Kate Gregson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vanillajello) wrote2010-02-14 06:33 pm
vanillajello) wrote2010-02-14 06:33 pm
Random Motel near Baltimore, Sunday Evening
Kate had been at this motel since Thursday night. She'd spent the days cooped up in her room, or taking walks around the surrounding area. There wasn't much to see, but she'd told herself that at least there weren’t any gremlins popping out or anything unusual falling out of the sky. In essence, at least it wasn't Fandom.
And the evenings were spent in the motel bar, dressed in her least sixteen-looking clothes, wearing the kind of make-up Alice had tried to get her to use. She hadn't been carded once. It was that kind of a place; indifferent, sleazy, kind of depressing...
She was never telling Mitchell about it.
There'd been some random thirtysomething guy, staying at the motel on a business trip, who'd bought her drinks and told her she had an interesting name and an even more interesting life story. And she'd smiled and said she’d grown to like the name, and oh hey, had she told him about that messed up thing that happened when she’d kinda been involved with Colin Farrell?
... Yeah. This time she was January Harcourt, born in South Africa to a boxing promoter and his trophy wife, grown up all over the States, and currently residing in Monaco. He'd bought it all. (He'd been most interested in her cleavage, anyway.) And she'd been amused. It was simple and easy, and so totally removed from her real life.
But now he was gone, and tomorrow Kate would be gone too. Back to Fandom.
Probably.
For now, though, she was still here, with a glass of orange juice in front of her, and the only thing reminding her that it was Valentine's Day was the drunk middle-aged couple at the corner table loudly declaring their love for each other.
[ooc: NFB due to distance, open for calls and text messages, although depending on who you are, she may not pick up straight away.]
And the evenings were spent in the motel bar, dressed in her least sixteen-looking clothes, wearing the kind of make-up Alice had tried to get her to use. She hadn't been carded once. It was that kind of a place; indifferent, sleazy, kind of depressing...
She was never telling Mitchell about it.
There'd been some random thirtysomething guy, staying at the motel on a business trip, who'd bought her drinks and told her she had an interesting name and an even more interesting life story. And she'd smiled and said she’d grown to like the name, and oh hey, had she told him about that messed up thing that happened when she’d kinda been involved with Colin Farrell?
... Yeah. This time she was January Harcourt, born in South Africa to a boxing promoter and his trophy wife, grown up all over the States, and currently residing in Monaco. He'd bought it all. (He'd been most interested in her cleavage, anyway.) And she'd been amused. It was simple and easy, and so totally removed from her real life.
But now he was gone, and tomorrow Kate would be gone too. Back to Fandom.
Probably.
For now, though, she was still here, with a glass of orange juice in front of her, and the only thing reminding her that it was Valentine's Day was the drunk middle-aged couple at the corner table loudly declaring their love for each other.
[ooc: NFB due to distance, open for calls and text messages, although depending on who you are, she may not pick up straight away.]
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So he called. It had nothing to do with Valentine's day.
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... And then it took her a moment longer to do anything about the call when she saw who it was. She wasn't too sure she wanted to talk him.
Still, months and months of good times won over one bad time. She could at least answer, although sounding a little wary. "Yeah?"
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He was relieved to hear her voice, and he didn't bother hiding it.
"I couldn't find you."
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Which, yes, she knew he'd already figured out, but this was going to be at least a little bit awkward. Even though she heard that tone in his voice and it got to her.
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"I wanted to make sure you were alive and conscious," Leto said. No, he hadn't forgotten, and no he wasn't going to be dragged into a similar conversation they had had before, but he did want to make sure she was ok.
"Where are you?"
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"Motel. Not too far from Baltimore."
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"When are you coming back?" he asked.
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She didn't necessarily feel like returning yet, but she didn't really have the money to stay away longer.
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"... Uh huh."
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Click.
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By the day Sunday rolled along, though, the whole 'taking off to a shady motel' thing came to a head.
It was just going to be a short phone call to make sure she hadn't died in a ditch somewhere.
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"Yes, I'm still alive, Mitchell."
Because that was the only reason Kate could see for Mitchell to call.
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Hey, she was alive. That meant he was allowed to mock. ... although considering his experiences with George, it might have been sort of a serious question.
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Somewhere in the background, the drunk middle-aged man was trying to start serenading his lady. It wasn't sounding too good.
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See above re: right to mock the piss out of her.
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"Please. I'm intimidating enough on my own and you know it."
And the horrible singing just got louder. It was... possibly I Will Always Love You. But there really was no way to be sure.
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Now he was just doing it for the hell of it.
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Click.
Now he could get back to the important business of brooding over the fact that he'd eaten his last potential romantic prospect.