Molly Toombs
Times when Molly Toombs would dress up
nicely and go to the mall hoping she might encounter someone with a
charming face have long since passed. Like, about a decade ago long
since passed (which is nothing, not even a blink compared to things that
Molly now knew lurked and lived within this very city). Tonight, when
she's to be found at the 16th Street Mall, while many stores are getting
ready to close up, she's so dressed down that it looks like she's
wearing pajamas.
Truth of the matter is she's wearing scrubs.
Navy blue ones, with clean white sneakers. She had a simple gray hoodie
on with some clothing brand's name stitched into the front of it. Hair
was down after spending all day at work in a bun, kinking and curling
at angles it was bent into when wrapped up like that.
She stood
with no shopping bags, not to indicate that she had done anything but
walk through here. Simple matter was that she'd tucked her purchases
(small and easy to hide away as they were) into her tote-purse. Now she
stood at one of the bus stops, waiting. From the looks of it she was
impatient, perhaps considering just walking if this bus insisted on
continuing to be late.
Unlike many solo pedestrians, she did not
have earphones to feed music to her. Encounters past have taught her
it's good to hear what's behind you.
Archibald Lightner
"Ahh... Ms. Toombs, is it?"
Archie hasn't been following her for too long.
At least today he hasn't.
This
is that same gentleman who she had spotted and then recollected from
bookstores past during her first and most frantic search regarding
things that go bump (and bump into her) in the night. He's wearing that
same blue sportcoat with its brown suede elbow patches, and this time
it's a pair of khaki slacks that could only be Dockers, but one of those
stylish fits one gets when one wants to at least feel stylish. Same
coffee-and-toffee (worn) leather dress shoes. A white Oxford shirt and a
knit blue tie that's tied a bit too short like he'd been in a rush that
morning. Or too distracted to care.
Archibald isn't gawking at
her breasts. He's looking down at her identification tag when he finally
walks up to her. He looks just a bit out of breath, though that doesn't
keep him from explaining himself, which is something he very suddenly
seems to realize is necessary.
"Pardon me, miss. I saw you walking
down the street and recognized you. I think we," no, he's not smooth,
but at least he doesn't seem like a total creep. He considers how to
word it and it's obvious. "I think I've seen you before? In a
bookstore?"
One of the gentlemen also waiting for the bus, a man
in work jeans and a flannel shirt with a hard hat sitting on his lap,
almost rolls his eyes at what he can only assume is a come-on coming.
Two Latina women giggle to one another and whisper in quick Spanish.
It's evening entertainment, probably, for all but the nurse now involved
and thrust into the spotlight as the leading lady.
She can see
now that behind those glasses he has crisp and clear brown eyes. There
doesn't seem to be anything dangerous about them. Other than the fact he
seems very excited to have found her again.
"Could I trouble you
for a short conversation?" He really does seem... Harmless enough. But
that might only make it easier to say, No.
Molly Toombs
Molly
was startled to hear her name, but didn't jump or actually physically
start because of it. Her eyebrows hopped up with surprise, and she
turned to look at Archibald and blink at him as though she was pulled
out of deep thought by his summons.
At first she looked moderately
offended that he had skimmed information from her badge to use, then
she was bothered to remember that her badge was still hanging around her
neck, sitting right on top of her sweater. Hastily, she removed it and
tucked it into her tote bag. But she did, at least, appear to be
listening.
Not to the women tittering in a language that they
didn't know she could understand just fine (Spanish as a second language
helped for working in the emergency room), but to the man with the
round-framed glasses who was huffing as though he had to catch up with
her, but not for any other reason that she could determine.
You see, Molly Toombs wasn't just a nurse-- she was good at
it. Doctors would occasionally jest that she was gunning for their
jobs, or simply tell her that she wasn't getting paid nearly enough for
her ability, and that she really should continue through medical school
and make the big bucks. She just wasn't ready for that kind of
commitment, so she continued down her current path instead.
Anyways--
she was good at what she did, so she would be able to recognize signs
of instability (for the most part). She could at least see of he was
intoxicated, or if he was suffering with some sort of crazed
withdrawal. Also, she did recognize him. She remembered that he'd been tailing after her, specifically.
So, naturally, her response was to correct him.
"I
feel like it was actually in a couple of bookstores...." Her eyes
narrowed suspiciously, pointedly. If she wore glasses herself she'd
probably peer over the top rim of them to better portray her scrutiny. But, all the same, she glanced at the bus schedule posted behind a foggy
plastic shield to see when the next bus would come (just in case).
Whatever it told her, she pursed her lips together thoughtfully, then
(almost reluctantly, as though she felt in her bones this would bring no
good), nodded.
"Sure, alright."
Archibald Lightner
"I,"
looking about as he begins, and then he seems to notice that people
have noticed him and his sudden approach of this woman. "Yes, it was,
yes, a couple of bookstores. Certain book stores and certain sections of
certain bookstores that might indicate we have similar... Proclivities.
Inclinations of study."
Is he listening to himself? They
certainly are. "Kinky ass gringas," if she's looking for a translation,
at this time, that's what she gets. More laughing.
"Ahem..." Maybe he is? It sounds like he realized how that might sound, but no. He's just gearing up to get to the point.
"That
is to say: I am curious about your research," finally and with a sigh,
almost as if he is relieved. As if this should connect all of the dots.
"Would you consider comparing notes?" And with that he's hopeful.
"My
name!" Realizing at the last possible moment he hasn't introduced
himself yet. "I'm Archibald. Archibald Lightner. And I am very eager for
the opportunity to discuss our mutual areas of study." Well, now he's
just repeating himself.
Molly Toombs
The more that
Archibald talked, the more quietly exasperated Molly looked with him.
It took him longer to hear how what he was saying sounded than it did
anyone else in the vicinity. The other man there, dressed in his
flannel, probably looked disappointed and maybe a little sympathetic for
the poor kid. Maybe he just thought they were weirdos. The girls
gossiping in Spanish certainly did. Their comment earned them a sharp
glance from Molly before she looked back to the man with his odd-length
hair and already-worn but still presentable attire.
When he
finally concluded with his name, Molly looked relieved that he'd finally
finished. It's not that she necessarily cared what strangers though
about her, she just didn't really like that particular type of attention
on her. It was beginning to dawn upon her that the more it was called
out that she was becoming progressively more and more proficient in
things of the occult (in particular, of the dead and stages from here to
there), the more that things-- Things she should be worried about took
notice of her.
So, she took stuck a hand out to hastily shake
Archibald's (and if he failed to reciprocate the gesture he was rude and
the offense was overlooked). "And you already had the chance at mine.
Should we, like, find a bar table or something?"
Archibald Lightner
“Yes! A bar. That would be wonderful,” moving the hair from his face.
All
the flushing in his cheeks and the slight sprout at the interaction out
in public has left him a far different shade of exasperated and it's
only now his appearance, an afterthought, comes to the fore. He pulls
off his glasses and begins to clean them on the end of his tie, turning
and breaking away from the queue at the bus stop, looking about for
signs of table upon which alcohol might be served.
“Did you have
someplace in mind?” There's a moment he looks lost and then he begins
walking anyway, orienting himself with street corner signs when he again
dons his glasses and can read the writing on them.
“My, I must've chased you three blocks. I was on the bus when I saw you,” revelatory and unapologetic about it.
Molly Toombs
"Jesus Christ, kid, really?"
She called him 'kid', but he looked like he could be easily five, maybe more years older than her.
Molly
looked at him in honest surprise when he admits to having gotten off a
bus after seeing her on the sidewalk and running to catch her before she
vanished on her connection. He had turned to start walking, and she
had turned to go along with him, walking with the arm between herself
and him left loose (just in case she had to jab him in the eye and run
away or something), her tote bag held against the opposite hip with one
hand on the strap to secure it and stop swinging with the rhythm of her
steps.
He asked which bar would do, and she glanced around,
contemplated the area (which she was very familiar with, she's been
living in downtown Denver for quite some time now), then gestured
forward up the block. "Up a block and down one and a half-- there's a
decent spot there."
But, to continue with her astonishment at the
condition of their encounter -- or more, his hunt, apparently. "I mean,
what conversation is worth just chasing somebody from bus to sidewalk
for?"
Archibald Lightner
"Knowledge is always
worth chasing down. I... Well, I've been regretting not saying anything
for quite a long time, you must understand. I expected to see you again,
but... Well, you would be surprised how many weirdos I run into,"
without even a hint of self-awareness.
"I should've known by the
comprehensiveness of your search, though. The volumes you pulled, the
ones you chose to take with you," and he continues walking beside her.
"I didn't think it would take this long to see you again, but when I
did, I had to speak with you."
"You're after it, aren't you? The
truth? You know they're not just bedtime stories and wives' tales,"
glancing over at her as they turn the corner. It stands out. When he
says it, They're, it's not the stories he's talking about. It's
the characters. Entities. The dark antagonists that populate them. He
invokes them in the same way a conspiracy nut might.
A moment
later he seems to either feel self-conscious or like he's getting ahead
of himself. Maybe he just wants to wait for the bar table she'd promised
to speak to him at. Like he might spook her by saying more before then.
"In any case, I've got a bus pass. Unlimited rides," looking down the way they're headed.
"A block and a half you say?"
Molly Toombs
She
watched him suspiciously, but this was how she tended to react to a lot
of people who approached her out of the blue. Especially when she had
been of a mind to confront him one day some number of months ago when
she was going from bookstore to bookstore by bike to learn as much as
she could about vampires, specifically.
He asked if she was after
the truth-- about 'Them'. Her gaze sharpened, and she seemed to be
trying to take some kind of survey of him, as though she could
understand his motivation just by staring him down.
It didn't
work, of course, so instead she sufficed for ignoring all other
questions (pointedly, it's impossible to miss that she did it on
purpose), and nodding her head in the direction she'd indicated earlier.
"Block
and a half, yeah. There's a place that's closer on the way, but it's
overpriced and pretentious as hell. You'll see it."
Molly Toombs
[Perception 3 + Empathy 2: What are you after, Archie?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )
Archibald Lightner
Archie
has all the eagerness of those interview subjects from Through the
Wormhole or some other PBS documentary series. An expert who is eager to
speak about his pet subject. There's a healthy dash of paranoia to it,
like when he references the subjects of those tales they'd both read
about, but is that any different from what Molly is considering at this
very moment? Her caution? Her hesitance?
Not when danger is a near-certainty instead of a fantasy that adds a bit of fun to the horror stories.
Though,
speaking of danger, he does seem very academic. Green to the
applications. There's an enjoyment. He takes it seriously, but maybe be
cause he doesn't fully understand the results of prying further.
Or maybe he's just especially brave.
What
he's after, though? Nothing more than what he has said. To discuss what
he has come to discuss with a like-minded individual.
That must
be the place she's referencing. People outside who donned a different
sport jacket for their evening attire, already working on their buzzes,
smoking cigarettes and socializing loudly within the confines of a
steel-fence-enclosed outdoor area that meant, We can drink here and you
can watch us. The drinks do look expensive, all garnished with larger
cubes of ice and the beer in fine tulip-shaped glasses that look ever so
delicate. To bring out the effervescence.
Archibald nods as if he understands, but he probably
doesn't. Either way their journey continues that extra half a block and
they're finding their own seats inside a booth at a noisier and more
blue-collar establishment with hard pint glasses of cheaper bear and bar
food in hearty servings for reasonable prices.
But Archie?
He seems to be readying himself for another volley of like-pulling-teeth oratory. Unless Molly stops him.
Molly Toombs
She
would stop him, as a matter of fact. Just for a moment, at least.
Molly saw him readying himself for a speech, or a slew of questions
perhaps, and stopped him by remaining standing as he went to settle into
the booth and taking up a little plastic standing menu mentioning
special draughts. She said that she was going to get drinks before
settling in and left him there.
When she came back it was with two
pint glasses of something mid-range. She set one down in front of
Archibald, and said nothing of courtesy or cost, and instead took a
drink from her own as she scooted in toward the center of the bench-- a
careful task to do without sloshing beer down the front of her
still-zipped hoodie.
"So... Archie," she tried out the name,
feeling that 'Archibald' was just a bit too much. Seeing if he reacted
negatively to the shortening of his given name or not to gauge whether
she'd continue using it. "You've caught up. I haven't really been
trying to... reach out to anyone else-- never really thought to try or
knew how. What do you even say about stuff like this?"
Archibald Lightner
Archibald doesn't seem to notice
her shortening of his name. With a name like Archibald one might expect
that its holder would either develop an insistence regarding the
unabridged version or a desensitization to the nickname she uses.
Archibald – or Archie, as she calls him – seems to fall into the latter
category.
“That's just it: there's so much to say. Many questions
to ask and many corners to search. You seem to have taken an academic
interest, yes, and that's the first step. Sometimes, though...” And it's
not a pregnant pause. He doesn't use it for effect. Instead he uses it
to take a long mouthful of that beer she'd handed him as if it might
help work the next words free.
There's a look on his face that he knows there will be no turning back after he speaks next.
“Sometimes
it's the result of having witnessed things that beg explanation,” he
almost blurts out before finding his pace again. It might be the result
of a half-bulp that comes halfway through his continuation.
“Excuse
me,” embarrassed for a moment, covering his mouth, and then speaking
again. “Yes, a matter of encountering walking mysteries, puzzling
persons, and needing to solve the enigma they present,” looking at her
as if he expects to know which of the two she is. There is a tinge of...
Is it hope? Or does he already know?
Molly Toombs
Since
discovering that myths and superstitions and monsters are all quite
real, in their own varieties, Molly had learned that her best chance of
survival is figuring out how to navigate and adapt and respond
appropriately when presented with situations that fall into this
category of Out Of The Ordinary. She's pretty sure the only thing
that's kept her neck unscathed up to this point is the impression she
leaves on people-- if she can bullshit hard enough and come across as
interesting or competent, then hopefully she'll be left alone, at the
very least so that she can continue to be watched for piqued, ancient
curiosities.
In this situation in particular, confronted by a
stranger who seemed to be a harmless frazzled believer reaching out for
someone to believe with him (but she had no way to verify that he was
only just that alone), Molly opted for reserved. That was only natural,
considering how cautious and uncertain she was of the scenario as a
whole.
So, she watched him with a still and neutral expression on
her face and hawk-like eyes from across the table while he gulped beer
and excitedly expresses that he was interested, perhaps, because he's
experienced one of these 'walking mysteries' himself. Her eyebrows
flexed down, a light gingery red now that she wasn't penciling them any
longer, and she took a slow but deep drink from her own glass of beer
before setting it down on the coaster. Her hand remained around it.
"So
you're saying that you had a run-in with something? And now you've
been opened up to The Truth and are trying to network with other people
that might be able to help you figure out what you saw?"
Archibald Lightner
"There
was a time when my pursuits were purely academic in nature," Archie
first begins to clarify, holding up one hand as he places down his beer.
"Anthropology.
Studies of ancient people and their folklore. Oral traditions. It was
my specialty, not a simple hobby, and I enjoyed it greatly," he says
with some nostalgia leaking into his voice.
"The culmination of a
life's work came, though, when I saw past our history and saw a second
interwoven with it. When I realized our existence rests upon a
foundation few understood," he continues. "But those few? They helped me
to begin down a new path of inquiry."
"Community. Yes. It has
always been very important. The ability of bands of people to work for a
common good and build for the future," and then he looks across at her
for a moment. "And intellectual communities value truth, honesty, and
knowledge above all else," he says in an overly idealistic tone.
"You
are right. When I witnessed an old woman withstand a shotgun blast from
my one of my fixers while on a trek in Brazil, and then saw her sprout
fangs, tear out his throat, and drink his blood, I sought out answers in
the only way I knew how: the amassed knowledge of my intellectual
ancestors," a deep breath coming as he centers himself after this
revelation.
"I would posit that a nurse does not simply begin
scouring the literary hubs of Denver in search of knowledge about the
undead because she caught the film adaptation of a teenage romance novel
about vampires OnDemand late one night," finally breaking her gaze, if
she returns it, to take another gulp of his beer, again as if it is
necessary to maintain his courage and ability to say such things.
Molly Toombs
For
the most part, Molly played it cool. Her face was smooth and relaxed,
set at neutral and receptive while she observed him and listened. 'I'm
here to hear you out, so this is your shot. You have the floor,' is
what that expression said.
When he began to speak in detail about
the old woman in Brazil and her acts of carnage, that front was cracked
and damaged. Her expression tightened, eyes sharpened and looked
surprised. Molly glanced about, but not quick dart-dart anxiously.
Rather, she straightened up some and leaned to the side, out of the
booth to sweep leisurely and casual her gaze from one direction to the
other. Then, she sat back upright, looked at Archibald with a renewed
flare of aggravation to her demeanor, and took another drink of her
beer.
"Look, pal."
That's a good start. Her tone is even,
but there's a press of threat there (like how a tiger may begin to
rumble and stare when cornered).
"Suppose I did see
something, what are we supposed to do about it, huh? If that old woman
did what you said she did, then you know how thoroughly fucked we'd be if we started poking with sticks?"
Archibald Lightner
"That
isn't in our model. While we've found it is effective, poking with
sticks is not a part the scientific method we apply," and he matches her
threat with logic and a certainty, now, that wasn't there before.
If he notices what he has roused in her at all.
"Pitchforks
and torches might have worked once, but they've learned subtlety, and
we use new methods. A war? We would lose," shaking his head.
"We
watch, we learn, and we wait for the opportunity. And when we know what
to do? We introduce a stimulus for maximum effect," sloshing what's left
of his drink, looking down at the froth it creates before taking a
slower sip of the warm few fingers left in its bottom.
"Sometime
only to test our own theories and make our understanding more certain.
And other times? To throw a wrench into the works. And sometimes that's
all that's necessary to foil a scheme that might otherwise create
countless horrors and ruin countless lives," an earnestness reaching its
pinnacle.
"We try to be as diplomatic as possible. We are
primarily a community of learning. But when we see something that cannot
stand, we leave our armchairs behind and take to the field," he
finishes.
Molly Toombs
There's a new set to
Molly's jaw now. Her lips are pressed together in a manner that's
thoughtful. She's studying him now, re-evaluating him entirely.
Judgments that she had made before, conclusions and assumptions, were
being reworked and rewritten entirely.
Still, though, she calmly
sips beer and her hand does not shake when she puts the glass back on
the coaster. Instead, she appears to settle into the booth all the
more. As though she's preparing to sit for a while and find a different
way home than the bus route if need be. Her knees opened under the
table so her feet could plant firmly on the floor, to claim some kind of
ground with her position as though doing so would help encourage her
gaining ground in this encounter as well. Her hands went into the front
pockets of the gray hoodie she was wearing, though now unzipped, and
she eyed him carefully from across the table.
That's all she looked now-- careful. She was even masking the distrust that had to still be there.
"This
all sounds very alluring and mysterious, Mr. Lightner." She presents
him now with a tone that suggests she would be lighting a cigarette and
pulling a lengthy draw from it were she a smoking woman, just to
punctuate the shift in this dynamic now that more cards were added to
litter the tabletop. "But who, exactly, is 'We'? And where are these
armchairs of yours? I don't know how open to relocation I am."
Archibald Lightner
[ Perception + Empathy ]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 5 )
Molly Toombs
Whatever
front it was that Molly was putting up, it was thin like gossamer and
just as tacky. The confidence was all a ploy-- she was intelligent,
yes, and her understanding and grasp on the world in which she should be
reeling in was surprisingly strong. If nothing more, she had an idea
of what was up (or at least she thought she did).
However, she
held not a lick for this man or his idealism. In fact, she seemed to be
reacting adversely to it, as though she had seen his eyes glow red and
noticed a fork to his tongue. She was trying very hard not to let that
show, and wanted to come across as neutral.
Thus far, there is no intention to go touring facilities or signing up for newsletters.
However, she very much wants to learn more about them.
Clearly,
she wants to know more for her own purposes. She doesn't seem the sort
to go running and reporting this organization to anyone. She just
wants to know about it so that she can keep herself out of the
crosshairs.
Archibald Lightner
It's that fear and
the inquisitiveness turned back on him that sets Archibald on edge,
almost as if it is something he has been conditioned (or trained) to
notice and balk from.
Archibald tries to keep his face under
control, but it suddenly loosens a bit, his jaw slackening and his round
glasses sliding a half an inch down his nose as his ears move back. He
is not a schemer and if this were poker, she could tell he is folding
and gathering up his chips.
"I..." He begins, uncertain, and then continues once he has recalibrated his own understanding of her.
"You'll
have to understand if your lack of genuine interest means I have to end
this conversation. I apologize for wasting your time," and he begins
gathering himself to stand.
"Whatever it is that sent you to those store, please be careful with yourself, Ms. Toombs," and he rises, beer forgotten.
Molly Toombs
She doesn't leap up after him, but there is a moment of Oh, shit
when the man's expression folds in, defensive and protective, and he
scoots across the bench seat to find his feet once more. She doesn't
reach after him to try and stop him either, but she does adjust her
posture and sit upright once again.
"Mr. Lightner, you have to
look at this from my point of view before you go running off, okay?
Look, here...," and she put her hands on the table, palms up and fingers
relaxed to curl up and in. "You make yourself sound like some kind of a
vampire hunter or something, and of course I don't want involved in
that kind of danger."
Her hands now folded together, fingers
interlaced, on the table in front of her. If he hadn't hastily run off
and excused himself by this point, she continued calmly.
"But if I
need to worry about someone throwing wrenches over my head, of course
I'm going to ask about them. I need to know how big these wrenches are
and how good your aim is, you know? That way I know how far to duck."
Archibald Lightner
“Vampire
hunter?” He laughs aloud, having stopped at the sound of her voice, and
it seems though he'd seemed intent on end the conversation he would not
rudely storm off while she seems insistent upon continuing it. He does
remain standing, though.
“That is entirely too reductive. We study
the unknown and the occult in all its forms, undead or otherwise,
though they are of particular interest to me due to my own past with
them. We would rather learn of them than be forced to stop their
depredations, but as is said, evil flourishes when good men and women do
nothing,” an evenness in his tone, as if he is reciting something
whispered into his ear too many times to count.
"If you are
worried about such wrenches, though, you should consider if you have not
been made - whether with or without your own knowledge - into a cog in
such machinations," and something she says seems to also have kept him
here longer.
"You wish to avoid danger. But do you value learning
for its own sake? Or was you wading through those stack I saw you in
simply for your own defense? You thought to arm yourself with knowledge. But you seek to stay out of harm's way if it isn't necessary. I think
we're not as unalike as you would believe," and he places his hands on
the table for a moment, as if to say he would not be leaving so soon,
though he looks curious for her answer to his ventured guesses and
questions.
Molly Toombs
Apparently relieved that
he was at least sitting back down, Molly's shoulders unbunched and she
relaxed into what was probably the most honest that she's looked-- tired
and a little lost. Molly pinched at the bridge of her nose and the
corners of her eyes as well, then reached for her beer once again.
His
telling her that she made herself a cog on her own had her setting a
bit of a scowl on him, but she didn't correct him or argue the matter.
She wasn't about to have some secret society walk out the door without
her finding out more about it first, at the very least.
"It's a
bit of both, I guess. I want to know more so I know... like, how to
handle myself. What to look out for, how to defend myself, things like
that. But how can you not just be curious when you've
witnessed it, you know?" At least she's finally starting to sound
sincere. It seems that when she realized putting up a front when she
wasn't very good at doing so in the first place didn't yield results,
she tried to be genuine and hope that her stance was as reasonable as
she thought it was. Appeal to better natures, and all that.
"I
just don't want to sign up for 'fighting the good fight' or anything
like that. You can see my reluctance there, can't you? I mean, I'm not
here to fight evil or anything like that."
Archibald Lightner
"You
would be surprised by how many of our members start out with a healthy
curiosity and end up acting upon their conscience once inducted and
exposed to what's in the darkness, but we primarily exist to shed light
and catalog secrets," and he hasn't sat down again, he remains standing,
though yes, he's set his hands down on the table up until now.
This time he is not in as much of a rush to raise them up and fold them together, but he does.
"I'm
sure this is a lot of information for you to process so quickly, but
please, think over your situation and what we offer. If you do not wish
to join us, and simply want to ask questions and share what you have
learned in return, we are available," and for a moment he might seem a
bit in control. That is until he takes out his wallet and takes a good
handful of seconds working out the business card he finally hands to
her, prying it from between credit cards and membership identifications
with his fingertips before offering it.
"Please, feel free to
contact me, and thank you for your time and the drink. Next time it will
be my treat, if there is a next time," straightening and looking about
for the door as he awaits her own farewell.
Molly Toombs
Ah,
so he hadn't sat. But, all the same, he stayed at the table's side and
placed hands upon its surface, positioning himself to show he would at
least talk a little more. What he had to say, she listened to, and she
watched with a faint frown as he tugged and struggled to free a business
card from his wallet.
When it was offered, she accepted it and glanced down at it briefly.
To
Archibald, as he was glancing about and searching for the exit, she
gestured back the way they came to help him relocate the door. "We'll
probably be in touch, then. Thanks for flagging me down."
She
wouldn't rise to follow him out the door, though. Instead, Molly would
watch the man for a few moments while he located and started toward the
door, then look back forward and put her head in one hand (elbow braced
on table), and occasionally drink her beer. She'd leave once she'd
finished it.
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