by her coat rack to bring the ceiling lights to a dim glow. Clumsily, she lost her grip on the wine bottle in the process, vessel clattering as its base made contact with the floor and spun about. "We'll wake the neighborssss."

 

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Abigail gazed dreamily up at the older woman, obscured eyes squinting in the lights that seemed just a bit too harsh. Her goggles were set to their highest setting, causing even the dim, internal light of the entryway to feel like an uncovered lamp to her Hapan perception. She wanted to say something, or maybe just tweak the setting on her eye wear, but all that fell from her lips was a childish string of giggles, and she absolutely refused to release her hold on the unfinished bottle.

Biting down on her lips, she tried to quiet the girlish laughter at her hostess's behest. The task seemed monumental, her face taking on a glowing shade of crimson as her cheeks puffed up like some poisonous fish. To make matters worse, older lady dropped her bottle, causing the grounded woman to tense for a mess that never came. Instead there was just a teetering bottle, spinning like some alcoholic top along the rounded edge of its base in a truly ridiculous display. She was laughing again immediately. "Neighbors?" She cackled, imprisoning her tongue between her teeth as she rolled over onto her side. "Th' neighbors c'n go f-"

Her words stopped short, cut off by a pained hiss as she leaned on her bruised hip. It wasn't a terrible sensation, but more than enough to cool the laughter in her chest down to a fraction of its former strength. Reaching out with both hands, bottle and all, Abigail wrapped both arms around Máiréad's thigh, dragging herself forward a few inches along the floor. "...Fallen and can't geddup..." A hiccup escaped the woman's pouting lips, her eyelids fluttering uselessly behind the nearly opaque lenses of her goggles.

 

[Máiréad Vrána]

There was a moment of almost horrified anticipation as the bottle wobbled on the lip of its concave underside, like some great tragedy was about to occur. And yet the predicted disaster was narrowly avoided as the interior liquid sloshed about to balance the awkward cant just enough to finally bring it to a standstill, safe and sound. Her guest's voice followed with a nearly boisterous retort to her previous warning. It all threatened the peaceful night that the folks upstairs must have been enjoying. Not that Máiréad couldn't afford one raucous night, since she was naturally quiet on any typical night.

Máiréad lolled her head to the side as Abigail curiously reached for her upper leg, enveloping them in a surprising grip of both arms, almost pincer-like. "C'mere," the hostess rasped, pulling the goggled woman from under the shoulders and onto her own body to help her at least attain a kneeling position. While doing so, she was cognitive enough to take enough care in making sure the visitor's legs did not kick nor the train of her coat clip the miracle bottle of wine. The last thing she needed was a pink stain across the floor to remind her of tonight's utterly irrational decision.

"Sumbanshee, you're a little heavy."

 

[Switch]

Abigail bit down hard on her lower lip, shoulders quaking with the threat of oncoming laughter. The fallen house guest had never been known for her grasp on good manners when she was sober, and she certainly didn't care about some boring old neighbors. In spite of her reservations, however, she held herself back as best she could, not wanting to piss off the nice lady who had invited her into her home. The intoxicated woman did her best to help her host get her off the floor, digging her heavy boots into the ground behind her in an attempt to almost "climb" the kneeling woman. She was making good progress, but a childish pout crossed Abigail's features when her ascent came to a sudden, jarring halt.

"...'m stuck! Hang on a sec..." Rising up off of the floor, the slicer's tightly-wound arms had run out of leg to travel across. It was a simple fix, and with pride beaming across her features, the woman uncoiled her arms to press her palms against the door behind Máiréad. Picking up speed, she "walked" her hands up the flat surface until she was back up on her knees, the vertical position much easier to maintain now that she had stopped fighting gravity. It also helped that the room was spinning a little less that it had been on the way down.

She brought a hand to her lips at her host's comment, the caricature of a gasp spilling through her slender fingers. "Am so not!" Her voice had taken on an almost childish, offended tone, her free hand arcing down and forward to shove a wine-scented palm into the closest shoulder. She wanted to demand the raven haired lady say she was sorry, but the only sound that came out when she parted her lips was another fit of giggles, her forehead falling forward to lightly thud on the door as she put more weight on the woman.

 

[Máiréad Vrána]

She stared at the woman before her, so close and within what could so easily be labeled as 'personal space'. Not that she wasn't already in her personal space of this humble apartment. The spattering of random chips of tile like an exploded mosaic faded off into the tiny but dim expanse of the split living area and kitchen, only the renewed light bleeding through the doorway beyond from Máiréad's simple but cozy bedroom. It conjured thoughts of other intent that had not previously crossed her mind. Her bleary eyes made no subtle glance at the coincidentally lowered neckline of her visitor's top.

Her breath was warm. She was warm. So close. And yet Máiréad felt completely alone in this moment, like an apparition tied to its haunt but never satisfied in its cold ethereal existence. It was irrational--perhaps the alcohol taking over, or at least emboldening a subtle desire--but the older woman released her right hand from what she suddenly realized was a vice-like grip on Abigail's shoulder. That coy gesture indicated a playful spirit that the hostess had not experienced ever. What was this figment of raucous promise?

"You trusted me?" Her query was practically a statement of bewilderment rather than a question--certainly no mockery. It was difficult to imagine anyone that could trust her. Even the raven-haired lady could hardly trust herself. Shakily, she brought her flattening palm up to the cheek of her guest and slowly relinquished the goggles' taut entrapment of those eyes. "Do you still trust me?"