(2530-03-22) Brain Jar
Summary: Enola is working a market stall, selling crafts, when Gideon happens upon her.
RL Date: 22-Mar-2020
Related: None
skyler gideon 

<Market Eavesdown >

This large field between the docks and Eavesdown proper has turned into a permanent, sprawling bazaar. At the center is an ancient roof of corrugate iron, the size of a football field. Spreading outwards from that in every direction are additional structures built from wood, brick, slabs of metal, or simply tarps to create a sense of boundary between the vendors. Navigating the Market is just as tricky as navigating the Docks - there is no discernible plan to how it was laid out, and one is surrounded on all sides by merchants and customers, swirling patterns of cloth, the smells of every cuisine imaginable, and a deluge of goods and services of every type (both legal and not so much). Ships frequently fly overhead as they launch or land at the docks to the north and west.
At its fringes, the market butts against large warehouses and cheap ancient housing, which is used by an assortment of hopeful entrepreneurs. Among the more successful of those are Manny's Motel, offering basic accommodation for travellers, and The Bat Cave, a rowdy tavern, where visitors and locals alike congregate for games, music and cheap booze. The market gives way to slums to the south, and several paths lead east into Eavesdown.
It is a spring day. The weather is warm and clear.


The following day, Bianca apparently didn't get told that Enola was going to get shot if she came back, because Enola is back in the market stall. Well, in it might be an exaggeration. She's actually under it, futzing with color cube puzzle and looking bored. Chester is off by himself sitting in a corner and chatting on some electronic device, and Zara is trying to work and keep her two small children entertained, so she's not paying much attention to what the teen is doing. (OOC note: Bianca is the administrator of the drug rehab where Enola is currently staying. The market stall sells crafts to support the rehab.)

Gideon approaches the market stall. He's holding the item that he purchased yesterday - a woven set of potholders made from some reclaimed material - in his hands. However, his brow is furrowed into a worried line, and the potholders, well, they seem a little worse for the wear, as they're now mangled and dripping wet.

From under the table, Enola can see but not be easily seen, so she asks the approaching feet, "What happened to em? Did you drop em in the toilet, cause we don't refund for that unless you bought up the insurance plan."

Gideon blinks, his eyes going a bit wide. Maybe that's exactly what happened, but he hadn't intended to share quite that much. "Uh - " he blinks. "I don't want a refund. Just want to buy another set like these," he explains. "Because um, I think they're ruined." They probably aren't. They just need to be laid down to dry and then have their weaving gently pulled back into place.

"You could maybe try washing them?" Enola offers, without bothering to come out from under the table. Maybe she was a little more bothered by being shot at than she originally thought. "There's more in the basket at the end of the table, though. I think the same person made all of them."

"I don't think that will be enough," Gideon shakes his head. He's holding the potholders gingerly, between two fingers. He walks toward the end of the table, scans its contents, then nods. "I'm gonna go get rid of these ones, and then I'll buy those," he adds, before turning to try to find a trashcan.

Enola checks on Chester's feet, then Zara's feet, and Zara's kids' feet. Nobody is nearby, so she finally has to come out to make a sale to Gideon. She sets the puzzle cube on the table and watches Gideon struggle for a refuse bin, "There's one at the corner."

"Thanks - " Gideon says, then goes to trash the wet potholders. "My friend's a doctor," he explains as he comes back. "So I couldn't give her anything that might have germs on it."

"That makes sense," Enola says, like she believes it does. "These ones are better, anyhow." She points to a set of potholders exactly like the other ones.

"Great!" Gideon sounds enthusiastic in regards to Enola's statement, rather than skeptical. He wipes his hands on his pants, then picks out the "better" potholders. "Are you allowed to go to the bathroom alone today?" he wonders, his brow furrowing with concern.

"I haven't asked," Enola gets a sour expression on her face. "Not sure I want to, though. I don't know what it is about me, but people definitely like to try to beat me up and shit. So maybe it's best to just hold it forever. Do you think you can hold it so long that your bladder pops like an overfull balloon and shoots pee and guts everywhere?" She rings up his sale on their adding machine.

"Oh yeah," Gideon agrees whole heartedly, turning over payment when it's time. "I was at a bar with a guy who that happened to. He like - didn't want to stop drinking, didn't want to lose his spot? And then - " he flares his fingers out, to indicate an explosion, but he makes a wet sort of fart/plop noise rather than a 'boom' or a 'blam'. "Piss and blood, everywhere."

Enola's eyes widen, then she tilts her head in disbelief, "Nuh uh. You're making that crap up." She gives Gideon the appropriate change. "It doesn't matter. Nobody never believes what I say anyway, so they probably think it was really all about cupcakicide."

"I'm not - " Gideon insists. "I saw it. I was there the entire time. I was pretty freaked out though, because I think I drank like, twice as much as he had, except that I had taken a bathroom break and lost my stool." He probably thinks he's telling the truth and just grossly misinterpreting what his drunk eyes saw. "Why doesn't anyone ever believe you?" he wonders. "People who know me don't always believe me - it's kind of weird - like they think I miss stuff or something? I dunno," he shrugs. "It's not everyone who is like that, though. Just like - " he taps his chin, trying to articulate the difference between his idiot cousin, who believes everything, and Dr. Finn, who believes about 2 percent of what he says.

Enola shrugs her shoulders at Gideon. "Maybe it's just how people are. So why you think your doctor friend wants pot holders? Does she have, um, a lot of pots, or something?"

"I dunno," Gideon admits, shrugging. "But I always got my mom potholders and she always liked them, so I figured they'd be a good gift?" He really has no clue what sort of 'thank you' present to give his friend. Or, maybe, an apology present. "I kinda - maybe almost got her killed? I dunno. I don't think it was /that/ bad, but I'm not gonna argue with a doctor."

"Pot holders seem like a good gift, then," Enola agrees. "She might like a wooden birdhouse, too. Or a painted tile trivet? I'm told it's good for me to try to sell this junk, but I swear I don't see what good it does me or the people who buy it."

"How is it good for you to sell stuff?" GIdeon wonders, genuinely curious rather than critical. He inspects the birdhouse and the painted tile trivet as well. "Yeah. I'd better get those for her too. Maybe I can make one of those - you ever see it in like, old stuff? Gift baskets?"

Enola shrugs her shoulders dramatically, "I can't even begin to tell you why it's good for me to sell this shit, but hey, thanks. They'll be all, 'Enola's the best at pushing the birdhouses!' Um… old stuff? I don't know, maybe. You play cards?"

"Not really - " Gideon says, of card playing. "Just like, sometimes, at the bar or if there's a thing or whatever. I get kind of bored though. Plus, I quit after this one time, I guess I like, bet credits that I didn't have? And then I had to run? Still can't go back that planet. All seems /really/ silly," he adds, rolling his eyes "Cards'll get ya."

Enola nods at that, "S'true, they will." She picks up the puzzle cube again, spinning the smaller squares within it to try to line up the colors. "Just bored, though. This gets boring all day." Zara comes over and shoves a toddler at Enola, who looks completely surprised by being on the receiving end of that gift. "Elvis has to go. I gotta get him to the bathroom, quick." The babysat becomes the babysitter! Meanwhile, Zara runs off with the older child and the toddler's lower lip starts to tremble.

Gideon starts making silly faces at the toddler - sticking out his tongue, crossing his eyes, using his hands to play hide and seek. "Why do you have to stay here, if it's boring all day?" he wonders, more curious than demanding, like he won't be offended if she finds his inquiry too personal.

The toddler examines Gideon, her lip still twitching, but she hasn't burst into tears yet. She stuffs her hand in her mouth and sucks on it. Enola is fascinated by his expressions. "What are you doing?" she asks, like she's never seen a man entertain a child before. Because she probably hasn't. "I don't know. Everybody else says they know what's good for me, and it's good for me, and Donna wants me to stay at The Center cause she thinks THAT's good for me. I kinda don't know why I listen, but I guess it's ok that I listen."

"Distracting her," Gideon explains. "Kids are pretty - like - they're like drunk people?" he tries to explain. "So if they're about to cry or be angry or whatever and you don't like it, you try to make them laugh and they'll forget about the not so good stuff," he offers. "What's The Center?" he wonders.

Enola offers the toddler to him, because she's really NOT sure she wants it and he seems to do so well with her. "Harshorn Hills. It's a drug rehab. I'm not a junkie, or anything, but they got soft beds and it's warm, which is better than sleeping on the street, so I pretend to be a junkie so they let me stay. Just don't tell Zara."
Chester pokes his head up, coughs, "Bullshit" and goes back to texting his girlfriend.

Gideon takes what she says at face value, having decided yesterday that he doesn't like Chester. He takes the kid, fairly naturally, and then bounces her on his hip. "If it gets really bad, you can make up silly song to sing to them," he offers. "They don't have to have really good words, just a tune that you know and you make funny faces while you do it. That's smart, pretending to need rehab to stay there."

Enola says, simply, "Show me." She keeps it innocent and curious, rather than trying to ham it up too much. Reaching behind her, she flips Chester the bird.

"Uh - okay - " Gideon says, then turns to the toddler, gently jostling her. "There's a - little kid - who likes to - stare at people," he singsongs. "And make see the things! On the table! Because she's able! To stare and see! All the stuff!" Turning to Enola, he nods to the toddler, like he'll offer her back. "You wanna try?"

Enola takes the child back, looks down into her little face and says, "Don't cry or Enola's gonna drop you on your head." The kid bursts into tears. "Aw come on. Get street tough! Fine. I made a trivet out of wooden sticks and I don't even know what a trivet's forrrrrrr." she sings.

"That's - yeah - " Gideon initially looks a little concerned, at those first words Enola lets out, then grins when she starts to sing. "But it's made out of sticks and that's okay!" he singsongs.

So when Zara and Elvis return, street tough Enola and goofy Gideon are singing to a toddler who is giggling happily. "You're hired," the exhausted mother tells them. "I'm serious. Enola, I'm serious. When you check out of Harshorn, you got a job if you want one."
Enola points to Gideon and asks, "What about him? She really likes him better'n me. Everybody hates me."
Chester grunts.
Enola and Zara say, in unison, "Shut up, Chester."

Gideon shakes his head, then tells Zara, in all seriousness: "Kids hate me. Your kid started crying as soon as she got a look at me. She got her calmed down." He definitely looks like he's full of shit, to the discerning eye, but at least it's full of shit in the well-meaning, wants someone who doesn't have a place to go and thus pretends to not be a drug addict in rehab to have a job, way.

Enola looks like a deer in headlights. How is she supposed to babysit kids without this crazy, face-making guy who knows all the rules. And, to make it worse, the toddler leans over and gives Enola a nasty, snotty kiss right on her cheek. Enola may gag. Zara looks delighted, and introduces herself to Gideon as "Zara LaJolie" and the children as "Elvis and Elivia."

"Gideon Jones," he introduces himself, pausing before 'Jones' like he's not entirely sure he remembers his last name, most of the time? Maybe he just changed it? But he smiles all the same, then sticks his tongue out at Elvira. "Those are fun names," he compliments.

Elivia. But if he doesn't know his own last name, he probably misheard the baby's. "Thanks," Zara tells him. She's been all through the Harshorn program, so she's totally open about her experiences, "I didn't use when I was preggers, you know? It was after. I got real depressed and started trying to help myself be less depressed. Thank the gods I didn't lose the kids. My mom took them while I was in The Center."
Enola hands the toddler off to her mother, who also gets a disgusting kiss, and then uses one of the unsold potholders to wipe off her face. Yuck.

Gideon doesn't seem phased by the potholder use. Then again, he had to trash the first round because Apollo ran out of toilet paper and tried to flush them, thus clogging the toilet on the ship. "That's - " he doesn't seem like he knows what to do in the face of all that sharing. "Good, not to lose them. They seem really nice."

"Yeah," Zara says. She has her insecurities and doesn't want people to think she's a bad mother. She bounces the toddler on her hip, taking her over and putting her in a playpen. Swinging Elvis up, she puts him in the playpen with his sister.
"Now you see what it's like to get stuck at The Center?" Enola says softly to Gideon. She grabs her puzzle cube back up and moves to slide under the table again. "They just tell people all sorts of crap all the time, whether you want to hear it or not."

"Lots of people do that - " Gideon whispers, quietly. "And the ones I know /definitely/ aren't in rehab," he adds, arching his brows. "Sounds like if you get a job, though, with her, you can find your own place?" he adds, keeping his voice low as Zara steps away.

Enola shrugs, "I don't know. Those kids look pretty mean, to me. Like, tiny little killers." She leans back against the leg of the table and starts to spin the cube. "You're welcome to come under if you want. It's not a private table."

"Under the table?" Gideon looks like he's not sure. "Maybe later -" he adds, eyeing Zara, like he's pretty sure she's going to stop letting /him/ to go the bathroom. "How much longer do you have to do this for?"

"I don't know. They don't tell me. It's only been a couple of weeks. I keep thinking I should just split. What do you think?" Enola asks this near stranger. "It's annoying, and they're bossy. And they make people talk ALL THE TIME. So I just make up stuff." Maybe that's why they don't believe her.

"It's somewhere to stay, though? Probably don't leave until you have somewhere else to stay. And like, a job," Gideon offers, but then shrugs, as if to indicate that he's not exactly well versed in those sorts of things. "What kind of job do you want to have?"

Enola frowns, as that wasn't the answer she really wanted to hear. "I don't know. I don't got a lot of skills. Yeah."
Zara, having come up behind the table, interjects, "You can't leave until you stop having cravings, Enola. That's how it works."

"Parents didn't teach you a trade?" Gideon doesn't sound judgmental, just curious. "You could probably apprentice with someone? What kind of work do you like doing?" He glances at Zara, but he seems to have a line, and inquiring about cravings would cross that line.

Enola comes out from table, withdrawing from somewhere on her person a deck of cards. "Sorta. They taught me things like this." She shuffles the deck, flips cards back and forth, then, looking really serious about it, leans two cards face to face with a couple of inches at the base, a third card across the top. The world's smallest house of cards.

Gideon watches, assessing without judging, curious. He cants his head to the right, maybe wondering if the house of cards will grow taller, or what might happen next.

Enola peers at him, leaning closer, "What is?" She reaches into his collar and pulls out the ace of spades. "That's what I got taught. That's how I get food. I do tricks for cash." Good thing she showed him one so he knows what kind of tricks.

Gideon blinks. Stunned. Utterly stunned. It takes him waaaaay too long to process what she's done, that it's a skill versus him having long ago accidentally gotten the ace of spades stuck to him and her having just plucked it off like a piece of lint. "Ohhh. Ohhhhhh." And then he blinks. "There's /lots/ more you could do with that," he proclaims, maybe not even realizing that it's taboo to be even suggesting such a thing in polite company.

"Such as?" Enola asks.
"Don't encourage her!" Zara says. "We're trying to get her HONEST work."

Gideon blinks at Zara, then grins, easy, smooth. "Like - juggling - acrobatics - machine work - factory work - and, probably, like, diplomat? If you can be a smooth enough talker to distract someone?"

"Oh, Enola can distract a person, alright," Zara says.
Chester grunts.
"Shut up, Chester!" both girls say, before Enola adds, "A diplomat. I could totally be a diplomat. That's what I'm gonna do."

There's a funny look in Gideon's eyes - he probably thinks that Enola has the potential for a wonderful career as a high ranking crime boss, and she's going to just throw it all away to be a diplomat. But, he has at least enough sense to keep his mouth shut and just smile.

"Thanks," Enola says, shuffling her cards some more. "I'm totally doing to do that. I'll be the best damn diplomat the 'Verse has ever seen. I'm pretty good at talking."

"Seems like it," Gideon agrees, encouraging. Maybe she can get trained up as a diplomat and then be a spy on the inside, or, whatever those white collar people do?

Enola bundles a trivet and a birdhouse. "You wanted a basket to put them all in? Do we have any baskets Zara? Ohhh. How about a tiled serving tray? You would wrap that all up in plastic."

"Oooh, yeah. Tiled serving tray," Gideon agrees, nodding approvingly. "And then wrap it all up in plastic, and I can be like - " he mimes handing someone a tray. "Sorry for accidentally sending a homicidal maniac to the clinic."

"You sent a homicidal maniac to the clinic? Was Donna in there then?" Enola asks, in a way that says he might need to give her a gift basket if Donna had been present. "Do we got any plastic?" She looks under a different table that's wedged against the stall wall and comes up with some clear cellophane and white curly ribbon. Sticking the pot holders, a birdhouse, and a trivet on top of the serving tray, she tries to make it all look neat. Her skills do not lie in cellophane wrapping. She sticks a gold sticker on the outside of the plastic that says, "Thank you for supporting Harshorn Hills."

"I'm pretty sure she wasn't," Gideon hedges, realizing that he definitely doesn't know everyone's name, even if they probably ALL know his. They probably hear Finn's "Mr. Jones - " in their heads when he walks in. "But, I wasn't there. She tied me up and put me in a shipping container. The maniac did. Not Donna," he assures Enola, then blinks and chews on his lower lip, worrying. What if what's-her-name's so crazy that she actually IS Donna and befriended his new acquaintance in advance?!?

"Wow," Enola tells Gideon. "That's really impressive. How did you get out of the shipping container? Also, how did a woman outpower you and lock your strong ass up in a container?"

"My doctor - the one this is for - came and found me - " he calls Finn 'my doctor' with a sense of pride, like he chose her and she's GOOD, damnit, like the other 3/4s of the A team (he's the crazy pilot, of course). "And - I agreed to get in the box because she threatened to blow up my ship - " he hedges again, not sharing that he was voluntarily tied up. There are children around!

"That could be a total snag, if you was ON the ship when she blew it all up," Enola admits. "So I guess that's fair. I don't have a doctor. I got a nurse. Nurse Donna. She's been pretty cool to me. She's the one thought I should go to The Center."

"I've had some pretty serious issues, over the last few months," Gideon explains why he (belieevs) he has a doctor, rather than a nurse. The nurses probably just don't get paid enough to deal with him. "One time, I tried to help someone, when I was there? And I fell and cut my butt open."

Enola blinks at him, "On what? Ain't the floor all….smooth?" It's unclear, at this point, whether Enola actually believes anything Gideon tells her, or if she thinks he's just a mastermind liar, like she is.

"Someone got shocked and dropped a mug or a jar or something, and I tried to help and ended up falling," Gideon explains. Alas, if Enola fact checks Gideon, she'll find that he's not a liar, just either too drunk to know what's really going on or actually in the middle of chaos.

"Something like that happened to me once," Enola can't help it. She NEEDS to do this, "Only it wasn't a mug. It was a jar. It was a jar that had a brain in it, and the brain juices made the jar all slippery, and it got dropped, so what I actually slipped on was the brain. It sort of, well, squashed under my feet. I kinda still wanna puke in my mouth when I think on it."

<FS3> Enola rolls Lying: Good Success. (8 6 5 3 8 3)

Gideon listens, his eyes growing wider and wider still as her story unfolds. He even winces in advance, like he knows, of course, when she says that the brain juices were slippery, that she's going to fall, on the brain. "Holy shit," he breathes, forgetting that there are kids nearby. "A brain? Whose brain was it?"

Elivia calls out, at the top of her lungs, "Chit. Chit." And Elvis chimes in, "Holy Chit. Holy Chit." Zara doesn't seem to care.
"Yep," Enola says. "That's why I got trauma now."

"Makes sense," Gideon agrees without pause. "I'm sorry that happened to you," he adds, a little more softly. He glances up, finding someplace that shows the time, and frowns. "I gotta get going," he adds, lifting up the wrapped tray. "It was nice meeting you. I hope it goes well for you, being a diplomat."

"Hope your doctor likes all that stuff. The tray was painted by a blind junkie who still somehow knew what fruit looks like. Tell her that. Maybe it'll impress her."

"I will," Gideon agrees, already misremembering the story. He smiles, broad, at Enola, and then wanders away.

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