2019-09-27 - Over the Hump, Under the Weather

It's a normal day in the trailer park. Which means the air is chilly and cold, and the rain is weeping from the sky. It's a gross, gross damned day, and up above is overcast so much that it makes it feel like it's night-time already. The steady patter of rain on rooftops might be comforting to some, but for Cameron Cambridge, it's just a reminder that this place suuuuuuuucks.

She didn't really want to spend any more time indoors, and she'd already missed plenty of work, which was NOT going to help paying the bills this month. C'est la vie. FML. At least all this 'being sick' has given her booboos from her magnificent fall at the skate park enough time to heal, and they're barely visible on her elbows, knees, and forearms anymore.

Because she can't take one more MINUTE of looking at nothing but the inside of her trailer, Cameron sits outside on the tiny, covered deck as rain falls. Stairs lead up to a space that is really only wide enough for a couple of plastic chairs and a few potted plants. They are unusual herbs, to be sure, but sadly no narcotics in sight.

The young brunette sits in one of the chairs with an LA Lakers throw blanket over her lap, wrapped in a hoodie with the hood pulled up and a pair of sweatpants. Comfort clothing. She blows softly on a cup of herbal tea as she keeps an eye on the road through the park, peering through the patter of rain. She'd gotten a text to expect some company fairly soon.

She knew Love had a generous and beautiful soul. Called that one! Auras never lie... The pride in her craft makes her lips pull upwards at the corners as she sips at her tea and wishes her bones would stop hurting and that spells could repair her own body faster.

Outside, Love pulls up in a '66 Mustang, parks it in an open spot nearby, and unfolds from the driver's seat, reaching into the back for a bag. The door is heavy, so when she shuts it, it's a solid sound that surely carries. She turns toward the trailers, making her way over, her patent leather Chucks crunching through wet gravel.

"Hey, tiny dancer." That's a little friendly rib since Cam is probably the tallest dancer, especially in heels, but about an inch shorter than Love without them. She approaches quietly after that soft hello, making her way up and onto the little covered porch. "I cracked and mail ordered some of my favorite soup." Tom kha kai is a slightly spicy, savory soup with a sour note, full of chicken, lemongrass, ginger, mushrooms, pepper slivers and a little umami from fish sauce. "Are you a fan of cilantro or on the no boat? I brought a couple other things too."

She wears her usual skinny jeans, probably a tight top, but over it she's thrown a cozy, hand-knitted sweater in inky black yarn. Her hair is pulled up in an upsweep, how she often wears it at the bar, leaving her neck tattoos visible and also keeping the waist-length mass out of her way. Her makeup is similarly set for work, though she's probably not going tonight: black lipstick, winged liner, smokey eyes. Sometimes even that tiny effort can make a person feel a little bit better.

Cameron has no clue what car that is, but even she can tell it's a classic piece of muscle. One that makes her want to bury the POS 90-something Honda that SHE drives, because god damn. She did not even know you could get Car Envy if you weren't a car person! #TrailerParkLife

"Hey..." The brunette squints. Think of something clever, amazing. But despite the near-glare on her face, she comes up with: "...leggy... tattooed... woman?" Damn, blew it. Do better next time.

Cameron rises out of her chair as her guest mounts the steps, holding her cup in one hand, extending the other for a half-hug of greeting. She does not put her hoodie top down, lest someone see how dull and lifeless her hair is right now, even if wisps of it escape and flutter in the breeze. In stark contrast, the brunette has zero makeup and all her jewelry is removed. Don't judge her, she doesn't need to dress up in her own house!

Brown eyes narrow, taking in the other woman's countenance. "You just haaaaad to come over and make me feel ugly, didn't you? With your face all..." She waves a hand in front of Love's face, fingers splayed, palm out. "...flawless. Come in, it's colder than a dead dog's ass with fleas out here."

Cam turns to open the trailer door, pushing it inwards and stepping inside. She waits for the other woman to enter, before shutting it gently behind her. The heat in here is turned way, WAAAAAY up. "I'll eat about anything right now! Not sure I've had it? I was vegan until... Madison won't let me anymore. So let me give you the grand tour!"

A hand is held out one way. "There's that." Then the other. "And that side. Ta da. Home shit home. You can put the stuff on the coffee table," She says as her chin inclines towards the low table in front of the sofa. "And I... think I have bowls and silverware. I think."

"It's awesome you brought soup." The newest dancer calls over her shoulder as she trudges around the separating counter and into the kitchen, dragging her feet. "Ico said he'd bring some, he totally never did. He must have got lost. Or scared off by the meth heads."

Love is familiar with this feeling. Though she is not so much a car person as an enthusiast of beautiful objects, she went into ownership of a classic with not nearly enough knowledge to care for one. She spends a fortune in repairs, and is on the hate list of at least four mechanics in Vancouver. Why four? You split the work around, you receive fewer vein-pulsing WHAT DID YOU DO lectures. In theory. Sometimes that backfires.

The tattooed woman steps in to wrap Cameron in a proper hug, body to body and arms tight enough to make sure she knows it's a real on. Love's hugs are the kind that make the one-arm chickenwing huggers feel very uncomfortable. She pulls back after about seven seconds. "It took me four tries to get my hands to stop shaking enough to put this face on." Love's smile is soft and she turns to follow the dancer into her home.

"Where the hell did summer go?" She sighs happily at the warmth inside the trailer, and moves over into the kitchen to set down the bag, unloading its contents: two lidded bowls of soup, some fresh cut fruit in another container, and some mac & cheese she picked up from the diner. Covering all potential bases for post-sickies snacks. At the grand tour, she dutifully turns her head. "Mmhm, nice, yep. Have seen those before. And that. Whirlwind."

"Madison?" She hmms. "If I had to guess, I'd say Ico probably caught the full force of the flu in the middle of his rounds. He kept hugging all us sick girls." Dangerous behavior that. "It's mostly veg and stock, the soup, just a few piece of chicken."

"Well at least you found the energy to put it on. I thought about it, but then the thought of leaving the house in the rain made me want to stay in. And staying in made me sad. And sad led to me sitting in the cold on the porch. So I said... 'screw it!' Who am I trying to impress, my mirror? Then I got your text and kept telling myself you would come over here looking as terrible as I do and everything would be okay. But I should have knowwwwwwn."

Cameron talks as she rummages around in cabinets, her tall, lanky form swaying this way and that as she gathers spoons and forks from one drawer, plates from another, bowls, and cups. These are stacked neatly, into a multicolored totem pole of plastic utensil wares. Gathering them up in both hands, plates on the bottom, two of everything stacked inside and atop each other, the begins to slowly shuffle back around the counter, her chin resting on top of one of the cups to hold it in place.

They are delivered safely to the coffee table. "Sorry, I'm not adult enough for glassware yet. But some day. Some day." There's an absent little nod as she stares wistfully out of the window behind the couch, her eyes on some bright future that includes actual dishes for guests to use instead of machine-washable plastic ones. The sound of a zipper heralds the removal of her hoody, revealing the billowing gray long-sleeved shirt undernearth with a very faded UCLA printed across the front. It's big enough for her to drown in, perpetually falling off of one shoulder and trying to swallow her hands.

"I have tea and I have water." She calls, heading back in for the fridge, opening it up and bending low to peer inside. "And cider!" A moment later, she is back with either a pitcher or a bottle, depending on the order.

"Summer will come back." She declares, plopping herself on one end of the couch and reaching for her abandoned hot tea. "There's a time and a purpose for every season. Autumn is my second-favorite. Then Spring. Then Summer. Then Winter. But just because I hate to be cooped up inside for too long. But Autumn, it's a time of forgiveness and putting your affairs in order. Burying old grudges and healing wounds. To make peace before winter."

Snickering at the idea of Ico hugging on sick people, Cameron leans forward and makes grabby hands a the fresh fruit. "Can I? Ha! Serves him right. Mackin' on all the sick ladies. Seriously, though, I hope he's okay. How's Mae and Park and Rink? And the others? Teddybear okay?"

"Girl," Love leans against the counter. "The one thing about being tall and reasonably hot like us is we're tall and reasonably hot." She moves in to help with the tower of dishes, steading it lightly with her inked hands. "You're not scaring anyone away without foundation. Surely you know this." She laughs, "I'm living in a motel. Most of my utensils are plastic cups they give you every day for the coffee maker and like... my knife." She nods to the shirt. "UCLA? What was your field?"

"Tea for me, please. Halloween is my favorite. We lost a lot of time prepping for the events, but I think we'll pull it off still." She brings the soups over, and the fruit, stacked up to put down on the couch too. She sets them out and pops the lid off one soup container, raising that to her lips to take a sip, careful not to spill. She mms. "I have a lot of affairs to put in order."

"I think they're all feeling sluggishly better, but I haven't made the text rounds on everyone."

"I suppose. We make the best of the hand dealt us." Cameron shakes her head with mock sadness at their woeful misfortune of being tall and/or reasonably hot. Still, she self-consciously reaches up to try and run a hand through her wild mess of a head of hair. There is obviously a tangle or two in there somewhere. Someone did not brush when getting out of be this morning.

"Isn't that, like... expensive?" The fruit in hand, Cameron kind of pokes her finger around for berries of any kind, bypassing most of the melons. Like that kid who picks the marshmellows out of the Lucky Charms. She pops a blueberry into her mouth. "Living in a motel, I mean. Or do they give you one of those, what is it? Um. Monthly type deals? Where it's cheaper?"

"I'd so move into a motel. But." She looks meaningfully at the door marked STUDIO. "Wouldn't fit. I want you to be careful there, anyway. I heard people get shot around there. No bueno."

Cameron chews in silence for a few minutes, this time pushing cantaloupe aside in favor of a strawberry. At least she doesn't chew with her mouth open. But she does chew with a biiiiiig smile spreading wide across her lips. Leaning across the couch, one of her legs folded under her, the other on the floor, the brunette puts a hand on Love's knee, giving it a little squeeze and a shake.

"So I'm in the upper half? Awwwww, that means we're friends now! I'm moving up in the world." Reaching for her cup, she washes down the fruit with a noisy sip. "Who doesn't love Halloween? I have my outfit picked out. Sexy Witch Doctor. If you need help with anything..." She lifts a hand, waggling her fingers. "I'm not exactly good at anything, but I'm a warm body to throw at stuff."

"And I mean help with anything." She stresses the word, the smile gone, leaning in enough to touch fingertips against her guest's forearm. "You can't leave things undone for winter. So if you need help with your affairs, I will help you one sick-person's feast worth to pay you back for this. It's really bad karma to not have it done by the first snows."

There's an awful lot of meaningful eye contact given with that pronunciation so it is known to be Serious Business.

"Have you seen that motel?" Love lowers the soup to query, then raises it again to sip. "Not all that fancy." She reaches for a spoon only when the broth's down a significant level. "Seems like a lot of people are going by the week. I think all the murders have mostly hamstringed tourism." Her brows go up briefly, and then she glances down toward the door. She glances back, smiling at the squeeze to her knee. Her fingertips brush the back of Cam's hand. "If we don't take care of each other, who will?"

"We're making like twenty goblin masks for the masquerade event. Mine's black and silver, and I'll be behind the bar slinging drinks, so I'm just keeping it simple. Tight dress, low cut, some shoulder pieces with armor and feathers, plague doctor-ish mask, done." She mms, thinking for a few moments. "Most of it's business, paperwork. "I promise you that if I think of something, even if it's just painting a vacant shops space over pizza and beer, I won't hesitate to ring you." She fishes up a piece of chicken, long, glossy black nails tapping the edge of the spoon. "I think the flu affected my recall. You know, Cam, I don't think I know much of anything about you."

"Come to think of it, I have not been down that way in a long time. I can't really remember what it looks like." The brunette rolls her eyes up and out towards the window, finally giving in as the berries diminish, to eating the melon in the fruit bowl. A sad day, to be sure. She eats slowly, as if unwilling to test her stomach's mettle with too much, too fast.

"You're a really sweet person, Love. Like you're trying to live up to your name." She grins, even while popping another piece between her lips. "I'm starting to think you're just hiding something suspicious now. No, but seriously, that sounds kind of badass! And you're going to look SO amazing. Now I can't show up in my lame witch doctor thing. Maybe I can pull off a very skinny Red Sonja. I met a hairdresser, so I can even get the dye job."

There's an uncomfortable moment of lifting her covered shoulder in a half-shrug and looking away when the topic turns to her. She glances at the small television as if wishing it were on, before tilting her head to one side, then the other, and back again, as if weighing her options.

"Well, there's not much to know." She says, while avoiding eye contact. Then she looks down and points at her shirt. "This? From a guy I used to date. I never went to college. I was too busy going to become the next great world-reknowned skater. Did. Not. Go as planned, that."

"Um, I was born here. I left here. I moved back here. I don't talk with my parents much because they don't really 'get' alternative lifestyles?" Brown eyes turn back towards the woman seated on the sofa with her. "You already know I'm Wiccan, and I do witchcraft, which probably makes you think I'm crazy. I sing in a band, I do vlogging and blogging. I do camgirling in the evenings I'm not at the club to try and pay my bills."

"And, um, lately I've been experiencing an awful lot of Astral Projection." She squints, pressing her lip together while scrunching up her nose. "I think being sick had something to do with that. I feel like I've been spending a lot of time outside of my own body."

"What else you wanna know?"

Love smile speaks for her, while she's looking down into her soup, chasing a mushroom around with the spoon. "I was raised on beaches and wanted nothing more than to surf for the rest of my life. I've met so many people all over the world, and the only thing most of them wanted, besides grade A drugs, is to be seen."

She takes a bite, mushroom included. Victory! "Everyone's hiding something, aren't they?" She smiles a little more at that. Is she hiding something or just ribbing Cameron? "Nicole? She said she'd come to the Platinum and do our hair for that night instead of all of us tromping over to the salon. I need to go see her and get a touch-up."

Mm. "Every time I try to skate, I end up having to get tattoo touch-ups." She scrapes off that much skin. "By every time, I mean the three times I tried it. I don't know what it is. I just can't operate on wheels. It has to be a board with the ocean fighting back against me." She shakes her head, "No, Wicca is a religion." She doesn't think it's crazy. "I think we both know that there are more things in Heaven and Earth." She falls silent on the astral projection. She had some weird ass Dreams during that flu.

Love's quiet for a few beats. Softly, "Why wouldn't you look at me when you said there's not much to know?"

"I took a pretty big spill last week, myself. It was epic levels of failure. I've never tried surfing, but I imagine if you can catch a wrench, you can probably dodge a ball. It's like switching between a guitar and a bass. Or so I've heard."

The smile that spreads across Cameron's lips is wide and sad, as she just kind of pushes fruit around in her cup a bit. Bittersweet and fragile, a woman turning inwards and viewing something she doesn't like there. She nods for a few bit, absently, staring at nothing inside of the fruit before she sets it aside.

"We all hide pieces of ourselves. Others we share readily with each other. But the deep stuff, the parts that hurt, the parts that leave us vulnerable, with all the ugly and the... anger. What do we do with those? We can't push them in people's faces or we turn them away. So we bury them, right?" Cameron looks up, as if for confirmation of her theory. "We try to find a person with whom we have the right relationship, then whip off the, in this case metaphorical, clothes and ask them if they still accept us. And we hope they say 'yes.'"

"Take a relationship like ours." She flicks a hand between the two of them, indicating each of them in turn. "So casual and unknown. How much should we share with each other? I guess... I'm just trying to delay answer your question with all of this spiritual rambling."

She looks away, lips parting. No sound comes out, wetting them with her tongue, and then, "I guess I don't like myself very much a lot of the time. I have pain. Burdens. Confusion. And I don't know what to do with any of them. I don't know what I'm doing here. ...But. Whatever it is. I want it to be good. I don't want to be a loser anymore."

She looks back to her Guest, lips in a tight line, forcing the corners up into a smile. "That's me. What's you?"

Love brushes her fingers up the back of her neck, nails tucking a few loose strands of hair up back where they belong. Her pale eyes take on the grey cast thanks to the gunmetal, almost silver when she's looking straight on at someone, like she is with Cam now. Love reaches over to touch Cam's arm at the silence, that look on her face, the sadness there. She turns slightly more toward the other woman, putting her soup down on the little table. The brunette has her full attention now, quite clearly. "We want to be seen, but maybe we're afraid we'll be rejected if it's too clearly. And you want to feel safe to share parts of you you keep hidden."

Love falls silent for a few beats. "I know we barely know each other, but I'm going to say this to you. You can tell me anything you're comfortable with, anything you're uncomfortable with but need someone to hear. I know there are things like that." She smiles, though it doesn't quite touch her eyes this time. Her gaze is downcast until she speaks again. "My father rejected me when I was young and still cared, I've loved everyone but him. When he needed me, I closed my life to him, and now he's missing and I can't even bring myself to file a police report. He signed over all his properties to me, so no one's even looking for him. Not even the one person who knows he's vanished. That's pretty fucked up."

"Daddy issues, check." She clears her throat. "I'm sure there's more, but we're still new friends."

Cameron lays her hand, soft and light, over Love's as it touches her, rubbing the back of the other woman's appendage up and down a bit and offering the best smile she can muster as thanks for the support.

"Well." The brunette says with a tight throat, lifting her chin and reaching for one of the bowls of soup. "We've already shared more of each other than most people who sleep together. Maybe next time we can compare why our Daddy's hate us. But... let's watch some TV first."

Pulling chicken soup into her lap, Cameron reaches for the television remote, asking for requests as she fires the thing up and slumps back into the couch cushions.