[D5 EA] Stray (Stray’s Townhouse)

[Marcus Kendall]

Seeing Tiffany return, Marcus raised an eyebrow, sighed and rolled to his side, wrapping his arms beneath his snout. The beast's tail swayed lazily in the air, the feathers seemingly dormant. It seemed that the defender was willing to let the others to talk things through. He figured he'd said enough.

[Jack Doyle]

Jack sat on the narrow step, taking out a bit of wood and his knife. It seemed best not to get between the two women at the moment. He'd wait and see if Tiffani would still want to talk afterward.

[Tiffani]

Tiffani wasn't sure what to make of Markus at this point - she gave him somewhat of a baleful look before returning her attention to Chantelle. Despite whatever outward indications there may have been of her state of mind, her voice was as calm as a placid lake, not a single ripple marring its glassy surface.

"Do you understand, Chantelle, that I'm an empath?" Tiffani says patiently. "I can feel your emotions as if they were my own. Normally I tune out emotions I don't want to feel, but ... sometimes they break through anyway. You do understand this, yes?"

This was not a rhetorical question - she wasn't about to say another word until she made sure Chantelle understood. It would be all the better if Marcus understood, too - but if worse came to worst, perhaps Chantelle could explain it to him.

[Chantelle Rossette]

“We all empaths,” Chantelle answered, “it de Changeling curse.” Since their durance every one of them had been made vampires, and emotions were their blood; sensitive as sharks, but their weakness was all around them.

[Tiffani]

"It's a bit more than what every Changeling can do. it's more ... intense, more sensitive. However, that's beside the point." She glanced over her shoulder to where Jack was carving something, sighed, and turned back. "Well ... allow me to explain ..."

She still did not take off her jacket or even sit down to get comfortable the way others usually did when they're about to tell a story. She merely stood in that same spot as if staying prepared to bolt at the first sign of resistance. Her voice remained calm, level, and a little ambivalent.

"I bought a Swatch Watch back in 1985 from some little store in London. Everyone had a Swatch Watch in those days - they were a fad then, and still were when I ... was taken." She looks at her wrist for just a second, a whiter strip of skin encircling it where a watch had obviously been worn. "Turns out the watch I bought became quite a collector's item in the last 34 years and ... I needed the money more than I needed a watch. So I sold it."

"And stupid me, I thought I'd come back here," she deliberately avoided using the word 'home,' "and spread my good fortune around to everyone, ya know? I wanted to make others as happy as I was ... but instead I get handed this ... this ... suspicion, this doubt, this mistrust ... as if I'm up to something or perhaps came by the money elicitly."

She holds up a single finger to make sure no one tries to cut in at that spot.

"What a fucking insult. You didn't even ask. You just assumed that I was involved in something nefarious. It was the FIRST thing you thought of - and that says more than what I want to know about what you think of me overall - and what you think I'm capable of. I saw those narrowed eyes. The snide sort of way you said "collectible item" as if turning the words into a euphemism for something else - something negative, bad, possibly illegal."

Her head shifted a bit, her eyes falling on Marcus. "And you. I saw the frown even through your teeth and tongue. And I felt that little surge of protectiveism, too ... but it wasn't to protect the whole Motley. Oh no. It was to protect Chantelle and Jack ... from me!"

"My Keeper used to pull this shit on me. Whenever I showed the least sign of happiness, she squashed it like a bug. Makes me wonder if I'm really in the mortal world or if this all isn't another one of my Keeper's elaborate ruses, another mind fuck that she played on me again and again and again."

And through it all, she still retained a steady voice, only emphasizing a few key words.

"So ... if you were me, would you want to stay here? Would you?

[Chantelle Rossette]

“Trus’ go boat ways,” Chantelle replied, not chiding, if anything she sounded disappointed. “You chose no’ to tell us. You chose to be mysterious an’ say you came into money li’ you didn’ wan’ us to know. Mais, yes, dat made me suspicious.”

She sighed, “we invite you in, we ax you to be one of us, to be our family, an’ you agree. If you as empathic as you say, you woul’ know—really know—dat none of us tryin’ to do anyting more dan ‘elp each oder ge’ by. It no’ easia on us.” A gentle sadness permeated the air, “you loo’ a’ me as if I go’ it all togetha. You bee’ ba’ tree days? I bee’ ba’ tree monts,” indicating to Jack and Marcus, “dey only bee’ ‘ere a lil’ longa. We don’ ‘ave it work ou’, bu’ as of today, we ‘ave each oder.”

Chantelle folded her hands in front of her, looking heart-broken. “If you truly tink we don’ wan’ you to be ‘appy, if dat wha’ you ‘onestly feel, den I guess you ca’ go. I won’ figh’ you if dat’s wha’ you wan’.”

[Jack Doyle]

"I've been stealing to survive since my return. I doubt that's much of a surprise." Jack said from the front step. "I wouldn't judge any of you for having to do the same, and I trust that none of you think poorly of me for it."

[Tiffani]

Tiffani only stood there and stared at Chantelle looking absolutely stupefied. At one point, for the briefest of seconds, she looked as if she were about to explode in a little ball of unmitigated fury. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides. The veins in her neck were clearly visible from the strain of holding back that fury. But when she spoke, her tone was flat, devoid of any emotion whatsoever.

"And that response, Chantelle, was precisely the reason why I walked out of here without saying a word. Not only do you blame me for your own presumption, you try to guilt trip me into a corner so it's all my fault. Just like I knew you would - and knowing that made me realize that there just wasn't a point in telling you what I was feeling."

She backs toward the door a few steps.

"Because, right, when I don't want people to know I came into some money, the first thing I always do is offer to share it with everyone. In addition, I told you that an item of mine turned out to be quite valuable and I sold it. That's not being mysterious, Chantelle. That's just not being specific enough for your tastes."

Then she puts the tips of her fingers against her temple and spreads them like a little explosion. "And here's an idea. If my explanation isn't specific enough for you ... ASK!" This last word was an explosion of anger, her eyes suddenly flaring to life with an inner fire. "You know, those interrogative statements that end with a little squiggly thing with a period underneath? But instead of doing that, why, it's just easier, I guess, to assume I meant something else by the term 'collectible.'"

Then she reaches for the knob and yanks open the front door. "WE don't have each other - YOU have each other. Me? Oh, I don't think you mean me any harm, no ... and maybe you care about me in some way that I'm just not fathoming at the moment. I was trying to HELP you "get by" - to return the earlier kindness you have shown me. All of you. But you know what they say - no good deed goes unpunished. I won't be guilt-tripped into believing it was all my fault nor will I stand here and accept the blame for being 'mysterious' when I told you exactly how I got the money nor will I accept responsibility for you twisting it into something it so certainly wasn't."

"I don't want to go - I thought I had found a home here. I really did. But I'm a empath, not a mind reader. All I know is how you feel, not your motives or thoughts or plans. You give me far too much credit. I can't know for certain what you want for me. I simply trusted that the four of us would try to make the best of what we had and to help each other when we could. But I can see already that I'll be the only one in this household capable of making a mistake. Yeah ... I should have seen that coming."

She's halfway out the door now, but she stops and turns back. "You want this motley to work, Chantelle? Hmm? Then we have to communicate with each other, we have to stop living like we are four islands that just happen to be in the same ocean. I have apologized profusely for the mistakes I have made, and I know I've made several. Perhaps you can show me the same respect instead of trying to turn the tables when the blame is yours."

With that she steps outside, saying to Jack in a much less severe tone, "And I don't judge you Jack or what you do." She gazes back into the apartment with a pointed look, then back to Jack. "I'll leave the judging to others."

She then closes the door behind her leaving Jack and herself outside (OOC: I'm assuming he's still out on the step). "Well, you heard a lot of it, but if you still want to talk, sure, but like I said before ... not here."

[Jack Doyle]

"Then let's go." he nodded, stuffing the wood and the knife back in his pockets. "Wherever you'd like."

[Chantelle Rossette]

Chantelle began to tremble as Tiffani made her tirade, but she held the tears back until the other woman was out the door, breaking down as the latch clicked shut once again.