Molly Toombs
This is the second time that Molly has
been able to be located in a public park after the sun has dipped below
the western horizon. She's smarter than this, really. Molly wasn't the
type of woman you would find wandering aimless the streets of the city,
or taking shortcuts through alleyways, or leaving her car unlocked when
she parks it in the parking garage.
Typically she's smart enough
not to be caught out running alone in public parks either, but here we
are. In her defense, it had been hot outside today. Hot for
April at least, that's for certain. She didn't wake up early enough in
the mornings to get her daily (okay, maybe not daily, but as
often as she could) run, and by the time she was up and ready for the
day it was already too hot, the sun already glaring down from too high a
point in the sky. She'd have to wait for the weather to cool.
So
wait she did, and when the sun started to dip low enough that the Rocky
Mountains cast their deep shadow over the city, Molly donned her
jogging clothes and set out.
This is where we are now: The city
park, that stretch of green and trees and paved running trails. It was
near enough to Molly's apartment, so it was her preferred bit of green
and air in the city for runs like this. Her red hair was up in a high
ponytail, bangs pinned back out of her eyes. Face fresh and clear of
make-up, which meant her freckles were unhindered by foundation or
powders tonight. She wore what most women would wear jogging-- a pair
of tight black running pants that stopped at the calf, black running
shoes, and a pale yellow tank-top. Usually there would be a black track
jacket as well, but it was too warm for such affairs.
The things
that set her apart from other joggers this hour: she didn't have
headphones in, and most of the other joggers didn't know that vampires
and blood mages are real.
Finch
Things have been
quite abnormal for Finch. For all of the Kindred of Denver if the
activity at the Sabbat Temple were commonplace among havens and Elysia
across the city itself. He woke earlier and earlier it seemed each night
and he fell into slumber later and later. Cunning, yes .... wily,
yes....but Finch was no genius and he knew so very little about the
tricks and blood magic of the foul Tremere that he could only make
assumptions that one of them somewhere has affixed their kind with this
....early to rise, late to sleep curse.
So, he's in the City Park
sitting on a park bench in a suit that's typical Finch with his chin
resting on his hands. His back is hunched over as if he were trying to
do his own interpretation of 'the thinking man'. Now and then his
fingers will push their way back through his hair or his eyes will
wander from the piece of green grass he's been studying. But for the
most part Finch is simply sitting there, grinding the gears in his brain
to come up with answers to questions he hasn't even thought to ask.
Molly Toombs
By
this point it would be an outright lie to say that Molly did what she
could to avoid the Undead. No, she has long since rounded that bend in
her own mind. She didn't deny to herself or leave wool over her own
eyes as to her motivations and what she had to be gained in this Vast
New World that she'd discovered. Equal to that, she understood that she
was in too deep, aware of too much to simply retract herself from the
situation. She would have to learn and adapt to survive.
Some may
try to survive by learning enough to know how to evade and avoid
vampires. Molly already knew that she didn't have the capabilities to
go undetected and unhunted for any guaranteed amount of time. If she
were to try she would risk burning the bridges that she's put sweat and
labor into building for herself. No, running and hiding wouldn't do at
all. She would only be found, probably sooner than later, and with hurt
feelings and savage distrust at her back.
All the same, she
didn't make a habit of seeking out and chatting with the Undead of the
city (not knowingly, at least, she still thought Jack was a human man).
Yet when Molly's feet carried her around a bend and onto a straight
path and she spied a man up ahead, wearing a suit and sitting
thoughtfully on a park bench, she didn't hesitate. When she had watched
the man and got near enough to recognize him for who he was, she didn't
stop and turn about and go the other way. She didn't carry on and hope
he wouldn't notice her either.
Rather, the rubber soles of those
jogging shoes slowed from a light jog to a walk, and arms that had been
swinging-pumping along with the movement dropped to her sides. When she
stopped a few feet from the bench she stood feet apart, hands on hips.
Breathing heavy but not breathless, sweat on her chest and forehead.
Not out of breath enough that her speech was hindered when she spoke.
"Well, you look a lot less trashed than you did the last time I saw you, at least."
Finch
The
very last time Molly Toombs laid eyes on Finch he was extremely
inebriated. His pupils had exploded and devoured the brown of his eyes,
his carefully crafted saunter had been replaced by a curious stagger. He
could not even button his own shirt. Tonight though, he is alert and in
control of all of his faculties, though his eyes and mind are distant
and troubled. In fact, when Molly stops and speaks his attention is
jerked toward her quickly...his face a canvas drawn of serious lines and
angles.
"Molly..." He says her name friendly enough, his
considerate pose shifting to something more relaxed as he leans back on
the bench, one leg crossing the other at the knee. "Yes, well....these
things happen." His smile spreads wide and takes up a great deal of
real estate on his face and while it might not impress one Molly Toombs,
it's impressive enough.
"Running at such a late hour?" A show is made of glancing at his watch before his eyes return up to find her face.
Molly Toombs
A
cheshire smile like that may have proved impressive in some scenarios.
If Finch had Molly under his thumb, for instance; if he'd flashed that
smile and added a bit of fang to it while she was under pressure to
lie, to answer a question, or in some other uncomfortable scenario, then
she would be more impacted by the expression. Maybe impressed wasn't
the right word, though. Worried would be more appropriate.
That,
though, is neither here nor there. Finch had been in thought, and
snapped out of it when Molly spoke to him. He leaned back instead of
hunching forward, crossed his legs, and made himself appear more
comfortable on the bench that he occupied. Molly chose to stay standing
for now. Her blood still pumped from the jog, her body was still warm
and thrumming with energy for it. Sitting down now would probably cramp
up her legs, so she stayed on her feet.
One hand did move from
her hip to sweep a loose strand of hair back against her head, but it
soon found its place back at the ample curve of her hip. She was a
well-developed woman, and though she dressed herself well and was
careful with balancing what skin was visible so as not to be immodest,
that wasn't exactly what jogging clothes were built for. She hardly
seemed worried to cover her chest up more than what the tank top did for
her, for now at least. For now her hands stayed down so her chest and
lungs could work to keep her oxygen levels appropriate.
"It's not
that late, is it?" The question was conversational-- rhetorical, even.
She wasn't looking for an answer or the actual time. That question
bled quickly into the next, soon to be forgotten or abandoned.
"You
were doing a pretty good impression of The Thinker there... I feel
like what exists to worry people such as yourself would probably cause
people like myself that much more concern." An eyebrow raised. "Should
I worry too?"
Finch
The curve of a shoulder or
the shape of a breast. The well developed outline of hips and the
strength apparent in her calves and thighs do not go unnoticed. He takes
his time perusing these physical traits the way a connoisseur
of art would take in a Monet or van Gogh. After that, his eyes travel
up to her own and arrest her gaze for the barest of moments before
adjusting his eyes to take in the path behind and then ahead of her.
"That....might
be something to consider." Is his answer as to whether or not the
worries of a vampire should be a worry to her. He leaves the rhetorical
question of the time with no more consideration and continues on with
what might be worrying him.
And others.
"Have you heard rumours of others like me waking before the sunsets?"
Molly Toombs
The
fact that she is studied for her physical condition doesn't go
unnoticed. Finch has told her once before that she wasn't 'his type',
so she worried less about finding his fangs in her neck than she would
otherwise. She didn't take this as a guarantee for safety, not by any
means, but didn't feel so much like he was surveying whether she would
be a good meal or not when his eyes hovered-wandered-studied all about
below her chin. When his eyes came back up to hers, he'd find that her
own clear blue gaze was directed right back to him.
All in all,
she seemed comfortable and casual enough, but always with that thin vein
of caution and preparedness running through her demeanor. When he
spoke of rumors and walking before sunset, though, she sharpened
overall. She raised her eyebrows, either surprised or impressed or
stricken hard by curiosity. One could guess which fit the bill best.
"No,"
she answered him simply, but the fact that her face and eyes held a new
light and she was looking at him like she was officially far more
invested in this conversation all said that there would be much more to
come than a simple 'no'.
"Have you been waking before
sunset?" The question is direct, but doesn't seem to be baited or
loaded with anything. She is very interested in the answer, though, and
moves toward the bench automatically, but remembers herself well enough
to pause and ask: "I don't suppose you mind if I sit?"
Finch
A
hand motions for her to have a seat on the bench next to him before
letting them return to his own realm of personal space. For all of the
horrible things that Finch has done (and he has done some truly horrific
things in his young unlife...) he has yet to break his word to the
young Molly Toombs or violate her person in any way, at least that holds
true if the walk he just took with his eyes didn't count.
"I am
waking...just as the sun sets and not falling into slumber until it is
about to rise..." Fingers interlace and rest in his lap and Molly for
all of her obvious interest and sharp denials, does not feel Finch's
eyes on her profile or features.
"At the ... place where my sort
gather...it seems to be a sort of mass effect on all of us....though I
would be incorrect in assuming it's the whole of the city or the whole
of our kind. There are a great many kindred and Cainites with whom I
have absolutely no contact."
Molly Toombs
When
motioned to take a seat, Molly did precisely that. She'd sit to leave
comfortable room between herself and the vampire, but turn herself at
the waist and hip so she was open and directed toward him rather than
facing directly out and across the path. His legs were crossed, hands
in his lap. Molly, to paint a different picture, sat with her sneakered
feet flat on the ground and her knees a natural distance from one
another.
While he spoke, she listened. She considered his words
and the stream of thought they created in her mind, and while she did
this she removed the elastic band that held her hair in a ponytail and
snapped it about her wrist. She'd leaned back and brushed her hair
briefly through with her fingers, hands and motion aimed back behind the
bench so as not to disturb or shed coppery red hairs on Finch's nice
suit, though she was sure he probably had the resources to replace it if
much more than a hair landed on the shoulder.
"So your kind
normally wakes up after the sun's completely past the horizon, then."
She mused about this, her tone downright scholarly. Like she was
looking at a math equation or a puzzle and sorting out the answer in her
own leisurely time. As though this wasn't a pressing matter, as though
it had no urgency whatsoever. For her, currently, it didn't.
"Isn't
there some kind of communication system in place?" She left her hair
down for now, and when finished raking her fingers through it her hands
came to settle in her lap. For the moment, anyways, it was where they
rested most naturally. She is looking at him, though, with open
curiosity. More about the subject at hand than him directly, though, he
wasn't the anomaly if this was happening to others too. Currently she
was interested in his answer, in solving the puzzle.
"I know that
there's organization and structure, so it would make sense that there
would be communication as well. Don't the leaders-- the Chaplains or
Lords, whoever-- don't they have contact with one another? If this is
that unusual, and if it's happening widespread, I imagine a lot more
than just you and I would be talking about this."
A pause, this
one for considering, before she added: "Otherwise, what if it is just
your group? Or what if it's Denver and no place else? That would mean
whatever's causing this to happen is here."
Finch
She
is polite in positioning herself a comfortable distance from him while
angling her body so that they would be face to face while communicating.
He has not done the same, his body is still situated forward as it had
been, leg crossed over the other and hands resting relaxed in his lap. A
smile begins to work its way across his face though when she's done
asking questions or making points. He is thoughtful and considerate,
nodding once or twice and cocking his head ever so faintly one way as if
to say, well one would think so...
"Yes." Is his first
response to all of what she's said. "We do not wake until the sun is out
of the sky and we rest just before it crests. I have never woke as
early as I am these recent nights."
Then, he shifts where he sits.
His body turns to angle her way and one arm bends at the elbow and
rests on the back of the bench itself. "We are not pack creatures. The
majority of us prefer to be alone almost entire existence save for the
random human strays we pick up throughout the years. There are many
political and religious factions among our kind, Molly, and there is no
love lost between all of them."
Molly Toombs
He
hears her out, and this isn't missed. She appreciated that he granted
her that courtesy, and she didn't even feel like he was condescending
when he confirmed her initial question about the resting habits of
vampires. At first he'd been sitting facing forward still, so she was
speaking to his profile, but he was listening and nodding along so she
wasn't concerned for falling on deaf ears. When he'd turned to face her
better and stretched his arm along the back of the bench, she paid it
no mind. Simply adjusted her own posture slightly to allow his arm
space without being touched by her back or shoulder, and paid attention
in turn.
"I know about the Church and the State, so to speak."
She knew about the Sabbat and Camarilla. That's what she was
clarifying, what he would take away from the comment. "But you were men
once. And there's enough structure to have these organizations. I
didn't think it would be too far fetched that there would be a...." She
frowned, about to say 'newsletter' or 'calling chain' or something like
that, but she realized that probably wouldn't be the case.
So,
she shrugged her bare shoulders, freckled but not nearly so distinctly
as her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. "I get what you're saying.
You can't check on every single other one out there. But someone could
probably check in with an associate in, say New York or some other place
to see how far this reaches."
Here, a pause. Molly had shifted
her gaze to look past Finch's cheek and ear, up the trail that she'd
been running previously. Her eyes were unfocused, though, she wasn't
watching anything approach but rather she was thinking. Again. She
took pauses to do this a lot, especially since she'd just accused Finch
of looking like a statue named after the action-- to think. The
Thinker. But now he had her doing the same thing.
Finally: "I
suppose the bigger question is, though-- What does this mean?" Blue
eyes sharpened and found Finch's face once more, ignited with a new
concept to explore. "Waking up early alone can't be so bad, I assume
you're all hidden from where the sun can get through the cracks
anyways. So what's got you worried has to be the 'What Comes Next', am I
right?"
Finch
He is listening to everything she
says and there isn't so much as a hint that he's being condescending.
Finch is genuinely interested in what it is that Molly has to offer
toward the topic of conversation. "The thing is, Molly....I am becoming
more alarmed the more that I learn about the state of things in this
City." He pauses and adjusts himself on the bench but doesn't move
further away or closer to Molly.
"If it is happening to only my
faction then .... I believe I know the source. If it is happening to all
Vampires?" He shrugs and his eyes leave her face and features and look
out over the park ahead of them, "Then I fear things could be far more
grave than even I suspected. It's a dangerous thing, waking early and
slumbering late. It isn't something that I'm ...comfortable with." He smiles at her, the finest points of fangs exposed.
Molly Tombs
For what adjusting Finch did, Molly did a pretty good job of keeping still on her side of the bench. She sat near the edge, giving him enough room to claim for his own, to have plenty of space to shift about and adjust his posture, to cross his legs without his shoe intersecting with her leg, to stretch his arm over the back of the bench and claim that as his own as well. Finch was a young vampire, but he was still a force that Molly could hardly dream of reckoning with, at least not on any physical level. She was willing to submit to him what bench space he wanted for his own.
A crease folded between her eyebrows next, when he confessed his level of alarm. Finch looked out over the park, and Molly did as well. She didn't turn the waist or hip to face him any less, but instead she simply aimed her face outward now. Looked at the grass, the next walking path down from them, and beyond that the pond in the middle of the public plot of land. Their expressions mirrored, then. Worried, dark, but not burdened by it. Like old men instead discussing the storm clouds rolling in to try and flood their crop, except they were not old men and it wasn't some crop they were worried for.
Her attention was drawn back in by Finch when he concluded with a pointed smile. The visibility of the fangs wasn't missed, but her eyes didn't hang about his mouth to study. Instead she paid the respect of eye contact. When dealing with vampires, it was a show of trust that went further than ducking your head and averting your eyes would.
"Oh, we wouldn't want your comfort to be compromised." There's a lick of teasing there, of humor, and she answered the smile with one of her own. It's small, brief, but the humor there is clear. It's recognizable for what it is even though she moves past it quickly enough, even though her mouth relaxed back to neutral once more.
Now it was Molly's turn to adjust how she was situated on the bench-- she scooted forward on the bench seat some, leaned forward and set her elbows upon the tops of her thighs, rested her chin on her hands, fingers curled and pressed against her lips at the knuckle. Now she was unintentionally mimicking his posture from earlier, from before she approached.
Fingers moved out of the way of her mouth to make way for the next question: "Would you tell me what you think it is? If it's just your faction being affected, that is?"
Finch
There seems to be little about Finch that might surprise or alarm Molly. His fangs slip down and become apparent and she takes note but doesn't flinch or become uneasy. The conversation trickles on then falls quiet and back again and the Toreador devil seems to be comfortable with the ebb and flow of it. He relaxes where he sits, limbs and muscles loose rather than coiled and ready to strike.
"No....we wouldn't want that..." He says quietly as the lick of teasing she offers is taken in stride. Some might say the Vampire is even slightly jovial in his reply due to the crooked and equally nice grin that worms it's way over his mouth. Brown eyes scan her face, her features, as she assumes the position of 'The Thinker' as he had just moments before. He sits sideways now, elbow propped on the back of the seat and the heel of his hand holding up the weight of his head.
"Warlocks." He says to Molly quietly. "I don't know much about our kind beyond what I have learned in the last twenty years. But what I do know and what I learned very early on and what was key to my continued existence, is that the Warlocks are blood mages of the most dangerous kind. They can do things that...." He shrugs, "...I couldn't even imagine. With but your name they can send servants made of wood to find you and send you into torpor. I've heard that they can even send you to walk in the sun just by knowing your name." Both brows arch and he looks at Molly quite seriously before turning away and looking at the space between them on the seat.
"Perhaps they've laid a curse on the sword of Caine?" Another shrug and he lifts just his eyes to peer up at Molly Toombs. "Just maybe you won't have to deal with me any more Miss Molly...."
Molly Toombs
Still and quiet, like a dedicated student, Molly sat and listened to what concerns and tall tales that Finch had to share. She remained looking forward at first, but then switched her eyes back to him with a quick flicker-glance when he said blood-mages specifically. The words had caught her attention, and while she was of course listening attentively before now she was more clearly rapt.
When he conspiratorially spoke that they could make vampires walk into the sun just by speaking a name, Molly's eyebrows raised. She looked skeptical, and said: "You make it sound like an old wive's tale, but somehow I don't especially doubt it." Molly has done a lot of reading in relation to warlocks and dark magics and arts-- blood rites, in particular, as well. She knew the weight that a name could have, in certain beliefs and circles of power. While the story sounded like something told to children to scare them away into their beds at night, but frilled up for vampires, she couldn't entirely dismiss its credibility either.
She was hung up also on things like torpor and the Sword of Caine-- intrigued with these concepts, curious to know more about them, to continue to devour knowledge like an Eater of Worlds takes planets and essence. When Finch looked back up he'd find that while Molly was still leaned forward she was incredibly attentive, focused in on him.
Instead of letting the inquiries all com forward in a stream of curious consciousness, though, Molly blinked a few times, realized that she probably looked a little moonstruck (she did, but not for the reasons that Finch was probably used to seeing that look), and moved a hand to smooth it over her bound-back hair.
"I'm very curious to know more about... pretty much everything you just said. I don't know your calendar, so I don't plan to keep you all night on a park bench." She paused, then straightened up and began again with a small, borderline-sheepish grin. "I'd typically invite someone out to have such conversations over a few drinks, but I don't think I'm up to what that entails with you."
She then added, as though it were an afterthought:
"I don't know about the gossip you've heard about those Warlocks, though. I saw one go down pretty easily from a gunshot. They seem easy enough to kill."
Finch
When she stands so too does he. His body is fluid in every movement but he treats it as if he were old and his bones ached from the promise of a coming storm. Hands put to order his slacks and then his jacket followed by the cuffs before he allows his hands to slip into the pockets of his pants and lets a little smile creep over his lips. He had her attention and this seemed to at the very least intrigue Finch. With a faint tip of his head to one side the Toreador releases a wide, brilliant smile and his brow tugs up on his forehead.
"Oh, come on now Molly....have you ever tried it?" His brows fall and his head straightens, "You know, there are humans out there that become addicted to the pleasure our bite brings ...it's not so bad." If she had teased him before, he's returning the favour with only slightly veiled intent.
"Well, sure." He nods for her to take the lead, to walk and he'll accompany her to the edge of the park if she wishes. "...I could be easy enough to kill with a bullet or two well placed. It's not the quick and dirty fights where the Warlocks are dangerous. It's the long fight. It's the ones with enough time on their hands to be dangerous, to perform their magics however they do it and lay the curse on their target." A pause as he considers his words carefully.
"It's the ones that we can't see that are harder to kill....and I can assure you, this isn't an old wives tale." Finch's mouth splits wide into a smile and he returns his attention to the path ahead of him rather than looking at Molly Toomb's profile.
Molly Toombs
They rise together, and Molly planted her hands on her hips, elbows out, and pulled a face of pure skepticism at the man when he teased and halfheartedly tempted with explanations of how a kiss can be so nice. Her eyebrow raised. "So I've been told. Still, it doesn't seem that alluring."
He nodded for her to begin walking, and she shook her head some (still for the tease) before she turned and started walking back up the path in the direction she had been originally going. Finch fell into step beside her, and she seemed as though she had been expecting that anyways. As he spoke she again listened, but moved her hands off her hips and let her hands be free and idle at her sides instead. He had straightened his suit and kept a walking pace, so Molly did the same although she was dressed for a run. The loss of momentum had cooled her some, but it was still a mild enough night that she was not shivering yet. Perhaps sooner to when she was getting to her front door, though.
"I've seen one of you take a bullet like it was nothing." Molly's brow furrowed a little, and she turned her head to glance over at the Undead man, the one dead some twenty years ago telling her stories of things to be feared. "Maybe it wasn't a good shot," she quickly dismissed, looking forward again, as though she quite quickly realized she couldn't argue the mechanics of how vampires existed with one who had been as such for much of her life.
"So you think Warlocks might be trying to catch you all out in the sun somehow?"
Finch
"We're all made up different. It's in the blood that makes us what we are." He recites verbatim what his own maker had told him many years ago. "Not everyone is as fast as I am and I'm not as ...durable as some of the others. I can't perform magic like the Tremere or pull shadows like Flood...but he can't become a bird or wolf or rat like some of the others..." A shrug arrests his shoulders and he dips his chin a little lower, more toward his chest.
"It may have been a very well placed shot...but the vampire that was wounded was just made of tougher stuff than the rest of us. We're not all alike, Molly, despite the lack of an active heartbeat we all share." With a furrowed brow he continues forward, remaining close to her side. "Beauty arrests those of my blood to the point that we can do nothing more than stare in awe ... some of us cast no reflection....others are cursed with a face no mother could ever love." Which makes him laugh and then smile at the plight laid on the rats of their kind.
"The point of all of that is ... no two vampires are truly the same. Ever."
Molly Toombs
All of what Finch said was something new, in some way or another. The ability to transform, Flood's shadow manipulation, the word 'Tremere' and to know that there are vampires who can apparently wield magic as well. The list of curses and weaknesses to follow was even more intriguing, but not just for the details themselves this time around.
Molly has been quiet and listening, as usual, but once he'd started to speak of curses the type of quiet she held was less rapt attention and more puzzlement and mild suspicion.
The details would be remembered, logged away to be processed later. For now, though, she walked with slow, rolling steps alongside the (relatively) young vampire and looked at him curiously.
"Why are you telling me all of this?" The question found its way forward. She would have preferred to frame it better, clearly, because she was quick to clear her throat and clarify. "I'm not complaining, and wasn't even sure at first if I should call you out on it. But I'd almost feel guilty if I didn't. ...What do you have to gain from sharing all of this with me? Isn't that kind of like putting your neck out... breaking the rules, or something?"
Finch
He cocks his head to the side and looks at Molly very intently for a long moment as they walk. Finch isn't the smartest of vampires and he certainly isn't the oldest or most powerful if any of what he has said is to be believed. But those things do not make him stupid and in that brief moment Molly can see that spark behind the brown of his eyes, a flint striking and illuminating a shrewd and careful sense of cunning that isn't easily deniable.
He smiles, mouth split wide, and then rights himself and looks down the pathway.
"Oh, Molly. Don't feel guilty. Guilt is an emotion better left to the weak and for the little that I know about you, I wouldn't dare label you as weak." There's a pause and he walks with her, hands settled into the pockets of his slacks. "The best way to earn trust is to give it. I'm giving you my trust Molly Tombs. You could say that ... my existence is in your hands." They walk further and his brow furrows.
"That's a lot of responsibility to carry, isn't it?"
Molly Toombs
To be told that a vampire's existence could be considered as cradling in your hands was quite a statement to process, indeed. Molly was looking at Finch in a way that was best described as skeptical, but he could still see the gears ticking and twirling like a well-oiled machine behind her eyes.
"I suppose so," she answered finally, and looked forward to continue walking. They were soon finding themselves near the end of the walking path-- they were on a stretch that, in the direction they walked, would put them out on the sidewalk that framed the public park space like a large cement rectangle. Molly looked ahead, gathering her bearings and figuring out which side of the park she was deposited on, so that way she could determine which way was home. She's been living here a while, been using this park frequently since she moved to her apartment downtown; it didn't take her long to figure out which way was home.
She'd stop walking when they came nearer to the sidewalk, though, and turn to face the well-dressed young(looking -- or, young in the scheme of the world that he lived in) man.
"It's getting to be the hour that I need to take myself home," she announced flatly. Continued on quickly so that she didn't leave the comment hanging like an invitation to parry. "I really hope we get to have another talk like this soon, though."
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