2012-08-02 Sort the Stones

For a guy who's used to fighting forest fires, chasing kids, riding out on the fire truck, and doing odd jobs across Cumberland County, Westchester is painfully... civilized. There's someone hired to do all the work, everything's clean, if something breaks people just buy a new one. Sam's going squirrley.

However, his Ma would kick his backside for sulking in his room so he grabs a few things, puts swim trunks on under his jeans just in case it gets too warm, and treks down to the lake. It's gorgeous out, too nice a day to waste and offend whoever made it.

Betsy has been out here for hours trying desperately to calm her emotions. She thought the still waters of the Breakstone would lend her some kind of "mystical" aid but her thoughts kept finding their way back to a place of turmoil. Though the body of Kwannon was no doubt as beautiful, if not more so, than her own, it still just didn't feel right to her.

"Who am I?" She asked to the open air. Picking up a rock she tossed it at the still waters of the lake, ripples spilling out in all directions from where the rock had entered the water. She couldn't help but feel just like that lake right now. Her mind racing in all directions at once.

She sat there on the bank of the lake, her legs crossed underneath her, and once again she closed her eyes. Her breath coming in even counts of eight her palms face up on her knees.

Sam doesn't want to bother Betsy. He's terrible at meditation but he admires anyone who can sit in one spot that long--well, without a beer in hand and the football game on, anyway. He sits down a respectful way away and unlaces his boots. Nature around here is so well-behaved. You can walk around barefoot all over up here.

Betsy feels herself starting to slip into that place where everything clicks and loses it. Her eyes open, she grits her teeth in frustration and grabs another rock from the pile next to her, which is diminishing quickly, and throws it hard at the lake. Once again she watches the ripples flutter in all directions and for a moment her eyes water.

The hair on her neck stands up. It's that feeling when her sixth sense feels something that she can't necessarily see, yet. She looks around her quickly drying her eyes and notices Sam. She smiles to herself as she stands from where she is sitting and walks towards him.

Sam didn't miss the angry throw or the gesture of Betsy wiping her cheeks. Still, he takes her smile at face value for now.

"Hey there, Miss Braddock," he says cheerfully. "Nice day. Did you have fun last night?" He certainly had fun--fun it took a few hours to get over this morning.

Betsy isn't quite sure she wants or needs company right this second but the closer she gets the more she feels like it would probably be a good idea to be around someone. Someone is better than being alone. At the mention of last night she spits a reluctant, "Yea. It was good to get out. You know, do something with less consequence." The words of the blog flash through her head, 'Hot asian chick.' She can't help a frown but replaces it quickly with that practiced smile.

"That frown doesn't look too good, if you'll excuse my being forward enough to so. Are you all right?" Sam shakes out the towel, then folds it and pats it so Betsy can sit down with him if she'd like. "Just you seem a bit upset, but I understand if it's private."

Betsy can't help but smile at that southern charm. She gladly takes a seat next to him and takes a deep steadying breath. "I... Are you sure you want to hear this? Well, I guess you wouldn't have asked if you didn't want to.." She looks him in the eye and very plainly states, "I don't know who I am anymore."

"Do you know who you were before?" Sam frowns slightly but it's just a thinking-on-things frown, not unhappiness. "When did you stop knowing who you are?"

"I mean, I know -who- I am but what am I?" She waves her arms around, indicating herself. "It seems like one day I was Betsy and -now- I'm someone else. I'm still Betsy, but I don't recognize myself. I have feelings that I don't understand, things I've never felt before. I have gaps in my memories." She shudders a bit as her emotions almost get the best of her, "Sometimes I swear I can feel her.. The woman whose body I've stolen or borrowed or whatever you want to call it." Her eyes are filled to the brim with tears, "I -fill- her, Sam. Like she is still in here with me."

She shakes the tears out of her eyes and with the heels of her palms she wipes her cheeks.

"Now, now." Sam offers her the comfort of a hug. "That's a terrible thing to go through on your own. If you two are stuck sharing the same place, that's no one's fault. I'm sure you -can- feel her. The body remembers what the mind won't tell. That's certain."

Betsy throws her arms around his neck and hugs Sam, burying her head in his shoulder she lets loose a heavy sob. For a while she just kind of sits there crying. Unsure what to say but feeling better knowing that she has friends that are there for her. She eventually pulls away from him and laughs a soft sobbing, "I'm sure this really helps with my 'tough chick' persona. Sitting out here crying about things that can't be helped." Maybe all she needed was to let it out.

"Everyone needs a break." Sam rubs her back patiently. "I can't start to get my head around what's going on, or how it happened, but people either let it out or they snap. I've seen it go both ways, and it's a lot easier to clean up after a good cry. If you could fix it, you'd fix it. If you'll excuse the language, saying a person shouldn't cry over what can't be fixed is damn stupid." He scowls darkly at the entire concept. "If there's anything deserves crying over, it's that. So don't worry yourself about it."

Betsy can't help but chuckle at the simple reasoning behind that logic. "I wish I could let it go. I just want to feel like myself again." Giving him as serious look as is possible through the 'I've been crying runny nose and tear streaked face' she says, "Thank you. I hope I can fix it, eventually."

She looks around for something to clean up her face, her eyes coming to rest on the towel they are sitting on. "I'm sorry Sam but I'm going to have to ruin your towel." Without pause for an OK she moves off the edge she is sitting on and uses it to wipe her nose and face. Not necessarily in that order. "So what are you doing out here anyway?"

"Just goin' nuts stuck in the house. Thought I'd get some air. Even with training, there's just not enough going on for me here. Maybe it'll change when the kids all get back. Thought I'd come out and, I dunno. Sort the stones on the beach." Sam flashes her a smile.

Betsy smiles at the joke, "I know how you feel. I try to spend as much time training as possible. Don't want to over do it but I can't stand just sitting around, waiting.. Always waiting." She looks around for a small stone to skip across the lake.

"And here I thought it was just me dying to hit something around here." Sam laughs and rolls to his feet. "Maybe there's just too much to do around here, that's the problem. Horses. Swimming. Garden. Kitchen." He scoops up a stone of his own and flicks it across the water--it goes whisking across the surface like a rubber ball. "What do you like to do? Maybe doing more stuff you like will help you feel more -you-, get new memories in your body now."

She sits pondering the question, "I don't know. I like that feeling of my heart pounding, when you're breathless from fear or exhaustion. I'm a big fan of the Danger Room. Let's me train and get my adrenaline fix at the same time." She sighs a bit, "Even that is getting to be where it's not as good as the real thing. I know it's just a simulation, so it takes away from the whole, 'I could get hurt' part." She perks up and quickly adds, "And pedicures. Big fan of those."

Sam pauses, but only for a -fraction- of a second. "We could go to the Danger Room and you can try to kick my ass," he offers. "I won't hold back on you. Or there's a nail place in town. No one there speaks English, but there's a lot of well-dressed women coming and going--sometimes I take my Ma to a shop that I swear is the spitting image of it. I'll drive you over." He is a brave, brave man. "If it will make you happy to have company," he says courageously, "I will even get one, too." Anything to make the lady smile.

Betsy laughs, "While the idea of beating you up sounds like good fun, I think I would rather see you seated next to me getting your feet massaged." She sails the rock in her hand out across the lake, "It's settled, we're going to town." She flashes him a smile, "Maybe after I'll kick your ass. This way you won't get a hang nail or anything." She is grinning.

"That's better." Sam winks at her and turns to scoop up his things. "You're gonna try and kick my ass. Try being the important word there. You can hit me as hard as you like, it won't make much nevermind. I'm not even worried about chipping a nail."

She smacks him on the arm, "Yea -try- not to hurt you too bad." She is pretty sure there won't be any hurting of Sam, but she can talk the talk as good as anyone. "I have other weapons at my disposal. Don't you forget that I am a telepath. I just prefer kicking ass over melting frontal lobes." Yea, she is piling it on pretty high. Regardless of what may or may not happen in the Danger Room, she feels better having someone to spend some time with.

"With a brain as empty as mine, you don't have much to work with, Miss Braddock." Sam offers her an arm for the walk back to the house, carrying his things in his other hand, boots dangling by their laces.

She gladly takes his arm, "I'm pretty sure there is more to that brain than you let on, Mr. Guthrie."

"If you find anything in there, don't tell anyone," Sam says with some alarm. "Especially me. The little brain I've got makes me smart enough to get you to smile. So I figure that's all I need."

Betsy gives him a reassuring smile and holds her finger to lips, "Shhhh. It'll be our secret then." As they head back up to the mansion, her whole body posture has changed, there is a bounce to her step.