Molly Toombs
The last couple of nights that have gone
by haven't been without leaving their mark upon Molly Toombs. There
has been a lot going on, and it seemed as though nothing would let up.
The last few nights have been the worst, though. A cherry on top of a
shitty week sundae. She had a scare about a potential hostage
situation, a raw conversation with the vampire that pulled her into this
world in the first place, and then yesterday her very best friend
simply called it quits. He was done with her, with everything she was
involved in. Wanted no more of it. He didn't want her calling him
anymore.
Molly had gone to work, and then saw reports of a car
bombing all over the news on the small televisions in patient rooms and
the waiting room for the E.R. as well. Her nerves were flayed raw, and
when she'd snapped at a teenager then nearly cried her boss, the
attending physician over trauma that evening, told her to go home.
Now,
Saturday night has come and Molly isn't scheduled to work in the first
place. She would be hanging out with one friend but he clearly wanted
nothing to do with her. May have sent a text to another friend but
really most of her just wanted to be alone to process recent events and
work through the sour taste in her mouth and gloom that they'd left her
in.
Tonight she couldn't sleep. She tried, she should be
exhausted because she didn't sleep much Thursday night and then had
restless, fitful bouts of nightmare-scattered dreams on Friday night. She'd laid her head down, hoping to catch some kind of unconsciousness
around 9:00pm. It was too early for her swing-shift schedule, though,
and she became restless. Eventually, she left the apartment entirely.
The cat that she had dumped on her yesterday was just reminding her of
the friend that left it, and she needed to stretch her legs anyways.
So,
this is how we find Molly Toombs at the park past sundown. It wasn't
quite midnight yet, but there weren't many people cutting through the
park this late at night all the same, even on a Saturday. This time of
night if people were out they were out at bars and clubs and concerts,
not walking alone along one of the narrow sidewalk paths that cut
through the park.
Molly, girl, when will you learn.
Finch
Even
the psychotic Vampire can find beauty in the simple things that man
takes for granted in the light of the sun. The park, he imagines, is
probably very beautiful in sunlight and if any of his kind could imagine
it in that very state it would be Finch because of his time among the
undead. He hasn't even broke 20 years dead and so when he closes his
eyes or cares to bother he can remember what sunlight felt like on his
skin or the brightness of the rays as they bounced off cars or steel
buildings. Even if he would never admit it, he regretted the lack of
attention he had paid to smallest things in his life.
That's why
he's out tonight. Pushing himself the way that he so often does with
feeding. It had become an odd game for the Toreador, to see how long he
could last before he got his fix and filled himself full of someone
else's life sustaining blood.
He's coming down the same path
though his approach is from the opposite direction of Molly. He's
wearing a suit again with the same clean, tailor made lines that she'd
seen on him the other night. His light brown almost blond hair is pushed
back away from his face. He doesn't know that Molly has had a bad day
or that she's lost her best friend and gained a cat. Finch just knows
that Molly is out again when she shouldn't be, in places that aren't
safe, and damned if he doesn't grin.
"Well, well, well..." He says just loud enough for her to hear him. "If it isn't Miss Molly.."
Molly Toombs
The
park actually is really quite nice during the daytime. When the
weather was nicer and before things started tumbling and crumbling and
thundering around her, Molly would take her puppy (yeah, now she had a
dog and a cat in her one bedroom apartment and worked twelve hour
shifts, this was going to work well) here and work on letting the animal
be off the leash but still obedient and following. The (now) small dog
was doing admirably. Molly did her research in choosing a breed. She
picked a Rhodesian Ridgeback and selected a young puppy because they
were smart and stoic and intensely protective. She needed something to
guard her and keep her safe, to be her muscle and teeth where she
couldnt be for herself.
It would take time. Two years or so. But
if she could keep herself alive long enough then it would be an
investment well worth her time.
This puppy wasn't with her now,
though. She was left back at the apartment, too. No, Molly walked
utterly alone down this path tonight. She wasn't even dressed like she
planned to come here. She was wearing a lacy white blouse that buttoned
up in the front, high-necked and high-collared (for a woman ample as
Molly knew how to dress her figure and cover cleavage). This was tucked
into the waist of a neat dark-gray skirt that was just above
knee-length at the hem. Gray stockings, pale white shoes (flat
bottomed). She was wearing a black jacket overtop it all, but it was
unbuttoned. She was walking with her hands in her pockets, eyes on the
ground. In her mind and thoughts rather than focused on the world
around her.
Upon hearing the sinister well, well, well,
though, her eyebrows hopped up and her eyes became focused once more and
she lifted her chin and gaze to find Finch before her, some fifteen
feet away or so and approaching. Perhaps just out for a stroll, but
probably out on the prowl more like it.
She didn't look terrified,
though. She should-- she looked like the only thing keeping her from
bolting was her own intellect when they crossed paths just a handful of
nights ago. Instead, Molly Toombs looked surprised at first, but then
immediately tired. Like she already just did not have the energy to
cope with what was unfurling before her.
She didn't stop walking,
but rather continued along her way. She slowed a little, of course, but
didn't appear to be slowing to a full stop. She would probably just
keep right past him unless he kept her somehow. But they weren't to
that point yet, they were still walking toward one another.
"Finch."
She stated his name, showing she remembered it, remembered him. You
don't forget people like that, after all. "Out on the hunt?" She asked
him this bluntly, as though it was just the kind of question you throw
to people in casual passing.
Finch
(percept + empathy, +1 BP spent for Auspex - Aura reading)
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 5, 5, 9) ( success x 1 )
Molly Toombs
Finch's
once-over of the woman doesn't yield much information. He must be
distracted or something. It could be an off night for him.
All
he's able to glean is that the woman is troubled, deep into the core of
her chest troubled. She's been through the ringer since he ran into her
last.
It's important to note that she's not beaten down, no. Just worn out and hurting.
Finch
One
lone eyebrow draws up high over his eye and his smile spreads wide
across his face so that the human woman is shown most of his white
teeth. It would be attractive on him if he still breathed and his heart
still rumbled in his chest, but there's something about it on a dead
man's face that is unsettling. The fact that Molly is aware that his
teeth become dangerous weapons is likely to make it even more
uncomfortable.
"What would I be prowling for in the park?" He says
to her with a voice that's tame and quiet and only half teasing. "I
gotta be honest with you Molly." Says Finch, feet carrying him to a
place that collides with her path. She can go around him sure, but
she'll have to and who's to say he wouldn't just side step left when she
did or shift right along with her?
His path doesn't change, it
stays on course with her own though his eyes do not leave her face and
the area that represents her personal space. His gaze remains focused,
his brow pinched severe in thought, and when he finally reaches her he
lets loose a quiet huff of air. His hands are in his pockets, like her,
and while he thinks over what he's going to be honest about his eyes
roam the area around them.
"You look like shit." Really, she looks
like all of her todays and tomorrows are smashed and jumbled like a
pool of paint lying on the floor after all their brighter colours have
bleed together into a very simple shit brown shade. Of course, it's not
to say she looks haggard or worn down, but the creases of worry lines on
her face and the shifting shades of colour in her aura say enough.
Molly Toombs
She does look
like shit, it's true. Sure, she's made up nicely enough. Her make-up
is well done and her hair is smoothly combed, but she just looks like
she's discovered a new level of emotional exhaustion just recently. The
aura around her, something that she had read about in books but hardly
believed to be a real thing, shifted blue with shimmer-shades of a
turquoise. It was sad, it was slow-moving and just hung around her like
a fog.
She clearly just wanted to walk right past him, and her
light reddish brows flexed together in annoyance when she saw that he
was walking directly toward her center. She had to stop, otherwise
their toes would meet. She looked bothered and uncomfortable, pressed
her lips into a line to hold in words and tried to step around him. He
maneuvered to block her, and she didn't try again. Just sighed in
defeat and stepped back and looked up at the man to hear him out.
He
then told her that she looked like shit, and what very little amusement
may have remained drained from her face. She set him with a flat look
('thanks, asshole', that look said), then shook her head and spoke up.
"I
have a pretty good idea of what you prowl for in the park." Her eyes
are hard and accusing. Should be scared (and somewhere behind
everything else, they still are), but instead she just just stands and
entertains the undead man because she didn't have any other choice when
it came down to it.
"I can't say I'm exactly overjoyed to see you again, man. You caught me on a hell of a night."
Finch
Now
his arms cross and he levels her with a look that is somehow
authoritative and childish at once. He's half pouting as he watches her
step back and level him with that look. Molly should
be scared. She certainly should if only because Finch is young and he's
still finding his way among his kind while navigating the world of hers
too. He does well enough, makes out just fine, but the kind of power
that his blood affords him has awakened all of his most narcissistic and
son of a bitch qualities.
"I'm not going to eat you." He
assures her, again. "I don't want your blood." One last time. "What am I
going to find in this park?" He half laughs at the idea. "I have a
particular preference when it comes to my diet, Molly, and unfortunately
you don't fit the mold."
His arms uncross and he lowers his eyes
to look down at her, a long pale finger crooks and hooks beneath her
chin to lift it so she has to look up at him. "Fine. You don't want to
see me? I'll leave you alone. But I'm not that bad. You could
do a whole lot worse when it comes to company." He assures her and slips
his hands back into the pockets of his slacks.
Finch moves out of
the redheads way and pivots his body to the side, facing her profile,
allowing her to pass him by if she's so inclined.
Molly Toombs
"Unfortunately,"
she parroted back, and only barely managed to keep the scoff out of her
voice. Her nose wrinkled-- she held no trust or love for this man,
this Finch. This young looking fellow in his well tailored suit,
looking like he had more money than he quite knew what to do with or how
to handle just yet. Perhaps a son to a tycoon that died too young.
Who knew.
He said he wasn't going to eat her. She didn't trust
that one bit. She was sure that he absolutely would, but not right
now. No, not until he had what he wanted from her anyways.
That seemed to be the trend with the Undead.
When
he reached toward her, she flinched, because of course she did. But
she didn't step back or try to push him away. Instead she let that cold
finger slide under her chin and hook her jaw, tilt her face upward so
that her face was aimed to his. He was telling her that he'd leave her
alone while holding her face. Another Molly on another day would have
averted her eyes, put them determinedly to the side because she knew
full well what happened between eyes in this scary new world.
But,
instead, she locks gaze with him. Her eyes are a clear cool blue but
they're burning and flashing at Finch. Not with hate, no. She didn't
know him well enough for that, and she didn't have a hate for his people
built into her (despite so many things that should have granted such a
grudge). This was defiance instead.
But, true to his word, he did
not push her chin further and put teeth into her throat. Instead he
let her go, moved his hand back to his pockets, and stepped aside.
Molly stood still, chin still up somewhat, watching him as he stepped to
the side. Gradually, naturally, her chin would sink back level.
She
didn't walk past him when given the opportunity, though. Instead,
watched carefully. Now with a different cast, a borderline
investigative one. Suspicious, maybe, instead. All the same, her voice
was low and level when she asked him:
"Why are you here? In Denver, that is. You came here-- why? For the war?"
Finch
His
eyes scan the park beyond them, narrowing on one thing or another
before he returns his gaze to the defiant woman standing near him. There
was a lot that Finch could have done to Molly in those delicate moments
when he lifted her chin with his finger, but she is left whole and
unmolested just as he said she would remain while with him. Call it acts
of good faith if you will, but Finch hasn't (so far) done anything to
her that he said he would not - which in and of itself must be curious
to her. It certainly would be a curious thing to anyone else on the
outside looking in.
He hums, twists his mouth up while he thought about her question and his eyes once again roamed the park laid out before him.
Then,
without permission or question he reaches an arm out and over toward
her and gently touches the spot above her collarbone, there where the
flesh begins to sink in toward the heart. "I needed a new start." The
touch is there, then gone, and he's smiling at her again - wide and
bright.
"There were ... disagreements and problems within my last
group of friends. I suppose there were a few disagreements with a few
enemies as well." That smile flashes as wide as it'll go before fading
little by little.
"I'm not a man of war, really. I don't think my design is to be a soldier in the front lines."
Molly Toombs
She
didn't like that he was laying fingers on her, and it showed clearly in
how she looked down at his hand when it came near her a second time.
She didn't flinch this time, though. She just stood still and watched
his finger as it pressed against the bare skin above her collarbone,
where the throat would dip to its most hollow. She didn't tip her head
back to give his hand room to go where it wanted, but again he'd find
that she didn't dodge him or try to swipe his hand away mid-motion. She
was putting up with him, but clearly none to pleased with it all the
same.
He'll notice, though, that she is quiet as the grave while
he speaks. She'd asked him a question, and she was bright-eyed intently
watching him while he answered. As though information had a flavor and
she was tasting what his was like. Greedily gobbling up whatever it
was he had to give her, but with the still and wide and intelligent gaze
of some spirit world's Owl.
When he concluded that he wasn't a
solider, she flicked her eyes to the shoulders and lapels of his suit
jacket, down to the shine of his shoes, up again to the styling of his
hair.
"No," she said in a tone that was hard to say whether it was
leaning toward underhanded or if that was just how it sounded when
tired and direct met in the middle. "You look more like a diplomat. Or
an investor.
"So you're here to supply the war?"
Finch
He
laughs again, but that mirth doesn't reach the light brown of his eyes.
Maybe Finch is testing Molly, seeing how much she'll take of him before
she refuses any more and leaves. The touch under the chin, the finger
gentle against her chest was no more than probing perhaps, testing the
waters. His hands are back in his pockets and this time they don't come
free. There's no more touching of cold flesh against warm or breaches of
her personal space.
"I don't know that I'm a supplier...exactly."
His head cocks curiously at her, admiring the way she hung on to her
question like a pitbull on the neck of another unfortunate dog. "I'm
more...an arbitrator."
"The problem with the faction to which I am
aligned is the manner in which they secure your loyalties. It
makes...the art of my job and the things that I'm good for rather
difficult - all for the same reasons I warned you of the last time we
met. We're not immune to the powers of the Blood any more than you are.
So...you could say I'm an arbitrator of sorts. A broker of information.
The fly on the wall no one really cares too much about."
His eyes
look behind her and then back to her. "What's your place in all of this,
Molly? If you don't mind me asking...you seem to have your fingers in a
whole lot of pies and from what I can see.....you're no ones servant
yet. That's a rarity for your kind. How have you managed that?"
Molly Toombs
The
way that he was looking at her was chock full of interest and
curiosity. She seemed to have that impression on people-- a woman full
of moxie, but not stupid with it. She didn't snap teeth at hands that
could choke the life from her, she was smarter than that. Perhaps it
was that simple intellect and survival instinct that has been keeping
the mortal intact all this time.
Again, she's listening, attentive
and bright-eyed and intent. Gears were whirling, what he was saying
was being sorted and logged and fit into holes in the puzzle of the
Vampire world that she was still figuring out. Mentally, she used what
he said to attach a few pieces and pull some strings between thumbtacks
on the planning board that was her mind. She lets on none of this,
though. Only that she is listening and that she is thoughtful.
The
question that followed, though, was met with a metaphorical bristling.
He wanted information from her in trade, and she knew this was only
fair. But she had to be smart with it. She had to be very
conservative, be careful only to show enough cards that he would be
content but not privy to what kind of a hand she was building.
So, she answered dryly: "My feminine wiles, clearly."
But
that wouldn't do, and she didn't let enough time lapse for him to bare
fangs and demand a better answer. She shrugged one shoulder and took
her hands from her pockets so that she could look down and smooth her
skirt and the front of her blouse while she spoke.
"I just do my
very best not to step on any toes and to mind my tongue. I just keep my
eyes open, and so far I've been able to pick up enough details and
subtext to have managed to just stay out of everyone's way." But not
off their radar, not out of their paths entirely. They would seek her
out still. She even had a number saved in her phone for Christ's sake.
Finch
He
laughs again, but that mirth doesn't reach the light brown of his eyes.
Maybe Finch is testing Molly, seeing how much she'll take of him before
she refuses any more and leaves. The touch under the chin, the finger
gentle against her chest was no more than probing perhaps, testing the
waters. His hands are back in his pockets and this time they don't come
free. There's no more touching of cold flesh against warm or breaches of
her personal space.
"I don't know that I'm a supplier...exactly."
His head cocks curiously at her, admiring the way she hung on to her
question like a pitbull on the neck of another unfortunate dog. "I'm
more...an arbitrator."
"The problem with the faction to which I am
aligned is the manner in which they secure your loyalties. It
makes...the art of my job and the things that I'm good for rather
difficult - all for the same reasons I warned you of the last time we
met. We're not immune to the powers of the Blood any more than you are.
So...you could say I'm an arbitrator of sorts. A broker of information.
The fly on the wall no one really cares too much about."
His eyes
look behind her and then back to her. "What's your place in all of this,
Molly? If you don't mind me asking...you seem to have your fingers in a
whole lot of pies and from what I can see.....you're no ones servant
yet. That's a rarity for your kind. How have you manage that?"
Finch
His
face becomes thoughtful and his gaze distant though his eyes are on her
person. She has taken from him very vague information - albeit
information that no one else in Denver has on him currently - and
offered nothing in return and now Finch is wanting more, obviously
expecting some sort of give and take between the two of them. He's
promised not to take anything from Molly, but that may only last so long
if he's not even thrown a few bare scraps.
"Ahhhhh." She
wouldn't have to try hard to hear the bored disbelief in his tone. He
isn't buying it and isn't trying to hide that he isn't buying it either.
"I
had a friend, he's dead now, but he had this habit of only being able
to feed while he was forcing himself on a woman. It was very odd, not
something I was exactly comfortable with, but sometimes it
happens....sometimes we can only feed under certain circumstances or on
certain...types."
He waves a hand at the air, "But I came to
realize, the older I got, that there were more of us out there like him
than I had at first realized. I don't mean the specialized diet, mind
you, but the hunger for sex that was as strong as the hunger for the
blood."
"So." he nods at her, "You're a very pretty girl Molly and
I don't believe for a second that it's your feminine wiles or your
ability to fly far enough beneath the radar that none of us have plucked
you out yet. You know enough about us to be dangerous, yet....your aura
doesn't lie and it says you're not a ghoul. That's dangerous. A vampire
that trusts a human with our strengths and weaknesses without
submitting them to the bond of our blood is the kind of vampire that
doesn't live long."
"Let's be honest and try this again, shall we?" He's smiling at her, attention drawn in on her face tightly.
Molly Toombs
[Willpower!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
Molly Toombs
The
scrap that she offered wasn't enough. Were Finch a dog and the
information she was throwing was bones, he would look at the rib and
bare teeth behind big slobbery jowls. Vampires were not small dogs, not
things that yapped and nipped and were obnoxious. No, they were large
ones, very large. If the spirit possessed them they could snap your arm
in their metaphorical jaws and then where would she be? The bored
sound that he made had Molly straightening up, her expression tightening
to something more cautious, more closed.
He told her a story,
then. A story about a friend (dead) who could only feed while raping
women. Clearly the story didn't set with her. Her expression became
uncomfortable, but she was a firm and cool-headed thing. She kept her
calm, did not recoil or quiver with the perceived threat. He called her
pretty, and at that point she should shudder and expect the worst
(though he's already assured her she isn't his type), but he does plainly lay it out for her. He was onto her. These flimsy lies weren't going to last for very long.
So she set her jaw square. Resolved more than stubborn. Not defiant as much as just stuck.
Though
her eyes were level and her expression was set, her voice was still
tight and a little reedy when she spoke. She was in a very tough spot
indeed.
"I can't give this person's secrets. You should understand what would happen to me if I did."
Finch
He
smiles wider and nods. This he understood. This he accepted. And that
seemed to pacify him because he doesn't tell her any more stories or
tell her why he thinks she might be dishonest with him. He doesn't even
tell her that he was bluffing - calling her hand. "Very good. Now we're
getting somewhere."
"I only have one more question for you,
Molly." He says as he's pulling the sleeve of his suit jacket back to
expose the expensive watch beneath it. "Do you see this friend often?"
And
that's it. He doesn't press her for names or allegiances or anything
else that she may perceive as betraying her 'friend'. Nor does he tell
her that Vampires didn't really have friends. They were like petulant
children with their humans, the kind of children who were stingy and
selfish with their toys. The kind of children who weren't used to being
told no.
He doesn't warn her of that though because she'd find out
soon enough. They were all cut from the same cloth, no matter what
Blood made them or where their loyalty lay. They were all just like
Finch, some just bothered to try and hide it.
Molly Toombs
He
checked his watch, satisfied with her response, and posed what was
promised to be his last question. Her answer was to frown at him, the
expression a light shift from the nervous and intentionally blank set
that it was held with before.
Hands moved out of her pockets only
for arms to cross and settle themselves at her chest, below the bust.
Arms hugged tight to her ribs, like that would contain whatever
discomfort or jangled nerves or ache she was still feeling-- though,
admittedly, now somewhat distracted from given the gravity of her exact
current circumstance.
"Why do you ask?"
Question for a question.
Finch
"I'm
curious. Is this a friend you see often?" To his credit, Finch has not
lied to Molly beyond the nature of his true being and that only lasted
until she informed him that she was more than aware that his kind
existed. He has been honest and forthright and sometimes bluntly so.
He
hasn't tried to eat her and doesn't seem to be remotely interested in
the idea of it. No, Finch wants what's inside of Molly's head and to get
it he's traveled down an alien path that's paved with his honesty to
her queries.
Molly Toombs
"Finch, let's be fair here."
She
should know better, really, but perhaps she was getting cocky and some
of the exhaustion that was in her bones and some of the hollow numb that
was left behind in a heart after much turmoil had spurred her forward.
He wanted to know how often she saw this 'friend', and that was clearly
something that (for some reason) she was uncomfortable with sharing.
She'd already given on that she actually had some such friend, a one in
particular person that must be looking out for her somehow. She wasn't
giving anything else, not just yet anyways. Not without something in
return.
"You're not asking this shit at random. You have a reason
for wanting to know how often this person's around. Now, I'm not sure
if it's because you want to know how often I'm left without some kind of
protection--" she did look awful unprotected now, but to think of it it
was pretty stupid and bold to come walking through a park at night,
stupider than she seemed to be anyways.
"--or if it's because you
want to tail around me until you can see who this person is. Or even if
it's something else entirely."
She shifted on the flats of those
light cream colored shoes she was wearing. Snugged her arms more
securely to her ribs and licked her lips nervously. "Curiosity alone
can't be it."
Finch
"I knew there was a reason I
liked you." is said with a wink of one amber eye at Molly. "To be
honest, I ask because were this 'friend' a member of the opposing team
it could very well mean my final death if he found out about me or me
being around you. I'm not a very old Vampire and a great number of
our...enemies...are old enough to do just about anything they'd like."
"So
I ask you out of a sense of self-preservation...if you will." His eyes
travel down to the watch as his fingers push up his sleeve once more.
"I'm
afraid I'll have to cut our little chat short. Maybe you'll take me up
on my offer from our first meeting? Give me a call and we can sit down
somewhere and talk like civilized beings." Finch flashes her a smile and
lifts a hand to half point at Molly.
"Oh and be careful out here
Molly. The night's a pretty dangerous place to be wandering all alone."
And then he's turning to move away from her, leaving her to stand there
along the pathway alone.
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