Nathan Marszalek
Nathan is fucking drunk and the game hasn't even started yet.
After he left the restaurant where he met his father for dinner and accepted what looked like a peace offering from the old man a buried hatchet a reminder that one of them is actually trying he had texted Molly to let her know that that was fun. Didn't expect to hear anything back. He's locked into a pretty serious communications blackout with Carole right now. Wouldn't have surprised him if Molly was not talking to him either.
But she is. They were. The day started out well enough. Sun's out and Nathan appeared in as good a mood as he ever does when she arrived at the bar. He doesn't reek of cigarettes when she gets there. Maybe he tells her at some point that he's trying to quit. Got a patch on and everything. So he's coughing a lot more than he usually his. First-week-in-the-hospital coughing. His lungs are trying to get rid of years of abuse.
He could go back to dipping like he did when he was in the service but he tries to stay away from shit he did in the service. Tries to stay away from mentioning it or anything else about his past or his life. Molly's known him for a long time and she hardly knows anything about him. Knows his parents divorced when he was thirteen and Mom took the kids and she's the reason they half-ass Jewish holidays.
Maybe at some point for illustrative purposes Nate took out his phone and pulled up the Sturm College of Law website to find his father's faculty page while giving her the Cliff Notes on their relationship. How Nathan moved out to the West Coast to be with his long-distance high-school girlfriend after he got out of the service and when he proposed to her she dumped him. His father suggested he move to Denver to get his shit back together. Mom wanted him to move back to Omaha because of course she did. She was still pissed off about his enlisting in the first place.
Anyway: Nate doesn't look much like his father. Maybe a passing similarity in their bone structure. His father is in his late forties early fifties somewhere in there and he's still handsome even if he's getting old. Hannah got her green eyes and ability to tan in the sun rather than burn from him. Nate puts the phone away and changes the subject pretty quick after that. Back to what Molly's weekend has been like.
They don't talk about reflections or ghosts or blood bonds today. It seems like it's going well. Then the bartender goads Nate into his third beer just ignore the fact that he already had a fucking shot of whiskey when they got here because the bartender was all DUDE MY BROTHER'S WIFE HAD HER FUCKING KID I'M AN UNCLE WOO LET'S DO A SHOT and Nate blows out a breath while he waits for the guy to refill his glass.
"You know how I write fucking essays about veterans issues on the Internet?" he asks Molly. An out-of-fucking-nowhere quality to this question.
Molly Toombs
It's Sunday and there's some kind of sports thing happening that people are watching. Nate had texted Molly about dinner with his dad, and she was late getting back to him because she was at work. She empathized, or seemed to, and said they should hang out some time. Due to scheduling conflicts on Saturday, they agreed to use The Game on Sunday as an excuse to meet at a bar, have lunch, and have drinks as well.
So they were sitting at one of those tall pub tables in the bar, not very close to the television because who were they kidding they weren't actually going to be focusing on it at all. Molly had a plate of nachos on the table between herself and Nate and had made it clear that the plate was for both of them ("because seriously, look at these portion sizes, it's insanity that one person would eat this alone").
Nate was three beers and a shot in. Molly was halfway through her second pint but was taking her time with her drinks and her chips alike. She'd been in a pretty good mood, and they've discussed normal things like family and dads and what have you. Nate had Molly's empathy, but she couldn't actually relate. Her parents have been happily married for almost thirty years and live in a nice house in a coastal pacific town. Their oldest child was doing just fine (as far as they knew) out in Denver, and their teenage sons were healthy and well adjusted. Molly didn't have much for family problems, though she did have an on-again-off-again uncle and aunt as an example.
All the same. They drink, he talks about his dad and Molly's weekend.
Then, the topic of Nate's veteran's issues essays. Molly blinked at him from over the rim of her pint glass and raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, I do." Her tone and face both said 'go on' while she reached for a nacho and crunched on it in wait.
Nathan Marszalek
She knows about the blog. She might have its address. Might know the last thing Nathan wrote before he almost lost his eye was a memorial essay about a previous subject and the photographer he lost in the car crash. It was a warm but professional essay. Went on at some length about the necessity of visual imagery in journalism and how Shannon's passion was as important as her technical skill.
"So, uh..."
Nathan is a somewhat gifted writer. Could get better the older he gets. Plenty of other writers get started by some confluence of military and journalism. He's a terrible orator though. The alcohol doesn't help. He clears his throat and chases the dead sentence with beer.
"My father mentioned it was looking 'sparse.' I mean, he's right, I haven't touched it. So last night I was doing some research, you know, and they update the statistics more often than they used to. Nobody used to keep track of this shit. But they updated the how many veterans on average kill themselves every day, uh, the number, and it's gone up. Not like, a lot, but if you break down the math, you know. More Vietnam vets are killing themselves percentage-wise than civilians. So I was like, 'Oh. That's interesting.' Because I'd just--" He hikes a thumb over his shoulder like to indicate the past. "Last year, you know?" His hand goes back to his beer. "Wrote about how the Denver homeless population numbers are falling but there're a lot of statistical aberrations that made me think the study they did was jacked up. And then the thing with Rodriguez, did I ever tell you about what the coroner's report...?"
He scrubs his face. Looks surprised at his own stream of unfocused rambling and laughs a dry huff of a laugh.
"Wow. I'm sorry."
Molly Toombs
They were talking about the blog and Molly was nodding along, clearly listening as was appropriate. But then the conversation bled in to the statistical number of veteran suicides and the warm good humor on her freckled face started to seep away. Just a little, not dramatic or anything.
He apologized when he'd finished, because she was slow enough to respond that he had time to rub his face and laugh and interject.
Molly ignored the apology, though, outside of just flexing her brow at him to indicate that she hadn't missed that there was something laying under the rolling waves of that stream of consciousness. For the moment, she took up her beer and asked before sipping:
"So I'm supposing that Rodriguez offed himself, then? I hope that's how that statistic came up."
Laurel Hensley
Laurel's been in a shit mood since--
Okay, we can't even say that with a straight face. She's almost always in a shit mood. But there has to be a relative level to this, you know? A sort of First World (of Darkness) Problems thing. So if shit mood is the baseline, then let's call it a good shit mood. Laurel's been in a bad shit moodsince Friday night when someone made her to something she didn't want to do with a simple word. She had fled that scene, looking like a caged animal and reeling to comprehend what had just happened.
Two days later, she's not looking a whole lot better. She's not panicked anymore--that wears off eventually. But she's...twitchy. Surprisingly quiet, a little withdrawn as she walks into the establishment. She has that pained expression that indicates an oncoming headache (or a present one that's just sort of lingering there). She's dressed in her same outfit from that night...jean jacket, jeans and a tank top underneath. Her head ducks as she slips in, slipping a pair of sunglasses off and rubbing at her eyes irritably to adjust to the different light scale of being indoors. Nate may be quitting smoking, but Laurel isn't by a long shot and she smells like she's had a pack or so over the last twenty-four hours.
She looks around a moment, eyes shifting their way across the room, and makes note of Nathan and Molly at a table. She frowns briefly, hanging there for a moment of Do I even want to deal with conversation? But she doesn't feel like going outside, so she grunts to herself and makes her way toward the bar.
Nathan Marszalek
Both of Nathan's parents are lawyers. Were lawyers. His mother is a judge now.
He doesn't expect most people to have much in the way of sensitivity when it comes to discussing things like death or mental instability or war. Molly is a nurse. She has seen him smashed up and bleeding and incoherent more times than any normal person has had to see their close friend in a state of helplessness like that.
When Laurel walks in Nate doesn't notice her right away. One of the perks of being human. Your senses tamp themselves down when you're shit-housed and other than the fact that Nate flinches when Molly refers to suicide as offing oneself he doesn't have a disproportionate reaction to it.
"NO, yes, that's... dude, I didn't tell you. Fuck. This was... I don't know, man, it was so weird..."
He's got his hand to his forehead like he's trying to brush back hair from it but he's had a haircut since he got out of the hospital. It's still coarse and thick and wavy but it's not everywhere anymore.
"A John Doe came over the scanner at work one night, right? So I went down to see what was going on at the scene and it was like, this really junky part of town. And I'd been looking for him, you remember? Like, the second thing I wrote about him, I was meaning to follow up with him! Because he'd gone back to rehab and was staying in a new place and la la la! Thought he was going to have his shit together!"
Calm down, Nate. He hears himself getting worked up and takes a deep breath but not a deep drink.
"Okay. So, I wasn't really thinking a lot about it because you know, John Does happen all the time, but something one of the cops said was like... I asked if he had any identifying marks other than, you know, that he'd died because of a throat laceration. Cops thought he did it to himself. Took a piece of metal or something and--"
He pantomimes cutting his own throat.
"Alright, so maybe he was on drugs or something, people do things on drugs all the time, whatever. Went to the ME's office and - it was actually pretty weird. The ME who was doing his case, she was in the service too. She recognized me from Helmand. I mean, I didn't, but she was like 'You are one lucky motherfucker I'm surprised to see you walking' and I was like 'Uhhh, who the fuck are you...?' ANYWAY, listen: his tox screen came back negative. Nothing was in his system. And it was him. It was Rodriguez, he had tattoos that you can see in some of the pictures Shannon took, they had to call Sandra in to ID the body and it was really fucked up and that's why we were there talking to Sandra the night, you know. Because I wanted to see how she was doing. But I really don't think Rodriguez killed himself. And I was starting to wonder if like..."
He trails off. Still coherent enough to recognize that they're in public.
"I feel like I'm talking really loud right now."
Molly Toombs
Molly met Laruel once, and that was on a street corner. It was brief, and they didn't interact directly. Molly was sitting facing the door while Nate was facing her, so Molly got a glimpse of Laurel when she walked in. Clear blue eyes clung to the woman's face and body for a lengthier couple of seconds, expression distant in a way that anyone's face tends to be when they're trying to place a face.
When Nate pulled her attention back and said 'man, it was so weird' to begin his story, Molly let Laurel's recognized face but unidentified source of that recognition slide away. She listened to Nate for now instead. It seemed like what he was about to explain about this Rodriguez fellow was going to be worth hearing.
She listened careful, attention rapt, as Nate explained the story of how this Rodriguez fellow's body had turned up. How there were no drugs, but his throat was sliced with something metal. Self inflicted, supposedly, but Nate doubted it.
He paused and announced that he felt like he was talking loudly. The flat expression that Molly gave him confirmed that concern. She glanced cautiously about, then folded one arm on the table in front of her so she could rest her chest against it as she leaned forward. She was dressed in a comfortable gray T-shirt and dark wash jeans and a zip-up hoodie that she felt no need to take off. This wasn't one of those outfits that showed things off when you leaned forward over the table-- this wasn't that kind of a lunch date.
"So." She said the word in what she hoped would be an example of what volume Nate should mimic. The way she looked at him further expressed that. "You think someone else did that to him? Because he knew something, maybe?" She took another sip of beer, then followed up with: "Or do you think someone made him do it?"
Nathan Marszalek
"I know someone made him do it! He wouldn't have done that to himself."
This is supermarket beer aisle levels of riled up. He never gets like this unless he actually gives a shit about something. Like Molly's safety. Or things skulking around in the dark manipulating people's brains and shit. At least he's trying to keep his voice down.
Sober Nate is plenty capable of roaring. Drunk Nate could get loud and belligerent real goddamn fast if he weren't a sweet-natured individual underneath the scars and the propensity to stick his foot in his mouth.
Molly Toombs
"Jesus Christ, Nate, will you calm your tits?"
Molly flinched at how loud his answer was, and reached out to hastily push the plate of nachos toward him. "Here, eat something." It'll keep his mouth preoccupied with chewing, or at least muffle his words some while he's trying to talk around food. And slowing the further absorbtion of alcohol would probably be helpful too.
"I'm not gonna keep talking about this with you over lunch if you can't keep your voice down. I mean, really, it's like noon on a Sunday you lush."
This, followed by a warning look that pretty much tells him: Inside voices or mom's kicking the kids outside to play.
Then, she'd ask quietly, taking another nacho chip with a jalepeno on it: "So, we're talking about some kind of... hypnosis or mind control or something." She already knew vampires could do that. She hoped this wasn't related to any of them. "Any thoughts on, like, where to look next?"
Laurel Hensley
[[Oh I should probably check to see how much of Molly's last comments she heard before I post that she heard it! Per+Alert, going +1 diff for a little drunk but spending WP because she's listening at that point]]
Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (4, 4, 7, 7, 10, 10) ( success x 5 ) [WP]
Molly Toombs
[Dime, nickle. You heard that tiny burp under her breath too!]
Laurel Hensley
She sits down, orders a drink. Nathan and Molly seem to be content to leave her to her own devices for now, and she's actually glad for that. She doesn't have anything inherently against them (yes, she occasionally wants to hit Nate but that doesn't make him special), but now is completely not the time for her to talk. She picks up the double screwdriver and downs a good swallow and a half of it, staring at the bar surface as she lets herself fall into circular thought patterns.
Those thought patterns are broken when she hears Nathan talk about some guy who died by throat laceration and it was a suicide but not really and who the fuck cares? But she does notice that it's...bizarre. And that does perk her interest, never mind that Nathan is speaking more that loud enough to be heard. And then they're talking about people making people do things, and she's no longer idly listening.
She looks over her shoulder, taking a sip of her drink as she is actively eavesdropping on them. And then she hears those magic works: hypnosis or mind control. And she stands up, walking over to their table with drink in hand.
"What do you know about mind control?" It's said a bit more aggressively than she might have intended. Or perhaps she meant it to sound that way; it is Laurel, after all. She sets the drink down and puts her hands on the table surface, looking from one to the other with suspicious eyes.
Nathan Marszalek
Nate doesn't start eating the nachos right away. He's one of those drunk people who doesn't become a black hole of hunger when he gets to pouring beer down his throat. Or maybe he's just under a lot of stress. Work or whatever it is the things he hears have got him chasing. He doesn't look like he's been getting much sleep lately.
But he does quiet. Still hasn't picked up his beer again. Is very much focused on what Molly is saying and is about to tell her where he's started to look next when an interruption happens.
What do you know about--"
"JESUS!" Nate says. That startled him. He doesn't have PTSD and he doesn't struggle just to get through the day without having a panic attack but that doesn't mean he isn't in a constant state of hypervigilance anyway.
He's sitting with his hand over his chest and his eyes wider than normal by the time Laurel is at the waiting for a response portion of her question.
Talk about suspicious:
"Where the fuck did you come from?"
Nathan Marszalek
[SHUT THAT TAG WERE YOU RAISED IN A BAHN]
Nate doesn't start eating the nachos right away. He's one of those drunk people who doesn't become a black hole of hunger when he gets to pouring beer down his throat. Or maybe he's just under a lot of stress. Work or whatever it is the things he hears have got him chasing. He doesn't look like he's been getting much sleep lately.
But he does quiet. Still hasn't picked up his beer again. Is very much focused on what Molly is saying and is about to tell her where he's started to look next when an interruption happens.
What do you know about--"
"JESUS!" Nate says. That startled him. He doesn't have PTSD and he doesn't struggle just to get through the day without having a panic attack but that doesn't mean he isn't in a constant state of hypervigilance anyway.
He's sitting with his hand over his chest and his eyes wider than normal by the time Laurel is at the waiting for a response portion of her question.
Talk about suspicious:
"Where the fuck did you come from?"
Molly Toombs
[Wits 4 + Occult 3: What do you know, Moll?]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 5, 7, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 4 )
Nathan Marszalek
[Besides everything.]
Molly Toombs
Nate startled when Laurel appeared at the side of the table. Molly, though, she saw her coming. That was the benefit of not facing the back wall and pinball machines like poor Nate was. Plus she wasn't drinking nearly as quickly as he was. She was sour on the thought of 'drunk' for at least another few weeks after her episode several nights ago.
So, while Nate shouted his surprise and held his hand over his chest to settle the rapid thump-thump hammering of a startled heart, Molly just looked at the taller blond-haired woman as she approached.
Initially, Molly looked curious, if a little on edge as though she was caught talking about something she shouldn't have been. But then Laurel put her drink and hand both on the table and demanded to know what Molly knew, and looked suspiciously between both Nate and Molly. Whatever openess may have been on the woman's freckled face before shut like a door slamming when a summer storm wind whipped through a house. Her eyes darkened, her lips pressed together, and she reached for her beer and stated, very cool in her tone:
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Laurel Hensley
[[I deeply apologize guys, something OOC took my attention out of nowhere. Post is almost done]]
Molly Toombs
[[ It's all good! I roleplay while parenting, I'd have no room to talk. :) ]]
Laurel Hensley
Nate jumps by Laurel's sudden appearance; Molly shuts down and puts up a wall. Laurel couldn't care less. The woman has a lot of negative traits, and Not caring is one of them. But one of the traits that makes her a survivor (along with that lack of caring) is her driven nature, and her refusal to back down. She gives Nate a narrow-eyed look, frowns, then back to Molly.
"I came from the bar. And don't bullshit me. You were just talking about mind control and hypnosis and people being made to rip their own fuckin' throats out, and I want to know why."
She's keeping her voice slightly down for the moment, because she's on edge and a little buzzed but she's not stupid. This kind of shit isn't normal, and she isn't ready to be anyone's laughing stock. Especially when she was so recently made sp for other people.
"Don't act like I didn't hear what I fucking heard. What do you know about it?"
Nathan Marszalek
Nate folds his arms on the table and puts his head down. Might groan a little. But he doesn't say anything.
Molly Toombs
Nate puts his head down on the table and groans quietly, but says nothing more. Molly cut a glance to him, and her eyes softened just the tiniest bit. She was already sympathetic for what he was about to witness. She wanted to reach out and fluff the mop of curly dishwater hair he used to have, but it was missing and that was too affectionate to be appropriate while this perfect stranger was breathing down her neck demanding information.
So, Molly kept her hands on her beer glass instead. And did not offer Laurel a chair to sit in, though there were two empty ones available and tucked neatly under the table.
Instead she took a deep and well paced breath through her nose, cooling the fire of her own flaring temper and preventing herself from rising to the provocation. Instead, she looked Laurel straight in the face and asked her flatly:
"Who the ever-loving hell are you that I would tell you anything?"
Laurel Hensley
"Who the hell am I?" She grits her teeth, bites back a response. Don't lose it, Laurel. You know how to talk to people when you have to. She shuts her eyes, takes a breath. Clears her throat of a frog that's been hiding down there from too much smoke and alcohol over the last couple of days, and when she opens them she's looking at Molly. The expression is hard, even hostile. She can't keep that out of her gaze. But she's not yelling or accusing. Because this person seems to have something she needs. Understanding.
"I'm someone he knows," she says, dropping her voice to a low and gruff mutter so as not to carry to the others who are probably looking their way at this point. "I'm...a bounty hunter." That's the best she can do at the moment because introductory pleasantries just aren't on the menu. "And the other night, someone told me to do something I would never in a million years do, and I walked across a room and did it without fuckin' realizing what I was doing. With just a god damned set of words.
"So I really need to know what you might know about it." She forces a smile, and it looks exactly as forced as it is. She doesn't intend it to look this way, but it's more like a predator baring teeth than anything else. "Please."
Molly Toombs
[Humanity: Do you have a sense of it today?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 5, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 3 )
Nathan Marszalek
When the fight abates and Laurel reels it in he keeps his head down. It isn't making the world go away but it's helping him pull himself together. There was a reason he started ranting about suicide statistics and a dead man to Molly earlier. Hard to pin it down on just one reason. Maybe she thinks his own mortality is staring him in the face now. He hasn't seen much of his father in the thirteen years since the divorce. Maybe he visited a couple of times while Nate was in the hospital last.
Nate doesn't tell her that he was looking really tired the other night. That he's worried about his father because of everything that's happening in his own life. That he told him he still hears dead people. That he's starting to wonder if his father's renewed attempts at getting him back into his life aren't because of some lurking menace that has nothing to do with mind control and blood-thirst.
Or maybe Nate is reaching the same kind of depressed and hopeless as the men and women he's been reading about lately. As some of the men and women he's interviewed in the last three years, four years. Maybe that's what his father was worried about. That his son's going to become a statistic.
Anyway:
He sits back up once Laurel starts to explain what happened. His cheeks are flushed from the blood rushing to his head and his eyes aren't glassy yet. He's not that drunk. But he looks distracted and uncertain. Thoughtful. Obviously feels bad for Laurel. Nate has an easier time empathizing with people than Molly does.
"Shit," he says somewhere in the midst of her explanation. "You wanna sit down?"
Molly Toombs
Laurel could at least be assured of this: Molly was listening to her. Despite the fact that the blue eyes locked onto her may as well be chips of ice for how little give or warmth could be found there, she could be sure that Molly was hearing what she was saying, not just waiting for her to stop talking.
When the whole spiel about what happened to her was concluded with a forced smile and a sharp-edged please, Molly's eyes narrowed.
For a couple of seconds, she stared hard at Laurel like this. Considering. The blonde woman may look like a predator, but Molly looked like the person with control. She had the thing that the predator wanted, and it couldn't simply be taken. It had to be given. This was no doubt what had the hunter's teeth on slicing edge, and it was precisely why Molly was still able to breathe level and act like she could set the terms.
Because, really, she kind of could.
Nate invited Laurel to sit. Before she had the chance to accept, the red-haired woman leaned forward, toward where Laurel stood, and gestured lightly with one hand while she spoke.
"I'll tell you what, Someone He Knows: I'll make you a deal.
"I get what it's like. Where you're coming from." To an extent she did, anyways. She knew the wide-eyed panic of witnessing something that you knew knew knew shouldn't couldn't be real but walking on and continuing your life after knowing what you saw anyways. She hasn't had her mind hacked into, though. Not as far as she was aware. "But I'm going to tell you this right now: I don't help people that are disrespectful of me. So far you've given me absolutely no reason other than my own personal sense of humanity to help you out. I'm not even entirely convinced that I want to help you yet either.
"So let's start with you cooling your jets and starting over with a fucking name." She didn't smile sweetly to end it, but she did look a little more open, even if it was kind of aloof a way to be as such. She stuck out the hand she'd been gesturing with previously for a shake. "I'm Molly."
Laurel Hensley
[[Aw, Laurel, you're being such an Amber right now. Self-Control to behave! Setting diff low-ish because Molly's meeting her impatience somewhere in the vicinity of halfway and Laurel doesn't have Short Fuse.]]
Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (5, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )
Laurel Hensley
Normally, there would be options for Laurel. She is not averse to beating information out of people; she does it for her work. But that's when she's trying to find people who have skipped bail and broken the law. There is something in the way that Molly phrases her words--confrontational yet open--that makes Laurel's hands clench. It's habit; she expects people are shitty as a rule and when individuals try to play games, they're usually doing it (in her mind) because they don't plan to give her what she needs or are just playing mind games. She's had enough of mind games this weekend.
But she's in control. She lets in a slow breath, forcibly relaxes her hands. They lift off the table and run over her face and scalp to compose herself, and she nods.
"Yeah, I know you. We met once, with f...with Kragen." Yes, control your words. "Some creep in a suit came up and sort of spooked you off, and I got in his face after over it." It was her first experience with the undead--a Sabbat, no less--and she didn't even realize how lucky she'd come. "And then you were with Nate at that nightmare of a karaoke bar that Amber and I walked into, before I fled a rabid flock of sorority gashes."
She pinches her nose, and sighs, then looks at her. "I'm Laurel." And she does move to take the seat that Nathan had offered. Her drink is picked up and another swallow taken. See, she can behave.
Nathan Marszalek
When Laurel mentions the night of the karaoke sorority nonsense Nate starts to think about Carole. Molly can see the moment it happens. That was the night they stopped pretending they weren't interested in each other. Then he had to turn around and fuck that relationship up a month into it. Which was admittedly a month longer than he has managed any other relationship since the one whose termination brought him to Denver. But still.
He doesn't look gutted. Just: Oh yeah. That was that night. Wow I'm drunk. I don't want to get any drunker. Focus on what they're saying man come on. Yeah. If you don't talk and just watch their faces you'll be totally golden.
I miss Carole.
No. Fuck. Focus.
"Wait," he says. This to Molly. He has words to say! At a respectable decibel level. "Are you okay? Like... you're not hurt, or..."
He's hung up on someone forcing Laurel to do something she would never in a million years do. That is something he's having trouble processing. Not the mind control aspect. The that aspect.
Nathan Marszalek
[CLARIFICATION the "Wait" is to Molly and the actual question is to Laurel.]
Molly Toombs
Laurel takes a seat, and expresses that she knows Molly from a brief chance encounter with Kragen and some other creep in a suit. The way that Molly's pupils constricted and then went back to normal suggested that she was finally placing where she knew Laurel's face from, and the rest of the scene as well. She'd been bantering with Kragen on a street corner and Laurel had perceived them as talking about things not meant for the public ear.
Then Bertram Kohl had sauntered up to join the party. Molly had very much disliked his eyes on her-- this was recent to when he'd found her behind an art gallery and smoothed his business card into her hand. When he'd expressed that she was interesting and she had already known how much trouble that meant coming from the lips of the breathless.
Laurel was right. Molly had fled that scene. If she was impressed to find out that Laurel had gotten into Bertram's face and survived to tell the tale, it didn't show, though. Instead she picked up her pint glass and nodded, accepting of what Laurel had said, including her nap, and took a drink.
Before she had a chance to continue with saying anything else Nate cut in with a 'wait' to quiet her. She didn't argue, didn't appear to really want to argue either. In fact, she seemed all too happy to go quiet and let Nate and Laurel clarify what happened for her.
Laurel Hensley
She's tired, Laurel is. She hasn't gotten any sleep since Friday night, because how can you sleep when you have something like that eating its way around your grey matter and walking in circles trying to figure out how it's possible and suspecting that you might suddenly start doing something else and maybe you're just losing your mind and what if there was something in her drink and was she roofied and what else might have happened if she doesn't remember it because if who knows if she lost time she never pays attention to time because she keeps her own schedule and doesn't have anywhere to be and she has no friends to meet and what's going on what the fuck...
Yeah, that's what's been going on in Laurel's head right now. So she's tired, but Laurel isn't someone who drags around. She'll coffee up and energy drink up, and let's not forget adrenaline. So she's edgy and jumpy, but not passing out in front of them. She sits back, staring at the door--she picked a spot so she could see it--and sort of loses focus before Nate's question brings her back into reality.
"What?" She blinks at the reporter then, looking confused by the question for a second. "Oh, no." She scowls, reddens a little. "It wasn't anything like that." Pause. "I don't think. I dunno, maybe. No. It was just something stupid and trivial."
Which makes it even weirder, and a little embarassing. She would have rather been told to do something that got her hurt. "I'm fine that way, at least."
Molly Toombs
"If you ask me."
Molly cut in here, but her tone wasn't nearly so sharp or chill as it had been before. Really, it wasn't all that sharp before either. Firm, absolutely. She'd sounded cold and unmoving like an iceberg a skyscraper deep beneath the water's surface, but not sharp. Now she simply sounded... Well, professional was probably the best way of putting it. She was far more polite, at least, and seemed to at least be trying toward empathy if nothing more.
She was at least relaxed enough to help herself to another nacho. It was unclear if the invitation was opened to Laurel or not. It would probably be up to Drunk Nate to open that door.
"And you kind of did, to be fair..." She raised her eyebrows expressively at Laurel, as though begging for agreement, and munched the chip she'd selected before continuing.
"I'd have to know more about this person, what they asked you to do, and then what you did to have any idea of what to tell you. Are you sure you wanna talk about this here and now?" Her eyes hopped over to Nate. Oh Nate, you got drunk at noon. This is Lunch, not Brunch. She looked back to Laurel, silently encouraging the other woman to consider their mutual friend before starting inquiries into such uncomfortable matters.
Nathan Marszalek
He's resting his head in his right hand so that he can give Laurel his full attention which is already somewhat diminished because of the beers and the shot or maybe it was shots Molly did leave him unattended for five minutes to go to the bathroom.
His scar is still very pink and very loud in the daylight. It's a warm day. He's wearing a polo shirt. The scars on his arms don't look much better. Has to seem like every time Laurel sees him he's somehow more of a mess than he was the last time she saw him. Drunk Nate shares Sober Nate's empathy and his active listening but Drunk Nate also looks as if he'd be very easy to knock over right now.
Does she wanna talk about this here and now.
Nate does a slow double take.
"What?" he asks. Sits up straight. "What, are you not supposed to talk about weird shit when you're at lunch? Did I lose the game? Fuck."
He thinks he's being funny even now. Nate takes another swallow of his beer and sits back.
Laurel Hensley
She furrows her brow deeply when Molly presses for more information, and the hand around her drink tightens. She's not sure she wants to talk about it at all, much less talk about it in public. It's something that she's incredibly uneasy about...the act, how she was made to do it, all of it wound up into one single ball of "WTF?" She shoots Nate a look, but it's not a I'm going to hurt you or even Shut up look. It's more an examination of him as he talks, and then a decision that yes, he was trying to be funny.
She doesn't laugh or smirk, but she gets the joke.
"Yeah, fuck it," she says with a shrug. "What do I give a fuck? Here's fine." She's quiet for a moment as she replays the incident in her head. "There was this Eurotrash guy at a strip club down on Colfax who was making this girl I was talking to there uncomfortable by looking our way. Not a dancer," she says, as if it even matters. "He was off in general...wasn't looking at the girls. More like he was waiting for something or someone. So I went over and confronted him over it. One thing led to another, the girl I was talking to left and this other chick across the room was giving Eurotrash a look like a damned deer in headlights. I pointed it out and..."
She frowns again, pauses there. She's super hesitant on this one. What did he have her do? Attack the girl, do a striptease, what?
If finally comes out in a hurried mutter. "He told me to hug her, and I did. For like, a full minute. I couldn't stop."
Nathan Marszalek
[do not laugh nathan i swear to god]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )
Molly Toombs
Nate gets cut a glance. It reads: You snide ass, you're drunk.
She then looks to Laurel and frowns thoughtfully. She had acquiesced to this impromptu consult on things supernatural. Some part of her brain screamed at her to shut it down shut it down. These were the kinds of things that waved brilliantly colored flags over her head in the night to call attention. Shit like this was the reason that the shabby Archie Lightner had huffed and puffed and chased her down up a few street blocks to try and invite her into his cult of studying the supernatural, or some weird shit like that. She really should burn the business card he gave her, but she was simultaneously terrified and thrilled beyond belief by the very notion.
But more on that later.
For now, she listened to what Laurel had to say and when she was finished talking the trauma nurse looked flatly surprised. She didn't know what she was expecting exactly-- perhaps having been told to walk ten blocks away and go get deliberately lost? Perhaps to stand very still and forget everything that happened then wake up tired and lethargic and just sick and cold and achy? Certainly not that she would be forced to hug anyone. For a second something flashed in her eyes-- a reactionary desire to laugh at the idea. But it was squashed down politely, before it even had the chance to reach her mouth, and she cleared her throat, finished her pint, and asked:
"Describe Eurotrash to me?"
Nathan Marszalek
Nate doesn't laugh. Doesn't look like he wants to laugh even. Admittedly he looks a bit horrified at the thought of Laurel hugging anyone and then his brain imagines her being forced to hug someone that she didn't want to hug and if anyone has ever looked at Laurel with that much sympathy and understanding in their eyes she might have trouble thinking of it. The drunk fuck has big stupid doe eyes even when he's sober and minding his own business.
"I'm so sorry," he says when the reflexive urge to laugh passes.
And then Molly asks her to describe Eurotrash.
Elsewhere, Ren Jacobs gets a cold chill on a warm day and has no idea why.
Verna Gardner
So it's in the middle of the day when Verna arrives at the pub, and she's not there to watch the game. She looks like polished Hell. Like she didn't get much sleep last night, and has put in a lot of effort to hide that fact, but it still shows through the immaculate makeup and perfect clothes.
She's making enough money to drown her sorrows in steak and beer and whatever harder fare this place offers. She looks like the type to unflinchingly order something frou-frou and girly. Something with chocolate liquour perhaps. And you'd be nailing that first impression.
The waitress comes by and she holds up a finger to say 'yes, just the one'. Jesse, by the nametag, says to take a seat anywhere, and Verna smiles and slips off to a table by the bar. The bar patrons are talking about 'Eurotrash' and Verna sniffs. Eurotrash.
Perhaps it's the word that draws her attention to the three, draws her attention to Laurel, in other words. And the look on her face is such a mix of pity and disgust when she realizes who's here.
Laurel Hensley
[[Dooo I seee yoooou? +1 diff again 'cause some booze and discomfort]]
Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 8) ( success x 1 )
Laurel Hensley
Molly's in luck when she asks for a description; Laurel's been on the other side of this questioning many a time. She knows what kinds of details are important (just about everything) and which ones aren't (conclusions drawn by personal, likely stilted observations). So when she talks, it's surprisingly lacking in her usual attitude, profanity or snark.
"About six feet, six one maybe. Blond hair, blue eyes. Cleaned up well; trimmed facial hair, short combed hair. He was wearing a three-piece with nice shoes. Couldn't place the accent, it's not one of my fortes. Very blase about things. His sentence structure was slightly broken, the way that a non-native English speaker who's been here a while but hasn't shaken off their old sentence structure has been."
She looks over at Nate when he gives his sympathies, and he looks legit. She snorts a little; not at him, specificially, just in reaction. And then she looks down at her drink and shrugs.
"It could've been worse, I guess. Still, that was some fucked up shit."
She almost misses the girl, she does. It's oh so close. But it's like she can sense someone feeling bad for her, feel those eyes of judgment on her. She looks around and sees Verna then, and her eyes narrow.
"Her," she says under her breath. "That's the girl I...that the shitfuck made me hug."
Molly Toombs
[Manipulation 2 + Subterfuge 2: Don't Let Them Know You Totally Know That Eurotrash Guy]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )
Nathan Marszalek
[perc + subt: NOTICING THINGS DON'T LIE BEST FRIEND -2 dice because he's crocked]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 6, 6) ( success x 2 )
Laurel Hensley
[[Per+Subt w/+1 diff again]]
Dice: 5 d10 TN7 (5, 7, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Molly Toombs
As is the case when any information is being offered up, Molly is still and attentive and listens well. She sipped her beer and kept her eyes on Laurel while she was talking at first, but then they slipped to the wayside, unfocused, while picturing the person that Laurel was describing.
Then, there, Nate catches it and Laurel does too. There's a flexing of her eyebrows, a small widening of her eyes. They know that what she's experiencing is recognition. Nate couldn't gauge how (Laurel would gain more insight), but he knew that she knew this Eurotrash man. The one that cast some kind of spell over his bounty hunter friend and forced her to hug--
--oh? That woman over there?
Molly blinked, her expression purely interested, masking over any sort of reaction she may have had to the description of Istv n Andr ssy, and switched her focus to the well-dressed, well-dressed woman sitting at a table not too far off, by herself. This woman, who was staring blatantly at Laurel.
Nathan Marszalek
That description could have fit plenty of people. Aspen is a world-renowned ski resort and it's close to Denver. This European gentleman could have come from anywhere. But the description Laurel gives rings a bell in Molly. They both see it. Nate doesn't know what to do with it any more than Molly knew what to do with his trying to pocket her business cards last week.
But he doesn't say anything. Doesn't even blurt out a question. Just turns to try and find the girl Laurel hugged in the crowd. If Verna's paying attention she can see a young-faced guy who has to get carded every time he goes to buy cigarettes even though that face scar is going to make him look grizzled when he gets older and starts going gray.
When he first met Molly she said he looked the part of a rumpled noir detective. Then he told her he was a reporter. Took some pride in the noir part of the description. That was before she knew he was psychic and had been bitten by a vampire. Before he wound up in her fucking emergency department twice because of accidents happening to him.
"Oh shit," he whispers.
Verna Gardner
Suddenly, it seems, everyone's looking at her, and Verna averts her eyes. Drug addicts, all of them, probably. They do tend to flock together, don't they? Or whatever it is that addicts do. One of them looks smashed already, and it's only noon.
Poor wretches.
She turns her attentions to the menu, trying to ignore the eyes upon her. Doesn't like being the center of attention this one. But she is listening, oh yes. Listening to the quiet, as they all talk together in hushed whispers. They're talking about her, she knows it, even if she can't hear what's being said.
The waitress comes by and asks what she'd like to drink, and she ponders for a moment before ordering a pumpkin pie martini. Because in a place like this, the sports bar, that's what Verna would order.
Laurel Hensley
She notes it. Oh yes, she certainly does. There's something in the knit of the brows, the twitch of her eyes, that Laurel sees. And she snatches upon it, clings to it like a starving wolf would to a wounded animal that's trying to get away. The bounty hunter's shoulders bunch, her neck tenses and then Verna is forgotten because Molly is getting all of Laurel's intense attention.
"Who is he? What the hell did he do to me? How..." She cuts herself off there, her eyes shifting to Nate now when he breathes out a quiet curse. Just like that, they're back on Molly. This is what Laurel does; she finds the hidden things people don't want to talk about so she can find people and deliver them to justice. She does it with a cynical standpoint, but that's beside the point. Catching someone who she's set her sights on is like breathing and in this moment, she's jarred out of her tired paranoid frantic mode to settle into confidence and a rut in the road that she knows.
"Tell me." It's said a little louder than the rest, more demanding than pleading. Laurel doesn't plead for answers, but there is a need in there. It drops down to a quieter tone then, with, "You know."
Molly Toombs
Nate looks to Verna, Laurel looks to Molly. Verna looks to her menu, her waitress.
Then Laurel, not wasting a second, was upon Molly. Not physically, no, but turned toward her, facing her, staring her down intensely. Drilling her for information. Who is he? You know. Tell me. Tell me.
Molly looked like a deer in the headlights, just for a second, and snuck a frantic glance to Nate as though she expected that he was supposed to help her. Then she decided for whatever reason (because she did this to herself it wasn't Nate's fight, because Nate was shat faced and couldn't be a protector anyways) she dropped her eyes from him, cleared her throat, and stepped down from the tall pub-style table they'd been sitting at.
She wasn't keeping a purse today, but a money clip and her phone in her hoodie pockets instead. She pulled a twenty from the clip and tucked it under her pint glass.
"I actually think I need to be going." She knew Laurel wouldn't like that, so she cut immediately to the chase and looked the woman in the eyes. Not averting, not dodging or trying to sly away. She looked sympathetic, almost, just around the edges there while she said: "Look, you gotta understand that other people have their own ground they need to keep. I still need to stand on my patch, you get it? I'll do what I can, but I can't just keep talking here, okay?"
Her tone is hushed, and rushed. She was trying not to make a scene.
Nathan Marszalek
If he had to.
Not that he does have to. This is a fight he doesn't know how to win. Even when he's not drunk at noon on a Sunday Nate is not a social wizard. He learned how to argue from having a judge for a mother and he learned how to hold his ground from staying in the military until he was too banged-up to keep going and most of the rest of what he's learned he's had to learn from trial and error.
But if he had to he could step in. Molly doesn't need him though. Molly's been fighting her own fights this entire time and she's learned to keep herself protected by using information and her feminine wiles as currency.
This may be the last time any of them see Nathan Marszalek alive. He kind of has that look about him. That not-looking-forward-to-this look people get when they're up against something they can't actually conquer.
He doesn't finish his third beer. He wants to sober up. He wants to be present and alive for however much longer he's got. That's the kind of aura coming out of Nate. Not irresponsible drunken white male idiocy.
Hard to tell the difference half the time though. And now Molly's getting ready to leave. Apparently he intends to go with her.
Verna Gardner
Verna's waitress arrives with the froufy drink, and distracts her from the ongoing hushed conversation going on at the bar. It's just as well, really.
She then goes on to order some expensive steak for lunch, because this is supposed to be a treat for herself, see? And tomorrow, there's work to look forward to. Or look toward in fear that her employer is going to grill her about what she was doing at the Rapture. He wouldn't do that would he?
Perhaps she could slip a note into his inbox. Something like, 'It never happened.' And leave it at that.
After the waitress has left, after she glances over at the others -- a mere flicker of the eyes, suspicious -- she sips at that pumpin pie martini.
Laurel Hensley
Molly's getting up and making like she's going to leave, and Laurel's not surprised. She's back in her element after all, and no one ever wants to give her the information she needs. She's rising up to stand and just like that, Laurel's stance toward the woman shifts. In her own worldview, everyone is the problem; it's an impossibly rare few that actually do the right thing. And when you're not doing the right thing, you're part of the problem and completely undeserving of sympathy in her eyes.
"Yeah, I'll bet you do." It's her response to I think I need to be going and said with a gruff tone, practically a growl. Full of disdain. "Well listen, it's like this. We can talk elsewhere some time--and very soon--and you can give me actual answers instead of yanking all of my information out of me, going 'Hmm' and 'Haw' and then skittering away. Or I can find your blond little friend or whatever the fuck and beat the information out of him. Don't think--"
And then Nathan's looking like he's going and she stares at him, hard. She might even be a little sympathetic to his plight in another situation, but everything in her stance suggests she thinks she's been made the butt of some kind of joke. Get the girl to talk and then run away so you can laugh at her where she's not in striking distance. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?"
She shakes her head and stands up. "Fine. I know someone I can get answers from." Which is when she starts striding over to Verna's table with intent.
Nathan Marszalek
Nate reaches out to try and grab Laurel's wrist. Nope. You're not going over there.
Molly Toombs
Molly stared at Laurel as she explained that either she would get the answers from Molly or she would beat them out of Istv n. She'd blinked at her, then laughed. The sound was hollow and disbelieving, far from humored. A little bit sad. What she thought was you poor headstrong thing, you have no idea what you're getting into and you're too brash for me to attach myself to, you're going to burn in their fire and I won't have stopped you.
What she said was: "Yeah. You find me and let me know how beating him up like a schoolyard bully works out for you."
Nate was standing like he was going to leave too. This had earned him a grateful look from Molly. But then Laurel, a little drunk, started off toward Verna, intent on wringing information out of her if Molly wouldn't speak up herself. Nathan, very drunk, reached out to grab the blond hunter woman's wrist and stop her.
Molly stepped back and flagged down the security man by the door.
Molly Toombs
[[ Or bartender, if that's the case. I've clearly never been to an afternoon bar. ]]
Verna Gardner
Verna's been covertly paying attention to the trio, although all three of them probably know very well that she has. Verna's not very good at this, you see. Still, it's not difficult to come to the conclusion that they are about to start a fight, right here in public.
See, this is what happens when you do drugs, people. This is what happens when you let yourself go so far as to be sloppy drunk at noon.
Verna looks up at the three, not even hiding anymore, and her brow raises at the sight of Laurel trying to reach her, Nate trying to stop Laurel, and Molly flagging down security. Uh oh.
That woman is trying to hug her again.
Laurel Hensley
[[Self-Control at...let's say 7? That sounds good.]]
Dice: 3 d10 TN7 (1, 7, 7) ( success x 2 )
Laurel Hensley
There's a snort when Molly spouts off her sarcasm, and she's still rising, stepping forward--
And then there's a hand on her arm. With his fingers encircling her wrist, Nathan can certainly feel the sudden rise in her tension, the muscle flex under her skin. He knows that something's coming, and maybe he even anticipates an attack. Molly's a very smart woman (for many reasons than just this) and she starts to wave employees' attention to the situation. She probably expects a fight; she has no reason to think otherwise. Verna just thinks she's about to get hugged again.
They're all wrong, against the odds. She whirls to go nose to nose with Nate, staring at him with a barely-restrained fury. There is someone underneath there, fighting for control from the angry, hurt whirlwind that wants to know answers. She knows this is Nathan and while she hasn't ever seemed that close to him, he's never actively done anything against her. And Amber likes him and she certainly doesn't want to do anything to make that awkward. So she just stares for a couple of moments before saying, though forced calm,
"Let go of me, Nate. I'm serious." And then, after a pause. "Please."
The bartender is making his way over by now, almost surely.
Nathan Marszalek
He's sobering up or at least his inebriation hasn't hit a level where he's absorbing alcohol faster than his liver can churn through it but Nathan is still drunk enough that he's making decisions with a five-year-old's grasp of consequences and his coordination is completely shot. There is no way in hell he would not get his ass beat in a fight if one broke out right now.
This is the closest she's ever been to him physically. They've sat on barstools together and she has seen how dweeby and weak he looks fully clothed. No finesse in his technique but Nate has cloaked strength to him that she only feels when his hand is locked around her wrist.
He's drunk but he's not an asshole. Laurel doesn't have to plead with him to get him to let go of her. He nods and releases her and gives a pointed look over her shoulder at the girl who thought a repeat of the other night was about to happen.
One of the side effects of being friends with Shannon as long as he was is Nathan knows a lot of the bartenders in this section of town. This particular bartender knows who he is. Maybe feels bad for him because Shannon's only been dead what five months now? But the Sunday crowd is a mellow sort of crowd. He isn't coming out from behind the bar unless it looks like Nate is actually going to start trouble. He's not getting paid to break up fights.
"You two wanna play grab-ass, take it outside!" the bartender calls from his post.
"Sorry!" Nate calls back. He looks back from Verna to Laurel's face. That look of contrition still written all over his face. "Don't go over there. She prob'bly doesn't know any more than you do."
Molly Toombs
Nathan was a nice man. He just wanted to stop confrontation and fights from happening. He knew this bartender, kind of, and didn't want there to be trouble in the establishment. Molly had waved at the bartender anxiously, who had in return simply squinted at the situation between Nate and Laurel and the nicely dressed woman who was minding her own business and paying money for a steak so leave her alone damnit. He simply called over to them to stop, and Nate was kind enough to let go of Laurel when she got in his face and to apologize to the bartender on top of that.
Molly, in the meantime, stood quietly with her lips pressed together in an expression of worry. She had moved to stand beside Nate, but angled more toward the exit. Waiting for when they'd be able to leave.
Hoping she could just skim under the radar long enough to get the hell out, but unwilling to just leave Nate here fending for himself as many sheets to the wind as he was, Molly touched his elbow.
"We should get going anyways, Nate. Come on."
Verna Gardner
Verna takes that martini and downs it. Oh but she needs to do more than sip right now, ugh. She looks around for her waitress, tries to wave her over. Lunch is not happening today, apparently.
When the waitress arrives, she explains, delicately, but still within earshot, that there are hooligans over at the bar making a scene over her, and she has to leave. So please do cancel the lunch order, and she is so sorry.
The bartender yells that if they want to play grab-ass, they should take it outside, and Verna blushes. Is that was this hugging thing is all about? Playing grab-ass?
Then, she's fishing around in her purse to grab her wallet, leave money for the drink, and get the heck out.
Laurel Hensley
Nathan lets go, and the bartender doesn't come over. Laurel takes an immediate half-step back once her wrist is free, putting a bit of distance between them. Whether it's for his assurance that he's okay or his sake so that she doesn't lash out, that's probably hard to say. She hears what he has to say and she glares at him, because he's standing in the way of something she needs. But she nods, slowly.
"Fine. I'll find out some other way." She looks at Molly now, her wits somewhat restored...even if the fire still rages behind her eyes.
"A schoolyard bully beats on the weak and the innocent, by the way. That shitheel certainly isn't innocent, and doesn't seem weak. He'll do something worse to someone else. If you can sleep at night with that, then..."
She shakes her head and drops a ten on the table for the drink (plus whatever's left for a tip) and moves to go now, to get out ahead of them. Mostly because she's worried that if she follows them than someone will think she's going to attack them. Which, she's not. And she's not staying here.
"Watch out for that guy you knew at the titty bar," she says as she brushes by Verna, who's going for her own purse. "There's something ain't right about him."
Nathan Marszalek
And Molly is going to have to physically lead him out of here. He's staring at Laurel like he ought to say something and can't think of what that something ought to be. Like he wants to warn her to turn the fuck back now before she gets in any further over her head.
She passes by Verna's table on her way to the sidewalk. The bartender turns away from them to finish wiping down the bar and dealing with his other customers.
Nate just lets out a breath that sounds like a plea with a god he's known was a lie since he was old enough to ask his first question and scrubs his face with his hand.
Molly Toombs
With a word of warning and clarification, Laurel expressed that this person that she could tell Molly knew, though Molly would say nothing and would stand wide eyed and apologetic but still refusing to spill the secrets of, was no innocent victim. She was worried he would hurt someone.
Molly thought bitterly that she could confirm that. It was in Their nature.
Then Laurel walked away and Nate relaxed, sighed a breath that may or may not carry words. Molly frowned, and the expression was lost someplace between sympathetic and worried. She knew Nate had seen through her too. That they'd need to have that conversation.
But her mind was already ahead on other conversations she'd be having in the future.
For now, she patted Nate's elbow and cleared her throat. "We should still go..."
Verna Gardner
She's fishing around in her purse when Laurel comes by -- not to hug her, thank goodness. But the words she says only wrest the most confused look out of Verna. "Excuse me?"
Because, look, lady, you are the one who screams that there is something not right about you.
And well, that look of utter confusion is mixed with something else. She's still blushing about being caught at the 'titty bar' of all places. Oh, those others at the bar, they must know too. That must have been what they were all talking about just now. The horror!
Nathan Marszalek
Nate opens his mouth to try and come up with some sort of a plausible reason why they shouldn't still go. Why he should do something. But there's nothing he can do. He couldn't keep Molly from careening headlong into something she had no business getting involved in. He can't even talk himself out of it.
"Okay," he says. Their drinks are already paid for and she just left a huge fucking tip on the table. No reason to stay anymore. So he turns towards the door and takes her hand like he's afraid of losing her in broad goddamn daylight. "I... am so sorry. Ma always said she couldn't take me nowhere nice."
Laurel Hensley
"You heard me," is all she says to Verna before the door shuts behind her, and then she's walking down the street with those sunglasses coming back on. She needs to beat something up, and she's out of jobs right now so she knows a bag that will suffice.
[[Aaaand I'm out. Thanks for the scene!]]
Molly Toombs
There was a brief exchange between Verna and Laurel while the blonde-haired woman was making her way out, but Molly wasn't going to be caught up in any of that. She was on her way out, away from this. She noted Verna's face, noted that there was something that tied her to that vampire she'd spied in the parking lot, the one that Dr. Jacobs was associated with. She noted, but didn't say anything or even so much as look toward the woman apologetically. Molly wasn't responsible for anything that Laurel did, after all.
Nate apologized and put his hand in Molly's as they navigated through tables. Molly just sighed and squeezed his hand, as to reassure, and didn't shake him loose after that. She wasn't going to make it weird.
"Don't worry about it, alright? You just got a little... excited, is all. We can totally still talk about Rodriguez and all, but let's just take it back to my place. Too many people around here anyways."
Her apartments were just six blocks away. It would be an easy enough walk, Nate wasn't that drunk after all.
Nathan Marszalek
[AND SCENE THANK YOU YOU WEIRDOS]
Molly Toombs
[THANK YOU THANK YOU]
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