Good Friend to Have - 8.28.2013 [Flood]

Molly Toombs

While her coworkers may groan about the odd hours one will work as a nurse, Molly actually rather enjoyed it.  She liked having weekdays off, like this one, because it meant she had time to run every errand she could imagine and all while most of the average citizens of the city were at work.  That meant a short line at the grocery store, a quick and easy trip to the bank, and an easy enough commute to go buy herself some new scrubs for work since she had at least three pairs that really should be disposed of by now.

Sure, she had to sacrifice her Friday and Saturday nights to the swing shifts at the hospital emergency room, but who cares?  It's not like she had parties to attend, or crowds of friends and family that would have events that demanded her presence.  The good thing about keeping only a couple select friends from college around was that she didn't need to block out her weekends for weddings all summer long.  So she was free to work those nights that others in her age group would groan to be cooped up inside for, and similarly free to enjoy a day off that most people wouldn't.

Her day bled into night, and Molly didn't correct her schedule much on the days that she didn't work, so she was still out even after the sun had gone down-- although she should really know better by now.
She walked along the same stretch of sidewalk where she had encountered and discovered an undead man last week.  She wore pair of jean shorts that were cut to have a higher waist (which helped with tummy control), a light pink tank-top tucked into them, and a gray cardigan over the whole thing that fell to the same length as the hem of her shorts.  Her hair was half-up, and she carried nothing with her but the same tote bag that she always did, the one she used instead of a regular purse.

Feet clad in clean white sneakers were easy with their steps, moving on auto pilot because she's walked this path to take her home almost every day since she moved into her apartment well over two years ago.  She looked like she was lost somewhere in her own thoughts, not nearly so jumpy or cautious as you might expect someone to be after learning that monsters were real.

Sure, they exist, she figured.  But she's made it this far without being eaten alive.


Flood

It would be untrue to say that Flood has been frequenting this street looking for Molly. But when he finds himself walking to and from Union Station or other destinations in its vicinity he does not go out of his way to avoid it. In fact it has become his thoroughfare of choice whilst traversing this little stretch of downtown Denver. And there he is. That same dead man donning a different suit with the heavy-handed helping of style and precise grace. His gait is that of a casual, but purposeful, stroll. One wingtipped shoe in front of the other in his long and assertive stride.

The kind of stride that might be called a strut, but it's only a strut if you don't have the gravitas to go with it, right? No, Flood is a dead man and a monster, but the worst kind. The kind that tempts. The kind that tells you your vices and hunger for power, your thirst for more and your bucking of the limits and societal norms, all those things and more are okay. It's not carousing. It's a bit more magnetic than that. He isn't the life of the party. He's...

Your pusher man.

And for the dark things that are not nearly as base as drugs. Nothing so common. Nothing so simple. Words he'd found himself saying recently. As he explored himself and another. That's probably why he looks so contemplative. He does not take in the surroundings on this darkened and dangerous (because he is there) street.

Though Molly breaks him from his inner revery the remnants of that introspection are still on his face when he spots and regards her. As his path intersects with hers and each step takes them closer to one another. Perhaps Molly's if she doesn't turn or try to cross the street.

"What a pleasant surprise. I hope not only for one of us," he answers.

The fabric of his suit is the kind of charcoal that looks black in this kind of dimness. It complements his complexion where some nights black just seemed too much of a contrast to his paper pale skin. He is wearing a fedora, a similarly gray one with a white band, tipped forward until his hand comes up to take it off when he finally meets her and speaks. The gesture is polite and out of another time.

Bygone.

But this is the now and Flood seems acutely aware of it as all his attention becomes focused on one of his newest acquaintances.


Molly Toombs

Many people who commute by foot and by public transit walk around with headphones covering their ears.  These were a useful tool to keep strangers from trying to chat you up on the bus or ask you for change or a cigarette on the corner.  Molly was not one of these people, and her ears were empty when she walked to and fro, especially at night.  She had a need to be aware to some extent of what was going on around her, especially lately.  She didn't want to be snuck up on, or have something as important as the sound of a gun clicking or a knife being snapped free from its stowaway handle go unnoticed.

Of course, she saw Flood before she would have missed hearing anything from him anyways.  This was virtually a repeat of the first time she saw him, except this time he was in a very dark suit and a fedora hat, and she was dressed in street clothes instead of scrubs.  She wasn't exhausted, the night was a bit younger (it was only like 10:00pm), and there wasn't a lot of ice left to break after their first encounter.

Molly noticed him, all right, and was watching him cautiously as his face shifted from pensive to attentive, and she stopped when his stride brought him directly to her.  She didn't think that he was going to just wave a greeting and be on his way, so she was already slowing down when he came near, prepared to greet him.

She didn't go pale to see him, didn't tremble with fright or apprehension.  That just wasn't Molly's way.  She was a very collected individual, for the most part, and tucked her hands into her shorts pockets and pushed the cardigan back out of the way for her to have room to do so.  She didn't return his smile, because she wouldn't call him her friend.  But her tone of voice was calm and casual when she answered him.

"Well, it's a surprise anyways," she said, and watched him remove his hat in a show of manners that died out some time ago.  It left her to wonder what era this man really was from.  She reflexively wanted to guess the 1920's, but that was probably just because she was looking at a suit and fedora.  "On your way someplace, I hope?"


Flood

"It's better than going no place," he responds. Because of course he was. Going someplace, that is, because with the few hours available in the night there's only so much that can be done and so much that needs doing.

He looks her over. The shorts. The tank-top a burst of color to it all. The way he takes her in it is like he's enjoying a burst of color in his own nightly wanderings.

"You have a very pleasing figure," explaining the wandering of his eyes over his form. "I've seen you in your work attire and your play attire. And I even saw you once in a dress, though I don't think you noticed me. But they all flatter you, so allow me to," like he wants to cut off any shooing of his attention should she not take the compliment. His hat rests just below his chest, still pinched between the fingers of his left hand, and he looks down at her one last time.

At the tote bag.
"Always be prepared."


Molly Toombs

His answer was something that had Molly thinking for a second, then nodding with an expression on her face that said touché.  His retort to the dry tone that she greeted him with was fair, clever enough, so she accepted it as a parry to her greeting and appeared willing to carry on with listening to whatever it was that Flood felt the need to say to her while he was on his way from point A to point B this evening.

Whatever leniency he might have earned himself with his wit went right out the window, though, when his green eyes combed over her figure so openly.  She was a curvy girl, full at the hip and bust alike with thick thighs that she did little to hide this evening and a soft stomach and waist that she was aware of without being ashamed of.  She dressed for her body type quite well, and Flood was making a point not just of noticing that, but of letting her know that he noticed it.

Her mouth pressed to a thin, displeased line, but she didn't make any moves to hide herself away from him.  He might have expected that she would take the cardigan she was wearing and wrap it closed to hide her torso from him at the very least, but she did no such thing.  She just stood with her hands in her pockets, the tote straps slung over the shoulder opposite from the side the bag itself rested against, which caused the straps to rest across her back and the center of her chest respectively.

"Oh," she said with a bite of sarcasm that worked to cover the fact that he was making her uncomfortable (they love to watch us squirm, after all).  "You know all the right things to say to a lady."

And then, with a small confused furrow of her eyebrows:  "Allow you to be prepared?  What are you getting at?  Prepared for what?"


Flood

There's a pleased smile that comes with her return. Her answer to his compliment and all the bark and bite that comes along with it. Again glad for her fire and weathering it easily enough.

Again it is polite.

If he has finally knocked her off kilter as that flurry of questions might indicate, commenting on her preparedness, his finger comes out to indicate the tote and right her. Make her understand what he meant. That same tote he'd picked a gun out of only nights before. The other hand still holding that hat so that he is otherwise still as a statue. Still as a corpse until he speaks and breaks the enchantment.
Actually, continues the magic that he embodies.

"I meant your six-shooter, Molly. I wasn't a boy scout. But it's good advice. Always be prepared," finally answering her questions, one and all and at lengthy.

"How has your week been thus far? Still only one bullet short or have you found reason to put it to use?" There is a dash of what might be genuine concern in his voice, but it is overshadowed by the simplicity of curiosity.

"I hope my revelation hasn't been weighing too much on your mind," that same revelation he had offered to obscure again. Something about ignorance and bliss, but that would probably be lost on both of them, and it's one of the reasons he is so pleased to see her.

She had chosen to know. And he seems interested in the development.


Molly Toombs

Oh, he was talking about the gun.  She glanced briefly down to the tote bag at her side, then shook her head.  "Oh," she said.  That's what he meant.  The tone to her small vocalization was one of understanding.  It's clear to him that she'd misunderstood who he was talking about when he spoke of being prepared, and she shifted her posture so one hand left her shorts pocket and held onto the tote bag at her side, thumb looped at the tote strap near its bottom.

He wanted to know if she had to fire it, and she shrugged one shoulder to go along with her verbal answer.  "I haven't shot it.  All the danger this month could handle spent itself last week, it seems."  Or so she told herself, at least, because she had met another vampire since she encountered Flood last, and here she was with him again tonight.  She didn't trust the tall, clean-limbed man in the suit and hat-- not one bit.  She didn't like his sharp interest in her, or how forward his nature was.  She wasn't sure what kept his interest, why he didn't just sweep past her tonight or the night before, and it bothered her not to know.

Maybe that was why she didn't just say goodnight and walk away.

"You hope, do you?"  She huffed a little and shifted her weight between her feet.  "I went to school to learn all the laws and fundamental functions of the human body.  That's what I studied, and kind of what I do.  I know how things are supposed to work, and you've upheaved all of that.  With you here, what else is out there?"  She asked, and gestured to the streets behind him, past his wide shoulders.

"You said that there's much worse to worry about, and left me with that.  Of course it's been weighing on my mind.  I have to reconsider everything that I thought was absolute truth now."  Oddly enough, accusatory though she may be right now, she didn't actually sound angry with him for any of what she was saying.


Flood

"I can tell you that it makes lions and tigers and bears look like stuffed animals, but you can probably guess at what goes bump in the night, and anything you can guess is probably true," nodding almost casually as he paints what he seems to think is an amusing picture of the night and all its horrors.

Its many terrors, the least of which, or at least he seems to think, is now standing before her. "I have my rules, though, my principles and I live by them. I would characterize myself as a disciplined individual. I'm sure that all of your education means that you are, as well, and your willingness to know and reconsider shows you have an open mind. Both are dangerous things, but like a gun, you just have to know how to use them."

He looks around as if realizing they are at the same point where they'd met that handful of nights ago. "We should have a more formal meeting. Would you allow that?" He seems to have some level of respect for her boundaries, just as he'd allowed her to find her way home alone and without his following.


Molly Toombs

Without her knowing his following, it should be rephrased.  There was no way of her knowing that he didn't follow the mortal woman without her noticing him, and she had nothing but distrust for this man so she wouldn't simply trust that he honored her insistence that he not know where she live.

Now, let's be fair to Flood here just for a second.  He hasn't actually done anything to betray Molly's trust yet.  He showed mercy to a woman caught in a traumatic week with a strong upper lip and an aesthetic representation of a past that he came from.  Instead of finishing out his game of cat and mouse with a feast he walked her part of the way home before respecting her request to go the rest of the way alone.  He had plenty of options available to him.  He could overpower her, he could sneak after her, or he could reach into her very mind and flip the switch that was her steely will and cool calm, and after that she just wouldn't tell him no.

He had done nothing to deserve Molly's cool and clearly untrusting (but not skiddish, it should be pointed out) regard.  This was something that he got by the grace of lacking a heartbeat, and equally to the way that he behaved.  He seemed up to something all the time, like he was laughing at her behind his eyes and in on some great joke that swept the spectrum of the world, and she would never be let in on it.

And yet, when he assured her that there were terrible, horrifying things out in the dark of night that surrounded them, she believed him wholeheartedly.  There was no doubt in her mind that he was telling her the truth when he spoke of such grim and scary things as though he were commenting on the weather.  He had no reason to lie to her there, nothing to lose to answering her honestly, so he went ahead and did as he was curious about what her reactions would be.

When he asked if she would allow him to have a more formal meeting with her, she raised a pencil-darkened eyebrow suspiciously and stood a little more straight.  Her hands moved so they could sink into her cardigan pockets, and she wrapped the sweater closed in front of her, tucking her hands under her elbows to do so.  The motion was clearly self-conscious, and the fact that she began to rock her weight back and forth from foot to foot only confirmed it.  Her voice was cautious, but hadn't changed much to reflect the anxiousness that showed in her body language.

"Maybe.  How do you mean?"


Flood

"I mean it would be better than going no place," he begins, though he does not shrug. Such a noncommittal gesture seems like it would be alien as a part of Flood's repertoire.

"Night after night after night can get boring. I'm sure you have questions and maybe I'll even answer a few of them, but I'm asking for more than that. A bit of company. A bite to eat - for you," and the way he interjects it's plain he'd planned out the phrasing in order to then assuage any anxiety it might bring on.

"And allow me to be completely honest: A woman in the medical profession can always be a good friend to have." Friends. Yes.

Of course that's all he wants.

"And I can be a very good friend to have, in return," hand going to his pocket. A business card produced and held out.

"On your terms. Completely. Give me a call and the location of your choosing. Think on it. I'll let you get on your way -" glancing in the direction she had been heading - "Home."


Molly Toombs

While the vampire expressed how night after night of the same thing could get very boring, she wondered if he was talking about his own life or drawing a conclusion about Molly's own.  If it was the latter, it was spot on.  Up until the night where men tried to harass her and one of those men wound up trying to rape her at gunpoint, her life had been very dull and run of the mill.  She complained to the few close friends she had about how bored she was with it, and was even in the works for planning a lengthy out of country vacation to determine if leaving this culture and finding a new one would sate this dissatisfaction or not.

It would be interesting, and he would let her ask her questions-- hell, he might even answer a couple.  He's clearly got her interested, because even as he's still speaking he'll notice the discomfort began to melt away from her.  She stopped rocking between her feet and instead stood still, and her arms eased from how they were wrapped up close to her torso.

When he held the card out for her, she took her right hand from her pocket and reached out to accept it without hesitation, thinking little of it.  She looked down, read what information the card had to offer, then brought her clear blue eyes back up to his green ones to listen to his terms.  The card was tucked into her back pocket, and she moved her hands to hold on to the strap of her tote bag where it rested across her chest.

"I will."  Think on it or do it?  She didn't clarify.  "Goodnight, then, Flood.  Uh.  Take care."
She took a few steps along her way, slow to start, still watching Flood over her shoulder as she went.  She'd go like this for a couple of seconds before looking back forward, fixing her pace to something that covered distance more effectively, and made her way back home to add another scrap of contact information from dead men to the pile on her dresser.