Molly Toombs
East Colfax. 10:30 pm.
Molly had
come from Nate's apartment, where she had been dropping something off or
visiting or who knows what. That was neither here nor there. What was
here was this bus stop, where she was standing and waiting now.
There
had been another lovely day of sunshine and brilliant blue spring skies
in Denver, so Molly had celebrated by baring her legs. It wasn't yet
cool enough to regret the decision while waiting outside, so she did not
shiver for this. Plus, she had a light gray wool cardigan, thick of
fabric and loose of cut, to keep her warm. Under this cardigan she wore
a sleek-fitted black dress, hemmed a couple inches above the knee.
There was a brown hat on her head, a brown satchel (finally, something
besides that goddamn tote bag) at her hip, and black ankle boots with
wooden heels to carry her to and fro.
She was standing with her
arms folded loosely over her stomach, facing the sign declaring this
location a bus stop (no benches, thanks a lot), reading the schedule.
Upon finding that she had just missed the last bus and had to wait
twenty-two minutes for the next, she sighed quietly but bodily.
Dramatic thing.
Flood
This is not the ride that Molly was waiting for.
She
is probably not the passenger that Flood had in mind, either, as he
cruises East Colfax's seedy stretches in a vehicle entirely different
from the one he'd picked her up in after the horror story had played out
in that antique shop all those months ago. It's a shiny black Lincoln
MKX and she would probably be leery of who's pulling up and rolling down
its tinted passenger window to commence leering or sneering pick-up
lines at her.
Though the catcalls never come from the man sitting
in his tailored suit in its plush upholstered driver's seat, she'll no
doubt continue being leery of the familiar leafed-clover eyes that level
on her.
The Lasombra who had bit deep into Nate's neck and taken
lifeblood from it does not have fangs when he begins to speak, though
she knows how quickly that can change.
"Do you need a ride, Ms. Toombs?" An offer that comes as the SUV rolls to a halt at the patch of curbside she stands at.
Molly Toombs
Catcalls
were nothing that Molly wasn't used to. She walked alone up and down
sidewalks as a common mode of travel, such things were inevitable. Only
occasionally, and typically only on East Colfax, would cars actually
pull up and ask if she would go to a motel room with them for a fee. Go
figure, it's here at this bus stop that a big shiny black Lincoln slows
quickly and pulls up to the curb, as though on a whim.
When the
window rolls down, Molly is already looking equal parts haughty and
uncomfortable. She didn't turn to face the vehicle, nor did she
approach the curb when it pulled up. But to see the familiar face and
hear the familiar voice within, things changed up a bit.
To begin,
she no longer looked nearly so stand off-ish as she did previously.
Uncomfortable wasn't the word for it, but her guard was far from down.
Chances are solid that it ever would be entirely around this Lasombra,
or any vampire at that. He asked if she needed a ride and she turned to
face the door, leaned down and forward to more comfortably look into
the car from her lifted position on the sidewalk.
"'Need' isn't the word I would choose."
Her eyebrows, ginger-red now that she didn't pencil them in, lifted to portray interest and inquiry.
"Where are you headed?"
Flood
"I've
plans to run a few errands, but am now going about the leisure portion
of my day, which at this point is a relaxing drive," Flood answers.
"Won't you make it more leisurely and join me?"
It's a (debatably) charming way of saying, Wherever you're headed.
The
engine hums, though the bright red brake lights illuminating the
windshields of cars parked and passing behind him say he's only
standing, not stopped and certainly not parked. Getting out doesn't seem
to, at present, be part of his plans.
[ Manipulation + Subterfuge: I'm a fucking liar. ]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 9, 9) ( success x 2 )
Molly Toombs
[Perception 3 + Empathy 2: Whatever, you fucking liar.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 6, 6, 8) ( success x 3 )
Flood
There's
a hesitance there, a stroke of it before he presses the invitation
outward again, and it has a hint of restraint. This is most definitely
not a leisurely portion of his day, though, as he seems to still have
the air of a man with a purpose. His stance in that seat, the way one
hand firmly grips the steering wheel as he turns toward her to speak, it
all says that. He just doesn't seem to mind putting it on hold to offer
her a ride wherever it is she is going.
Molly Toombs
Observant
as ever, little passed Molly without at least catching her attention.
Not much went over her head. So when Flood told her he was in the area
only for leisure, but something thrummed and hummed untrue in his voice,
warning flags went up.
Clear blue eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Her arms folded up more snugly against her ribs. This type of posture
would be a lot more intentionally alluring if her dress's neckline
wasn't up to her collarbone.
"Perhaps." Her answer came after
enough time had passed of her looking at him like that for it to impress
upon him that she knew he wasn't just moseying around up to nothing,
but she wasn't going to call him out on it because she didn't have the
patience or energy to have him simply deny it anyways.
"But only because I've missed your company." Beat. "And because I could use your insight on something."
She
reached for the door handle, and assuming it was unlocked and the
invitation was still there she loaded herself into the passenger seat.
Satchel went to the floor, seat belt across her chest and lap.
"Not
sure how relaxing I'd call a drive on Colfax, though. Only two types
of cruising I ever see on this street." This, with a pointed glance
over to the pulseless driver.
Flood
Flood may have
denied it, if she'd voiced her suspicions or hesitance, but the fact
she simply crossed her arms and stares him down for a moment in cautious
correspondence of what she knows leaves him looking back. Flood comes
from an era of conservative necklines and, coupled with that kind of
moxie, she may be doing more to increase his interest than she realizes.
In any case the lie is weathered and he doesn't come back to it.
Flood
only smiles, leans over to pull the handle of the door from its
interior and pop it open for her to enter, and waits for her to take her
seat and fasten herself in.
"You may be seeing a third,"
returning the glance as he coaxes the car into driving with shift stick
and pedal, and though it's an automatic one hand remains on the shifter
in the middle console out of habit. The car picks up speed, though it's
only a few blocks before they're stopped at a light and he can look over
at her again.
"You're dressed quite nicely. I've missed you as
well. Those are very nice shoes," always compliment a lady's shoes when
it looks like she's put thought into them, and what lady with those
shoes on hasn't?
"Maybe a part of me didn't feel like sharing that
dress with the population of a bus if I could help it. Might I ask
where you're coming from?" A bit of small talk, a few drops of sucrose
compliments and aired sentiment, before they get into what she needs
insight on.
Leisure or not, this needn't be all consultation.
Molly Toombs
Once
inside and settled, Molly removed the hat from the top of her head and
settled it into her lap instead. This would allow her to comfortably
sit with her head against the headrest should she wish it. This ride
wasn't the same sort of old roaring power that came from the piece of
impressive history that she'd last been in the passenger seat of. It
was much smoother instead. She didn't feel so many urges to hold the
door when merging lanes or coming to a stop.
The nurse's lips
twisted into a small, reluctant, but at least genuine little smile. His
compliments were thick and sweet like syrup, intentionally so no doubt,
but she accepted them anyways. She did like this dress, after
all. At the second mention of it, when he stated he didn't want to
share with the denizens of public transit, she crossed her legs at the
knee and settled her hands on top of her lap. A touch uncomfortable.
Perhaps a bit too much.
None the less, she answers:
"Nowhere
in particular. I've been out all afternoon." A glance to the clock.
And evening, she supposed, but when one gets off work at two a.m. on a
regular basis they have a different perception of 'evening'. He can
tell there's truth to her words, her clothes and hair still smelled as
though they'd been soaking up sun all day long.
"You've been well,
I hope? I've heard some whispers that things might be stirring up in
your world." Your world as in the world of vampires, not his life in
particular. But she didn't clarify, so it was up to him to interpret.
Flood
Interpret
or inquire. "Whispers? Whispers are interesting things. Whisper wrong
and it's louder than if you'd just said it aloud. I'm well. I hope to
continue being well."
"If you hope for the same, maybe you would
indulge me and share what you've heard?" He's curious. He's roundabout.
But just as the compliment, just as the invitation before it to join
him, he gets to the point and the journey is worth it in what it tells
about Flood.
If you're curious to know more about him, that is. Which Molly might or might not be.
"I'd
be glad to give my insight first," he says before she can answer. "Good
faith, or what I have of it, and what I can offer in the way of a
consult, anyway," She crosses her legs, bares more of them in doing so,
but he doesn't look at the rising hemline.
Maybe it's a result of
her discomfort? A response to it? Maybe he now has other urges that
don't involve exposed flesh. He watches the road and waits.
Molly Toombs
Molly
had no idea what urges vampires had beyond bloodlust and slaying their
boredom. She knew they had interests and agendas, but urges were
different things. Different beasts. She wasn't sure if they still
craved flesh as well as blood, in the way that men and women with
beating hearts do, but she didn't make assumptions. She was covering
the top of her lap with the hat, either way.
The question about
who had been whispering was expected-- of course he would want to know.
That was information she was already willing to offer up. Perhaps her
making the mention was her plan all along; put something on the table
to offer to Flood in exchange for what she wanted from him. Business is
as business does.
His offer of good will was met with a look of
moderate surprise, but ultimately acceptance and some polite
appreciation. "Well, isn't that gentlemanly of you." The quip came
with a smirk.
But, down to business.
"I'm curious to know a
little more about the... ah... side-effects of the supernatural.
Spending too much time around things that people weren't meant to know.
Falling into them on accident." Her eyes hopped to the road in front
of them, watching the traffic around them in a play of casual
conversation, as she built up to her question: "I couldn't help but
notice that you might know something about losing reflections."
Flood
[ Intelligence + Occult ]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 3 )
Flood
There's
a pause and a look that is too long to be a glance before Flood's
attention turns back onto the road and he presses his wingtip-clad foot
onto the gas pedal.
"There are theories," Flood offers, a caveat
on what he shares. "Some of which might be true. Some of which might be
true depending on the situation. Some of which might be only poetic in
their basis," his hand relaxing on the steering wheel as he leans
forward and prepares to offer more than asterisks on what he's about to
say.
"I'm of a particular line that shows such a loss. We are a
line of darkness. We revel in the night more than even others of our
kind. Some of us even worship it. We believe that this is because the
light refuses to touch us other than to burn. Other than to curse us and
punish us as God intended to us, and more so, perhaps because we
worship that darkness more than others," he begins.
"Others might
say that it's belief that spreads this loss to others. A belief in the
folklore of the living that carries on and, coupled with the mystic
nature of our very existence, becomes empowered and true," a finger
twitching to enumerate this second possibility, joining his index as she
might only now realize he's counting them off.
A third comes up before he begins again, still loose on the steering wheel.
"And
some simply cannot bear their own existence, perhaps, and forsake it.
For some this might be considered a blessing, a reprieve. For others,
the particularly vain, a curse," a pause, and then he begins drumming
away with those fingers on the steering wheel.
"The mirrored world
as another plane of existence might denote a possible source of the
theft there. The theft by magical beings is another possibility. The
loss of the soul. The curse of magician or sorcerer, much like the one
we encountered in that antique shop, is another route for
investigation," he finishes. And then he raises his hand to the rear
view mirror, shifting it in one swift movement, so that he can see if it
is her own loss she is investigating.
When he sees her in it - if
she looks back it's at nothing, of course, as he does not appear on the
other end of the mirrored perspective - he shifts it back to a more
practical positioning.
"As for side-effects, I'm sure their are
many that have come up, but at the same time the most dangerous
side-effect might be wholly psychological: curiosity. There's
sympathetic magic, as well, finding what you're looking for. I wouldn't
worry about radiation or lead poisoning, though," he finishes.
"What makes you ask such a strange and specific question?"
Molly Toombs
As
is ever and always the case, when Molly seeks information and finds it
freely given, she sits and listens and soaks like a sponge. This is the
case now. All the while that Flood spoke, Molly sat in the passenger
seat with her eyes occasionally switching between feigning relaxed
gazing out the windshield and stealing glimpses toward Flood while he
spoke, gauging and watching for cues and making sure she wasn't about to
have hell come down on her head for asking.
When the mirror
swiveled to aim at her, Molly glanced briefly into it but hastily away
again. Seeing evidence of this reflection lacked made her skin want to
crawl for the abnormality and unfamiliarity of it.
When he
finishes up by asking, rather reasonably, where a question like that
would come from, Molly blinked, then shrugged to play off importance.
"A
friend of mine had his reflection stolen. I want to help him. Given
that I've seen that you don't have one yourself, I supposed that your
insight on the matter would probably be the best I could find."
Then, quickly, a follow-up:
"Why
would something want to steal a reflection, though? One of those
things in the mirror world, I mean. What use is a reflection to someone
it doesn't belong to?"
Flood
"That would depend
on the nature of reflection one prescribes to, wouldn't it?" He seems to
waver, considering the options again, before continuing.
"Perhaps
it allows a level of control and offers power over an individual. If it
is the soul, maybe the loss of a reflection is only a symptom of a
greater problem. If it is the act of a trickster, maybe your friend's
reaction to its loss is the reason enough to take it. I'm sure there are
other reasons, but to be honest, it's difficulty to answer that
question without knowledge of the circumstance," and he gives a
deliberate shrug, as if he's said most, if not all, of what could be
said on the matter.
But Flood gives one last insight.
"I can
say with certainty I've never heard of a reflection disappearing for no
identifiable reason. Neither in folklore, myth, or in my own kind's
history. That should illustrate my point: circumstance is key," and of
course it is a question meant to summon up more shared knowledge,
tete-a-tete and quid pro quo, about the friend she speaks of.
Molly Toombs
Again, the information comes all at once. A flood. Again, Molly is attentive as can be.
What
it boils down to is this: the symptom itself is apparently not all
that rare, and came from a number of different causes. Apparently it
was a symptom of vampirism itself, the 'line' of vampires that Flood
himself came from anyways. It could be stolen from another plane, or by
a magic-wielder, or by a trickster of some kind that Molly probably
couldn't dream of.
She knew ("knew") that this particular
reflection was stolen away from an average young man who came across
some kind of relic. That something (a woman? a female entity of sorts)
stole the reflection away through that mirror. This wasn't the same
thing that caused Flood's reflection to go missing. But, it was a good
start. She at least had some basic groundwork of knowledge to work
upon.
So, finally, she nodded.
"Thank you." She sounded
like she meant it at least. "That helps. I, ah...," and she cut a
glance in his direction, "hope that wasn't a sensitive subject or
anything." She regretted the comment immediately, and it showed in how
her brow furrowed and her went straight through the windshield once
more. She just seemed to be stumbling across those with people lately.
She recovered by clearing her throat and rubbing thumbs on the rim of
her hat.
Flood
"It isn't," he answers, and he does
seem to be unaffected by the discussion. His tone, throughout, had been
academic. It had been the solving of a puzzle, or at least the offering
of pieces, and little more. And at no point does he seem to contemplate
his own lack of a reflection and its ramifications.
The night is too and full to dwell on such things for long.
"And
you are welcome," not pressing her for any more information, though
noting that she is careful to not offer up any more than is necessary.
"You
are very good at keeping others' secrets. It's good to know. I hope you
do the same for me. Have I come up? Now there's a question," weighing
what he'd said for a moment. "Is that a secret you'd keep for others?
That they're asking after me? I wonder," looking over at her again, as
he asks it, timing it at another red light so that he can fully take in
her ginger-framed visage for tells.
Molly Toombs
The
glance that Flood steals to the red-haired woman in his passenger seat
yields only that she appears to be in consternation. The kind of
thought that was serious and deep and cautious. She was thinking about
the question he posed for her-- whether she would keep his secrets from
people, and if whether people were asking was the type of thing she
would keep from him.
She didn't appear introspective, though. She
already knew her answer. She was trying to figure out how to put it
(or how to lie about it).
Molly leaned forward and wriggled her
shoulders to shimmy her way on out of the thick gray wool cardigan she
was wearing for protection from the breeze outside. This revealed the
sleeves of her black dress to be just as snug as the rest of it, and
three quarters of the way down her arms. Things were resituated so the
sweater was folded over her lap, the hat now settled atop that. She's
looking over at him again when she answers.
"It's a secret I might keep. For some people. Depending on the circumstance."
Beat.
"You did come up, but only very briefly. I ran into our mutual friend Mr. Kingsmith the other day."
Flood
"It
has been some time since I've seen him hanging around. Mr. Kingsmith...
Would you really call him a friend? I'm not certain I would choose that
word, 'friend', to describe him, " very reminiscent of what she'd said
earlier about her being in 'need' of a ride.
"How did that run in
go? I'm curious what context could've brought my name to his - or your -
lips." And again what he says is evocative of a past conversation, this
time of when he had grown angry about Nate asking after him.
The
car continues, a cocoon of warmth that leaves her shedding layers, on
its way toward downtown Denver. Though her destination had not yet been
named, her home seems to be he is heading. Or at least the area he knows
it to be located within.
"Though if you'd rather not say, let me
offer up another topic: Things stirring. And how you know about those
stirrings," leaving it as an easy out.
Molly Toombs
"Those answers actually come together as one."
She
raised an eyebrow in his direction, but settled comfortably back into
the passenger seat and rested her hands folded one over the other in
front of her hat. She wasn't bothering with playing coy, glancing out
windows or feigning comfortable discourse. Molly was more openly
engaged in the conversation now that she wasn't simply listening--
receiving a lesson on reflections gone missing.
"We ran into one
another on the street and got to talking." And dancing, but she didn't
mention that. "He was warning me that he was back in town due to these
'stirrings'. And that I should be ready and on guard. That I should
pick a side, so to speak.
"He'd mentioned that you may have called him back into town."
Flood
"You
should always be ready and on guard. I think you already know that. You
should avoid picking a side at all costs. You probably know that too,"
Flood says in a matter of fact tone, happy to undercut Kingsmith's
recommendations.
"We have business. I don't think I'm his only
reason for lingering about, though. Wars make carrion and the jackals
like Mr. Kingsmith are always around to feed off of it. You should've
asked him what side he picked. I'm sure," a smile growing onto his lips.
Blossoming there. "I'm sure the answer would've been a vague and veiled
one."
"I'll have to have a word with him, now that I know he's about," nodding again.
Molly Toombs
Lips
pressed together and her expression went reluctant, a little
uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat. "I hope it's just a word...
He's not gonna cause any trouble through me. He just likes to flirt is
all." She'd never seen a violent Flood. She's seen a fast one, yes,
when he was hauling her hastily through the antiques shop, but when
things had gone violent in the back room Flood had done nothing. He
hadn't needed to do anything-- a swift and well-aimed bullet had ended
everything as quickly as it had started.
But, the thing to be learned here is that Molly doesn't want to see Kragen get hurt, for whatever reason.
They
were headed in the direction of her apartment, and she'd made no move
to correct him. Apparently that's precisely where she'd been trying to
head on her own in the first place. His assumption had been correct.
So, she didn't stop to make any suggestions on where to turn or which
roads he should take. This may also be a test to see if he lets on that
he knows certainly where she lays her head. If it seemed he didn't,
she might have a better chance at restful sleep tonight.
"I will
be honest with you, though." Because, for having such declared and open
distrust for the man, she often made a habit of being honest even if it
was vague responses that she gave. Thus far he seems to have been
offering her the same courtesy. She hasn't been able to disprove that,
at least. "I am a little.... nervous about where I stand. Just in the
scheme of things." She cleared her throat, then clarified. "Nervous
someone may come wisk me off to my demise now that I'm riding in cars
with vampires."
Flood
"One school of thought would
be that you should stand near the the most dangerous of the bunch. Ride
in his car and hope that proximity will serve to protect you. Many
people fear our shadows. The longer and larger the better," he comments,
and it's no secret who the supremely confident vampire might be
referencing as he says this.
"The other would be to stand amidst
the herd. Let the stragglers get picked off and make sure you keep up
where it's safest," and now he sounds like he's genuinely weighing her
options for her to come to an actual (and maybe useful) conclusion.
"I
know very little about where you stand in the scheme of things. I only
know what you let me know, and despite the fact I'm a talented
consultant, that's very little," and as if to illustrate what he's just
said, he pulls up near her apartment at the very same corner she'd
abandoned him twice before in order to preserve her own privacy and his
ignorance of where she sleeps.
"I can tell you this: I was
impressed that you seemed to know I wasn't out on a leisurely drive,"
raising his eyebrows finally, as if to indicate his surprise. "I'm
usually very good at working even the most suspicious of persons,"
putting the car into park.
"And I can tell you this: I was looking
for something-" a pause. A heartbeat he doesn't have, but she's there
and so it serves as an accurate measure.
"Someone to drink," he
corrects. He does not reach over to grab her. He does not lock eyes with
her and command her to sit still.
"At least now you know where you stand with me. I hope you have a good evening," he finishes.
Molly Toombs
The
options delivered were answered with a nod of her head, and a comment
as well. The voice that carried her clarification, or her thoughts on
what advice he had to give, was a lower tone than what she'd used
previously. It was probably how she would mutter to herself, except
that she was speaking clearly and they were in the front seat of a car
together so of course he would hear her.
"That's more or less why I keep getting in the car."
Then,
with a bit of a sigh, she leans forward so that she may sweep her bangs
back while putting her hat back on. They were pulled up to the curb
just a few blocks from her apartment-- the same place that he'd dropped
her a few months ago. This didn't assure her as much as she'd hoped
that he didn't know where she actually lived, though. Flood had been
playing this game for quite a while longer than she had.
What he
tells her next has Molly going still and looking very seriously across
the center of the car at him. She didn't go stiff or look as though she
was going to try to escape, though. She was simply still, watching,
waiting for his next move. Molly was already very aware that if he
didn't want her to go then she would go nowhere. He didn't grab her or
lock eyes to control her, because he didn't need to.
The answer
that he gets isn't fear, but instead it's a huffed out chuckle and a
shake of her head. "I had figured as much." He'd wished her a good
evening, so she opened the door of the car.
"I already knew where I
stood with you, though, Flood. To that degree, at least. You've so
much as told me I'm more useful to you this way than that." She's good
about getting out of the car without compromising her modesty, and once
out on the curb Molly turned around to look into the car. Leaned down
again, same as she had before, but now with one arm holding her sweater
up to her stomach and her other hand on the car door.
"Goodnight, Flood. Happy hunting."
And unless otherwise stopped (doubtful she is), Molly closed the door and began walking.
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