2011 06 25: Making Friends?

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Mission Name: Making Friends?
Date of Mission: June 25, 2011
Locale: Tamara's Apartment — The Manchester - Upper East Side

Rebekah proposes friendship. Tamara tries to come up with a response.

Rebekah Tamara

It's around the dinner hour and Tamara is free of visitors. It means that there is that time to think, or plot, or whatever awesome unknown spies do in their leisure time. However, if she is getting use to that luxury of aloneness. Ahhh contentment. Just like that it is shattered. It's not a bang, or a hostage or even someone aware of what she does. No. It might be worse. It is a knocking at her front door. Knock Knock Neo. Knock Knock.

With a bum leg and a damn good reason to be paranoid, Tamara doesn't exactly rush to the door to answer it. A gun held at the ready, she approaches the door with a cautious limp, staying clear to one side of it to avoid anything that might come flying through. Once close enough, she keeps herself against the wall and slowly leans over to look out the peephole. Spotting Rebekah, she pauses, frowns, and then quickly tucks the gun away at the small of her back, pulling her shirt down to cover it as she unlocks and then opens the door. "Why hello," she offers in greeting with a smile that's friendly but a look that's questioning.

Rebekah has an actual woven basket. "Well Howdy, Ah just thought Ah'd brin' y'all some food." The blonde doesn't seem to take no as the answer as she tries to muscle her way into the apartment. "Ah mean Ah just figured y'all needed someone to come and take ca'e of ya." There is a shake of her head as she's wearing a hippie outfit. "How is ya leg? Y'all get it looked at, Ah mean wha' did ya do to it?"

Tamara maybe could stop Rebekah if she really, really wanted to, but those methods would only raise more questions than T wants to deal with. So she finds herself sort of hobbling backwards as the other woman comes pushing her way inside. "Thank you, but that really wasn't necessary," she assures the other woman, and there's a brief glance towards the bedroom. Is she as alone as she seems to be? "The leg is fine. It's healing. It was just some stupid accident."

Rebekah looks back towards the bedroom too. "Oh, do ya'll have someone ovah? Tell em to come on out, Ah got enough foh ya'll." She moves to the kitchen and pauses. "Is it Tommy? Ah could see that bein' awkward." She shrugs and goes out to pulling food from the basket. There is fried chicken (southern style), mashed potatoes, gravy, corn on the cob, green beans with bacon garlic and red pepper, oh and some peach cobbler. "Ah just figured ya and Ah could be the best of friends, Ah don't get on with women much."

"Tommy?" Tamara replies, looking back to Rebekah with an almost curious expression. "No. You don't know him. And he's asleep." Perhaps looking to keep it that way, Tamara heads for the bedroom, trying to hide her limp, so that she can quietly shut the door and keep their conversation from bothering the mystery man within. "And here I got the impression you didn't much care for me," she replies as she crosses back to the kitchen with that same painful non-limp. "This seems a bit… extreme." She eyes the bountiful feast that's been laid out.

Rebekah shrugs. "Ah don't really have an opinion of ya. That first night ya caught me aftah a huge fight." She rolls her green eyes, that were blue the last time she was here. "Ah wasn't suhe ya relationship with Tommy, so Ah… oh.. Tommy, down the hall from ya." She pauses to explain before she grins and smiles towards the woman. "Then Ah got in a fight with the same gal the next time ya saw me. If'n memory serves, ya'll were dishin' insults. Ah was just takin' em." There is a curious look towards the door. "So that ya beau in the'e?"

"Tommy Down-the-hall-from-me," Tamara repeats with a faint smirk, stringing the words together to make it sound almost like a last name. She gives no further comment on what the relationship is there, but simply moves on. "Those weren't really insults," she notes in a calm voice as she leans up against the kitchen island, taking some weight off her bad leg. She follows Rebekah's gaze towards the bedroom again, shrugging her shoulders to the question. "He's a friend, I suppose you could say. As you said, I need someone to come and take care of me," she points out with a wry smirk, clearly a woman who does not particularly like being taken care of.

Rebekah wrinkles her nose. "Well than he's doin' it wrong. Ah mean if'n he was takin' ca'e of ya, then shouldn't he be awake an ya'll be in bed?" She doesn't seem to care much of the relationship that might exist between Tom and Tamara. Then she gives a chuckle. "So we should be friends, we can do than's that friends do." She tips her head to one side in thought and laughs. "Wha' do gals do togethah?"

"He's doing it fine," Tamara replies in a smooth tone with just a slight edge of warning to it. "I am, as it turns out, not terribly easy to take care of." She arches an eyebrow at this continued talk of friends. "I'm sure I don't know. And I'm unlikely to be terribly good at any gal-pal sort of behaviour," she points out. "I suppose I can braid hair and paint nails, but I would much rather pay someone to do that for me."

Rebekah looks up at her chaotic hair and then her stubbed nails. "Ah… maybe we could go togethah and get people to do it foh us. Ah would like mah nails to be pretty." She looks over her clothing and then Tamara's. She smiles a bit to the woman. "Ah think we supposed to talk about boys an' clothin' and stuff." She gives a chuckle and shakes her head. "Ah don't know much eithah in this area. Ah ain't ovah good at people."

"I suppose," Tamara replies, giving Rebekah's hair and nails a once-over that doesn't entirely hide her disdain. "I know a woman who could help, but she isn't cheap. Nothing I do is very cheap," she warns. "I'm also not very good at being a friend even on the rare occasion I want to be. So I'll admit, I'm a little confused as to… why me?" Her words aren't said cruelly, but she doesn't bother to blunt the truth any either.

Rebekah notes the distain and lofts her brows up. "Well why not ya? Ya live down the hall from mah friend. Ah've kinda met ya, so why not ya?" Rebekah nods her head a bit and smoothes a hand over her hair to try to tame it a bit. "Do ya really not like mah hair and clothin' like ya eyes a'e sayin?"

"Because I'm a bitch?" Tamara suggests without any form of remorse or apology, looking quite plainly at Rebekah. She gives the woman another once over, considering her hair and clothing for a moment. "Not especially, but I'm not the one who has to wear it. Clearly it serves you well enough." She brings a hand up to smooth down her own hair, like the messiness might somehow be contagious.

It is contagious, messy hair. Soon it will be all over the place. Rebekah gives a chuckle. "Oh.. Ah think all women a'e bitches. Ah can be and sometimes othahs can be too. Ah mean it all about tryin' to be friends and stuff." She shakes her head and laughs again. Look at her getting the messy hair germs all over the place.

"I'll think about it," Tamara finally replies with a sigh, after watching Rebekah for a moment. "But don't say I didn't warn you. I'm not going to feel badly if you get your feelings hurt." She makes no efforts to beat around the bush, that much is for certain. "I still think you could find a much better subject for this experiment. You at least care enough to fake being nice," she points out with a too-sweet smile.

Rebekah shrugs. "Feelin's get in the way sometimes, ya know? Question is a'e ya gonna try to hurt mah feelings an' stuff or ya gonna try ta be nice? Sometimes if'n ya fake it a lot then ya start to do it. Like if'n we fake bein' friends, ya might wake up one day and we a'e friends, ya know." She tosses her hair again and smiles at Tamara. "Ah ain't all bad eithah. Ah do actually ca'e that ya foot is okay an' Ah did really make the food foh ya. If'n ya want Ah'll drop off othah stuff. Ah know ya'll can ordah out, but home cookin' always tastes a bit bettah."

"To be honest, I'm probably not going to try very hard either way," Tamara replies with a careless wave of her hand that's actually anything but careless. "Your feelings are your business. There's a good reason I don't have many friends." She shrugs, not feeling sorry for herself with that comment. "You really don't need to bring me more food. This will last me for a long time," she goes on, looking again at the vast array of food. It may be the first real food she'll ever have in that fridge.

"Well Ah don't need ta, but Ah'm Southern, it's what we do. Ah know ya look down on women that cook an' thangs but Ah like it and Ah like ta think the people Ah cook foh like it." Rebekah offers with an ease to her mannerisms. Then she smiles a bit brighter at the woman. "Ah can't say Ah won't evah piss ya off. Ah ain't really good at this intahpe'sonal stuff."

"Clearly not for lack of trying," Tamara replies as she watches Rebekah with a neutral expression. "You probably will piss me off. I won't ever take it personally." She states this as a fact rather than a promise. "Now, I'm getting pretty tired, so you're going to need to go." She inclines her head towards the door, straightening up so that she can show the woman out.

Rebekah looks back towards the bedroom. You can't break the person from their curiosity. Well you can, but Bekah loves it anyways. "Hold on a moment.." She looks in the basket and writes her number on a piece of paper. "Ya'll call me sometime.." There is a tip of her head and she actually attempts to hug the girl. "Ah'll see ya'll latah."

Tamara stiffens up under the hug, looking like she would very much like to make it stop. She is really not a huggy person. "Uh, yes. Until later then," she replies, straightening her hair and clothing once the southern woman has removed herself. She follows Rebekah to the door to see her out - and make sure it's locked behind her.

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