route_1065 | five days after black and red collide

Entry tags:

five days after black and red collide

Who: Dale Cooper and Heather Mason
Where: The Ecruteak City Dinerrrr
When: December 14th
Summary: After those three days that were lost a lot of people probably had weird dreams about things they can't for the life of them remember. Coop and Heather are two of these people. And they've got some things to talk about. _{(..or as Kit excellently summarized it, this is AWKWARD CANON ENCOUNTERS: THE THREAD.)}
Rating: Oh umm, PG for possibly triggery conversation?
Log:

It's absolutely freezing out and the snow is falling thick and heavy when Dale Cooper makes his way to the Ecruteak City Diner, jacket collar folded up against the wind and hands buried deep in his pockets for what little warmth there is to be found there. He's not particularly used to this kind of winter despite having grown up with something resembling it - he blames having lived in California for the past nine years where the winters are, honestly, quite pitiful attempts at everything the season is meant to be.

Especially when compared to Johto. Good old sparkling completely-covered-in-snow Johto. The weatherman had announced a break in the persistent precipitation yesterday, but today's weather is another prime example of just how trustworthy those people are. The weather gods must be at odds with them. Either that or the deities have a not-so-secret penchant for practical jokes.

Needless to say he's cold and shivering a little once he enters the diner, gratefully shutting out the wind and swirling snow behind him as the little chime above the door welcomes him inside. It's warm in there - warm and quiet. Doesn't look like a lot of people felt like braving the weather to get a cup of coffee better than what the Inn can offer (which really isn't all that good, in his opinion, entirely too mild) but Cooper is a man of habit ... or standard, if you will, and if he's going to start the day with coffee it better be a (damn) good cup of the stuff.

And that's what he's set on, really. He takes his coat off even as he walks through the area to one of his favourite booths: by the windows, just a little secluded, comfortable seats. He's got a few things to ponder and brought one of his notebooks, but his first priority is to allow himself to just melt into the seat for a second there.

...and man that is sweet. But what will be even sweeter is coffee. And possibly something sugary.

Waaaiiiitress? c:

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's the truth-- not many folks are out and about, and that means not many folks are patronizing the little mom-and-pop diner Cooper's ducked into tonight. What few people are in there are lingering in their booths and nursing hot beverages, reluctant to venture back out into the cold.

The result is a quiet night for the staff, Heather included.

Which, honestly?

Is kind of a good thing.

She's had a lot on her mind.

When the agent and the accompanying gust of snowy wind come slipping in through the door, she's perched at the counter, hunched over one of the kiddie menus with a pen. There's not much going on on the network tonight, leaving her to doodle on things for entertainment. Not that it's working too well, judging by the way most of her creative additions (you know, adding mustaches, sombreros, fangs or the occasional arrow-wounds to the diner's mascots... the usual) are all degenerating into frustrated scribbles.

But every time the door opens, there's a big old draft, so she looks up-- HEY, IT'S ICE CREAM BUDDY.

Tonight's no night for ice cream, though.

So she grabs up the fabled coffeepot and heads right on over. He's a better distraction than kiddie menus.

"How 'bout that weather, huh?"

The response comes first in the form of a broad grin from behind his hands that he'd briefly been running over his face, just to get that last bit of lingering melty snow and chill off his skin.

"My prognosis? Passive aggressive with a notably purposeful aloofness."

Which is, in all fairness, fairly accurate.

He leans back in a relaxed manner - the conversation is a bit of a distraction for him as well, from the series of rather unsettling images are hovering around the edges of his conscious mind. For now, he pushes them back. And glances rather meaningfully at that pot of coffee.

"And that looks like good news to me." Unless ... "Based solely on the assumption that you're not out to do me any harm."

Weapons, and all.

... What a classic Cooper answer, on both counts.

She just grins and holds the coffee up.

"Aw, Coop, dontcha trust me?"

She motions towards the mugs clustered at the end of the table.

"Pass me one of those and I'll pour you a cup."

He'd laugh, but he settles with an amused little 'hm' before he picks out one of the white cups and slides it over to her.

"Would that be your own brew?"

One of his typically curious ways for small talk. He wouldn't necessarily have pegged her as the kind to get a job as a waitress, but she looks pretty comfortable. Besides, if it's not that good he'll know who to tease. ... or praise, if it's the other way around. Because he's never really short on that.

True to her word, she pours the coffee into the mug rather than onto anywhere that would therefore classify it as a weapon.

"Me? Nah. I just pour it. They don't trust me with the coffee machine for some reason."

She does seem pretty comfortable, all things considered-- this isn't the first waitress job she's actually had, which would probably explain it. As much as conventional jobs often require some level of dignity sacrificed, she's worked odd jobs since high school so she's sort of used to it.

"So when did you get back in town?"

He raises an eyebrow her way, in the sort of I can't imagine why he may or may not be thinking, but that said he'd say she's doing a pretty good job with the pouring so he's not to judge her other waitress qualities.

He'll take a sip or two before answering anything else and - oh, man. Yes, that's almost exactly what he wanted. It could have been a touch stronger but he's not going to complain when it's warm and caffeinated, and he closes his eyes briefly and everything while he utterly savours it.

Like a man being offered a cup of water in the desert, really, to use a famous analogy.

But he does pull a bit of a face at her question. The porcelain makes a dull little sound against the tabletop when he sets the cup down to answer it: tone even, eyes a little dark.

"Two days ago. I found myself back here after the collective memory loss."

There's something about hot drinks in general on snowy nights that just seem to make everything feel better, even if only for a few moments.

Although there's not a whole lot it can do about amnesia.

Heather can't help but grimace, just a little.

"... Oh. Yeah. That."

It had happened twice before, so it no longer... alarmed her like it had the first time. Not quite as much, anyway. But it was still... well, unnerving.

Especially since this time... what few memories she DID have gave her more reason to be alarmed than the absence of the others did.

And the same goes for Coop. The first time not much had happened at all, and while the second had certainly been interesting, this third time had brought flashbacks and dreams that bothered him on a completely different level. Hell, the first times a lot of the memories had almost been enjoyable to look at past the initial shock of the fact that they were even there.

This time, red drapes are at the forefront of his mind. ...well, there's something else too.

He looks at Heather with a mixed expression. Sighs, but his question is business-like in nature.

"Heather, do you have a moment?"

Indicating the seat opposite of him.

For Heather, the first'd had its weird moments (you just didn't forget about vivid dreams involving being chased by the Koolaid Man) and even some creepy ones, but it hadn't hung over her like a cloud of malodorous smoke.

The second had been largely unmemorable aside from an unsettling feeling that things had gone on she hadn't particularly been happy with. But even that discomfort hadn't clung to her like some kind of unpleasant lint.

This one?

This wouldn't quite leave her alone.

Because the 'dreams' she'd had were not normal... and what she could remember of them were far more relevant than she liked to admit.

She looks back at Coop with an almost owlish expression. A sort of 'Who, me, officer?' look. She doesn't think she's in trouble, but it's a hard habit to kick.

"Uh... lemme ask if I can go on break?"

"Please do."

Solemn, maybe, but like her, there are things weighing on his mind. But for him, it's not so much bad as just plain troubling.

In the meantime, he'll just have some more coffee.

She nods, then turns and heads back past the counter and into the kitchen, letting the swinging doors creak shut behind her as she goes.

A few moments later, she reappears, coming back over to the the table and scooting into the seat opposite Cooper.

"We didn't try to kill each other and then forget most of it again, did we?"

Because that's the first thing that springs to mind when it comes to Cooper wanting to have a serious discussion with her after a bout of amnesia. After all, she doesn't remember Cooper himself popping up in any of those 'dreams'...

~~Even if she has a suspicion that he might.... know something.~~

You know, that's still not funny. But it's not the important matter at hand and he can tell it's something she's saying to try to relieve the situation a little, which he supposes he can't blame her for. Something serious definitely settled over their little space in the warm open diner.

So he shoots her a look, but it softens when he goes strsight to the point.

"Who is Alessa?"

(Here we go again Heather, better buckle up.)

He remembers the name especially, written in the snow in big childish letters. The others images are a little blurrier but he does recall the cracked burnt skin and the smell of it.

And that's what has him certain whatever images are in his head are actually memories, not dreams. You don't pick up on smells in dreams.

... Well, if she was expecting anything, it wasn't that.

She had reached over for one of the mugs to pour some coffee for herself, but froze mid-reach when the name left his mouth.

Alessa.

Nobody called her Alessa. Except Claudia.

Nobody knew about Alessa. ... Except Claudia. ... And Vincent. ... And Dad. ... And okay, maybe a few people who she had told about that.

But not many, all things considered.

Not even she can pretend that she hadn't just visibly reacted to the word, so... for once, playing dumb isn't on the agenda. Instead, coffee forgotten, she rests her hands on the edge of the table.

"Where'd you hear that name?"

He catches her movements, body language. It's like she's bracing herself ... and given the state of the girl he met that looked like Heather but apparently wasn't, he can't fault her for that.

He does have the grace to hesitate for a brief second before he answers her.

"I believe I met her. At some point during those three days."

... Oh.

Oh.

Well... that... makes sense.

She's not sure she likes the idea, though.

Running her tongue along her lips, she shifts her glance to the rest of the diner for a moment-- then raps her fingers along the edge of the table and looks back to him.

"What happened."

It isn't a question.

Nothing happened. He doesn't say that, but he turns a hand over on the table: palm upwards, fingers slightly spread. It's the kind of not-shrug that could mean I don't know, but in this case, it's just that. Nothing happened.

"She was looking for you."

That's ... all he's got. And he can barely recall anything from the meetin after letting her know that he didn't know where her (more lively-looking) lookalike was.

If nothing else good can be gleaned from this situation, at least ... well, yes. Nothing happened.

That's a relief.

After all... the last time Heather came face to face with herself that she can remember... it had involved knives and bullets.

Still, Cooper's answer worries her, and she frowns a little bit, her brows furrowed.

Her answer, for once, is a completely unprompted one, because after all, Cooper didn't specifically ask.

"She is me."

He already obviously guessed that they were linked somehow, even beyond Alessa asking for Heather, what with the near-identical features ... aside from the burns and wounds.

But that they're clearly that intimately linked is news. He rolls it over in his head, slowly, before he nods.

"She looked like you."

It's a bit of a duh, sure, but it's confirming that he believes her.

Heather's response is immediate and rather short. ... Even a little breathless.

"That's because she is me."

To the layman, she looks almost... ANNOYED. But the truth is she's just trying to get a grip on her mind before it completely takes a swan-dive into Lake Freakout, and as with most unpleasant moods, it tends to outwardly manifest in Heather as grumpiness.

Hm. He takes a moment to see if that'll let her gather her wits. He can't get annoyed with her BACK, because he knows enough about her and her story that this Alessa thing is probably Really Big.

"How does Cheryl fit in?"

If Cheryl was a separate half of her, would that imply that Alessa is her ... well, 'real' half? The one that lived on? The name that was replaced with Heather's?

"Cheryl is... she's--I'm..."

She lets her elbows slide to rest on the table and plants her face in one hand for a second or two, letting out a deep breath. Then she rakes her fingers roughly through her hair, promptly ruining the slightly-neater-'do she'd been wearing for the sake of the job.

"It's... complicated."

Had she told him that the LAST time they'd discussed things along these lines?

Yes. Probably.

But it bore repeating.

Well, what can he say to that?

I noticed?

He'll just stay quiet and keep his attention on her, hands still around the empty coffee cup in front of him mostly because he's got no other plays to put them.

Before she continues, she reaches out and snags one of the mugs for real, pouring a cup of her own. She was gonna NEED coffee if she was gonna do this.

"... All right, just..."

She heaves another slightly frustrated-sounding sigh. It's not that she's mad at Cooper... but man, at least the last time they'd talked about this stuff? There had been a bit more of a lead-in. ... And they'd gotten ice cream first.

"Look, you remember what I told you about Cheryl? How I w-- ... she was the part of me that I sent away, to keep safe? ... Before that, I ..."

She pauses there, looking around the diner again and lowering her voice, even though she knows good and well that there's hardly anyone there and the two of them are tucked away in an out-of-the-way booth. It's just... something she has to stay quiet about. It feels wrong otherwise.

"... Before I had to ... break in two, my name was Alessa. ... Alessa Gillespie. ... And when Dad found Cheryl and took her with him, the part that was left was... well. It was still Alessa. ... Both of us-- ... them-- ... were Alessa. It was just that Cheryl was-- ... it's complicated."

She looks up at Cooper then with a sort of pleading look, as though to say 'Does that make any sense at ALL?'

Well, it ... does. On some level. And he's already thought about this, thought about it a lot, in fact, since that conversation back in september, trying to wrap his head about it.

By normal standards it would be unbelievable. But it does make some kind of sense and he's going to accept the sense he can get out of it, because that's what he's always done and it's worked in his favour so far.

Alessa and Cheryl had been the same but separate. What she's trying to get across after that is a tangle of yarn and all he can do is try to tug gently on a few threads, or, right now, just let it lie.

"Pause for a moment," he offers softly, matching her own tone somewhat. "Take your time."

So many breaks in her speech. She's upset, one way or the other.

Edited 2011-12-18 06:12 (UTC)

It's hard to talk about.

As much as Heather's come to terms with it in her own head (... more or less...), it's virtually impossible to translate that into words that she can say in a way that make sense to anybody. The fact that she can't do it is frustrating. And a frustrated Heather is an unhappy Heather.

She takes his advice, though.

Sucking in a deep breath, she pauses, looking down at the table with her knuckles massaging her temples for a few minutes.

Then she spreads both hands.

"Okay... let me start over. Uh..."

There's another slight pause as she brings the mug to her lips to take a drink of the coffee-- ... and then freezes, eyes flicking down to the mug, and then to the rest of the little cluster of them over by the salt and pepper shakers.

... Then she reaches out to grab another one, setting it off to the side for now. But first, she sets the full, steaming one down pointedly in the middle of the table. Looking up at Cooper with a suddenly-serious expression, she points at it.

"This mug is me. It's Alessa Gillespie. Okay?"

... This is going to be the beginning of a long and weird extended metaphor, isn't it.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject