Molly Toombs
There's no slap-slap of flip-flops to
announce Molly's stride down the sidewalk that hugged the edge of Santa
Fe-- she wore sandals, no doubt, but they strapped secure to her feet to
prevent all that. It was a Saturday night and this part of town was
popular on the weekends, especially when the weather was agreeable as it
was (the forecast mentioned there may be rain, but thus far it has just
been pleasantly cool compared to the scorching heat earlier in the
day). The foot traffic on the sidewalks weren't thick, but the patios
in front of restaurants and bars and coffee shops were dense with those
who milled on dates and in groups alike.
Molly wasn't walking with
anyone to suggest that she was one of the many young people of Denver
out on a date tonight. In fact, the way she glanced occasionally over
her shoulder, and how her brows furrowed on her lightly freckled
forehead, suggested she may even be trying to escape one. She was
acting anxious, quietly nervous, like she thought she was being
followed.
It could be that she was crazy, there were plenty of
those in the city proper. But Molly was put together and groomed, that
didn't typically go hand-in-hand with the types of crazies that flocked
to the streets. She was dressed in a cap-sleeved dress of bright blue
fabric with a pattern of white daisies all overtop of it. The dress
hemmed at the knee and buttoned all the way up the front. Her red hair
was tied into a high ponytail, nice and neat, with the bangs trimmed
even with her eyebrows on her forehead. There was a purse at her side,
and one hand kept it still there so it wouldn't swing and bounce as she
hustled her way up the sidewalk.
Away from a dance studio and a
gallery beside it. Away from a man with no life in the hand that she
shook, who may or may not have caught on to the fact that she knew what he was.
And, given how her luck went, right into the path of another.
Rafe Campion
For
some of the citizens of Denver, the day was winding to a close. For
others, it was only just beginning. (And not merely because the sun was
anathema to their very existence. Plenty of ordinary mortals lived at
night without such excuses.) Given that it was a Saturday, and this was
Santa Fe, the streets and shops and galleries around them were not
likely to wind down until many hours later, and Molly was far from the
only person on the sidewalks. She was running from someone, but it would
seem that tonight the fates had a bit of a sense of humor. No matter
where she turned, death was there - waiting.
Rafe hadn't yet
decided where he would end up that night. He was on the sidewalk too,
gazing across the street with his hands tucked loosely into the pockets
of his brown jeans. The warm summer wind breezed past and ruffled his
hair as he glanced to the side and spotted Molly. There was a tilt of
his head, an almost animal curiosity in the angle of his chin as he took
in her quick step and anxious state. The way she kept glancing behind
her as though she were being followed. His eyes tracked back from her in
search of whatever it was she was running from, and when he didn't see
anything he pulled his hands out of his pockets and took a few steps
toward her. Not precisely in her path (she could go around if she chose)
but close to it.
There were many ways that one could define
Rafe's age. Physically he was about 30, but he looked a few years
younger. He had a youthful face and lively amber-hued eyes. He hadn't
actually been 30 for a long time, but it didn't show in his mannerisms.
He had a threadbare white t-shirt on, and you could see the outlines of
his chest through it.
"Running from a ghost?"
He smiled when he said it and lifted his eyebrows lightly.
Molly Toombs
Plenty
of voices drifted from patio tables and passers-by on the sidewalk, but
there was always a certain ring to a voice that was addressing you
directly. Molly may well have simply overlooked Rafe, left him as one
more face among many that she's passed by tonight. That would no longer
happen, though, for he'd shifted his trajectory so he would be walking
toward her rather than aimed to breeze right past. When he'd spoken,
asked if she was running from a ghost, ears picked up on the words
because eyes had already plucked him from the crowd, had already found
that he was looking at and approaching her.
Molly's painted-peachy
lips pressed together before her teeth and she slowed her walk on brown
sandaled feet, stopped beside the short iron-wrought fence that circled
around a tea shop that was currently closed for renovations-- a single
black store face along a mile of other lighted windows. She wasn't out
of breath, for she hadn't actually been running, but there was a
somewhat distracted note to her tone, and her words and voice were both
just a touch tight as well.
She'd spent energy and focus playing
coy and ignorant for the person she was fleeing from, so perhaps that
would contribute to why she wasn't doing the best job masking that
low-throttled hum of anxiety that buzzed under skin.
"Something
like that," she answered back. One hand touched a pointed peak to the
patio fence, and the other kept on her purse as though it were some kind
of portable safe-base. She stopped glancing through the bodies behind
her to return focus to the face of the man who'd come to intercept and
call her out. He was tall, easy on the eye, but she wasn't spending
time scoping out his chest and shoulders. Instead Molly made and held
eye contact, alert blue eyes trying to decipher intent in the amber ones
before them.
"Why, are you offering to bust one if I answer yes?"
Rafe Campion
[Per+Empathy]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (4, 4, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
Rafe Campion
[Er, re-roll that 10]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (8) ( success x 1 )
Molly Toombs
Something
about seeing plenty of life pass before you must make you good at
reading it, because Rafe was able to read Molly like a book. As though
her efforts to glean some intent from him did nothing but open herself
up to be flipped through like a magazine at his leisure.
Molly was
far more anxious than she was letting on physically. She had been
glancing back like she was being followed, but she didn't carry an
expression of worry or fear or pursuit, and her body language wasn't
victimized or defensive. But he could see through that as though it
were the cleanest, clearest glass. She was fleeing from something that
she apparently though speed couldn't help her escape from. Not actively
being chased after, but she was worried that she may be getting
followed, and by something that she had a true, grim, teeth-clenching
concern for about her own well being.
It wasn't the kind of
tight-muscled nervousness that came from trying to get away from an
attacker. Molly didn't seem to be seeking any sort of asylum or
authority figure to get help from. Whatever it was, he could tell, she
was fully intent on keeping that damn well to herself.
Why? Well,
he could see that too. Because whatever it was that had her on the
move, she couldn't tell people about it. That information was
protected, was secret. Because it was something that she was
in-the-know about, a level above others on. She wasn't going to an
authority figure because they couldn't and probably wouldn't know what was after her. She was just trying to go away.
Molly Toombs
[And, in return: Perception 3 + Empathy 2: What do you want, pal?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 6, 7, 7) ( success x 3 )
Rafe Campion
[Manip+Subterfuge
- well, I certainly don't want food I mean people aren't food right?
and I'm a nice fun guy who does not suck blood out of people's necks to
survive]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 9, 9) ( success x 2 )
Rafe Campion
Molly
may have been joking, but Rafe seemed to take the question seriously.
He tapped his mouth once lightly with an index finger and looked away as
though trying to recall some distant memory.
"Can't say I've ever fought a ghost before. Might be fun."
He
said it like he meant it. Like he genuinely found the notion
intriguing. And from what Molly could read off of him, he did. Maybe
Rafe actually believed in ghosts. Maybe he believed in a lot of things.
When
he looked at her, he saw facets of her humanity that most people
wouldn't catch upon first-meeting. All of these details drawn together
to create a complete story. There were plenty of people around them -
milling on the sidewalks; walking into and out of bars, restaurants and
galleries; sitting inside the lit windows of coffee shops. And Rafe
noticed those people, but for a few moments when he looked at Molly, she
was the only person in the universe. A book - yes. But the kind of book
you didn't want to put down. This is how he was with people. They were
each such fascinating stories.
She'd get that from him too - his
almost childlike fascination, the way his eyes danced across her face
when he took in the play of subtle emotions there. He didn't seem
dangerous - perhaps a bit prone to impulse. His cheeks had a flush of
life to them tonight, his breathing steady and natural. If any of this
was a performance, then he was a very good performer.
"You look like you have a story to tell. I love stories. Can I buy you a drink?"
Molly Toombs
Oh, Molly for certain
believed in ghosts. She ought to by now. One of her best friends had
been hearing them since childhood, and she's had more than one close
encounter with them before. One so uncomfortably, terribly close that
she'd felt the cold of one's presence in her bones, then had her limbs
move independent of her thoughts. Full-blown possession. She was
absolutely a believer.
She didn't much care for how the man was
looking at her. He'd seemed intent, interested, curious.
Too focused
in, and it made her uncomfortable. A note untrusting. This could
probably be blamed on the mindset she was in walking away from a
scenario where she was shaking an Undead man's hand, uncertain of
whether he knew that she'd recognized him and worried that he was going
to follow her home and remove her from the equation altogether.
He
wanted her to tell him the story of what she was running from, and
offered to buy her a drink for it. His cheeks were pink, lips and
nostrils moved to facilitate steady and normal breaths. He was the
lesser of two evils, compared to what could still be behind her waiting
for opportunity to rise, but she was still on edge.
Skittish, he knew better than she for how much he could see and read, was the better word to describe it.
"I don't know, perfect stranger. I don't much want to be sharing my story."
Rafe Campion
She
was skittish of him and wary of his offer. It would have been a prudent
reaction even if Rafe had been as mortal as he pretended to be. And he
didn't seem angered by it. Instead he took a step back and hooked his
thumbs into his pockets again (as though to put away a weapon, though he
had no real need of his hands if he wished to cause someone harm.) The
wind blew a lock of hair over his eyes.
"As you wish, Buttercup."
His lips turned up into a light smile, natural and easy.
"I wish you luck in escaping your ghosts."
Molly Toombs
[Self-Control: Cool your heels, Moll, you're acting like a paranoid and it's really obvious apparently.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 6) ( success x 1 )
Molly Toombs
Something
about a person's stepping back when asked to do so could, from time to
time, make you feel like a bit of a dick for asking them to do so in the
first place. Molly didn't physically do so, but in a sense she
flinched apologetic (again behind the eyes, in subtle body language that
he had cued in on from the get go).
Her brows knitted together a
little beneath the neat cut of her bangs, and Molly mutually tucked her
hands away into pockets that were hidden in the folds of the loose dress
that she wore.
Poor Molly, it had to be embarrassing to be this
readable. If she knew, she may duck her head and take her quick leave
for it. But Rafe found some rejection there too. He couldn't possibly
know the details to this, but she had experienced a recent slew of bad
dates. The advice from up on high to just relax and mingle in with
humanity while she still could (the words of wisdom have twisted ominous
in Molly's mind over time) hummed in her ears.
"Well, I suppose," she started, and pushed her elbows out and shoulders up in a small and frank what do you do motion. "There can't be much harm in a drink. And there's only one way to remedy a person being a stranger."
Verna Gardner
Verna
enters the scene by leaving one of the many shops lining the arts
district, and if Molly is currently at an 8 in paranoia level, we'll put
Verna at a 4. She's watchful and wary at least, but soldiers on through
whatever has her on alert. Which, let's face it, a woman out at night
has much to be wary of.
Last night was the Art Walk, and that
meant that people were everywhere and so were police, so hopefully she
could get out and enjoy herself without being harassed again. Tonight,
the streets here have yet to be fully cleaned, and the mass of people
from yesterday are only remembered by the trash they left behind.
She
has on a long, cowl-necked top that would be described as sapphire
colored in the catalog, with rolled sleeves that sport little buckles on
the sides. This, with black leggings and ballet flats complete the
ensemble. One might think that this is a woman who has it all together,
by her outfit and demeanor.
At least Verna would very much like to
appear that way.
As she walks, she pays notice to the people
around her in a furtive fashion, like she's looking for someone -- or
more to the point, looking to avoid someone.
Rafe Campion
[Dex+Performance - how gracefully can Rafe bow?]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )
Rafe Campion
He'd
honestly meant it when he'd wished her luck. The night was early, and
there were many people to choose from if a story was what he was after
(and if he was after more than that... likely a few wouldn't be inclined
to turn him down for much of anything.) And maybe he really had been
prepared to let her walk away, but his pleasure over her unexpected
response was readily apparent. His smile broadened and his posture
jumped back to alert as he brushed that section of hair away from his
eyes.
"Indeed there is."
At this, he gestured to the bar
across the street - a small, artsy establishment that kept paintings
from local artists hung on the walls - and dipped down into a playful,
courtly bow. "After you."
It seemed that everyone was looking to
avoid someone tonight. When Rafe stood up from his bow, he glanced over
at Verna and offered her a wink, subtle and knowing. As though to imply
that he knew what she was thinking (or maybe to flirt in a laid-back
sort of way.) But he already had one companion for the evening, so she
would escape the direct path of his interest for the moment. As for
Molly, Rafe let her lead them wherever she wished to go - whether that
be into the bar he'd pointed toward or elsewhere.
Molly Toombs
The
animated, nigh-whimsical bow earned him a single raised eyebrow, and
Molly had shifted weight back away from him some when the flourish was
granted. But a small, still-kind-of-nervous grin pulled at her mouth
and she exhaled smooth, purposeful (calming).
"Well okay. I'm Molly, by the way. And you are....?"
She
hadn't taken her hands from her pockets to offer one for a shake, for
she was talking while walking both. Molly had cast a glance up and down
the street to make sure the traffic was clear (it was), and then
started them across the way at a pace she knew would keep them safe from
oncoming vehicles.
She didn't quite catch the wink, for she was
looking ahead to where they were going. She would, no doubt, notice
if/when Verna slowed to look their way for having caught it. Molly
looked curious-- not suspicious, oddly, but witnessing coincidence for a
second time tonight. To see the same woman twice, after seeing the
same man a second time as well, she felt a little caught on loop.
Ultimately, the bar across the street would be just fine.
Verna Gardner
Verna's
reaction to being winked at by a stranger? Well, at least it's a lot
better than some random moving boy shouting at her from the truck,
saying 'Hey baby, you want to buy my furniture?'
People can be so very strange.
A
wink isn't so threatening. A wink at her whilst he walks with another
woman has her wondering though. Wondering and blushing quick and pink.
That man seems the type to go after anyone, it seems, and probably has a lot of luck at it.
It's
then that she pays a bit more attention to the woman he's with, and
though she doesn't know Molly's name, she's seen her around, and has
already decided that that one runs with an odd crowd. Best to be
avoided.
Rafe Campion
"Molly..." Rafe turned the sound of her name over in his mouth as though it had a taste. "It suits you. I'm Rafe."
Of course he would have a name like that. Of course he would.
They
moved across the street at a brisk pace, with Rafe's longer legs easily
keeping time with Molly's steps. As they walked, he turned on his heel
and moved backwards a few paces, then spun back around and jogged a few
steps to the curb on the other side. Like he couldn't wait to get
inside. Or maybe he just had a lot of energy bubbling over. He paused
long enough to let Molly retake the lead, and when they reached the
bar's front entrance he stepped aside to leave room for her to open the door.
There was already a fair-sized crowd inside the bar, many of
whom were seated around tables and booths or otherwise moving about the
cramped space. The bar itself was mostly occupied, with only a few
empty seats to choose from. Rafe sidled up to a group of hipster college
students and said something to one of them, his smile turning up in an
easy, affable expression. A moment later the group shifted down a seat,
leaving room for Rafe and Molly to grab two of the stools for
themselves. Rafe nodded his thanks to them and sat down, gesturing
toward the bartender. When the woman approached, he ordered a glass of
pinot noir and leaned an elbow on the counter, his eyes shifting from
the bartender's easy smile to Molly's somewhat more reserved features.
Once they were alone, he leaned in and said, "I love the smell here. Like wine and blood and aged wood."
Molly Toombs
Once
inside, Molly took pause a few paces within the door and out of the
way. She wasn't so quick to locate a spot to sit, and Rafe had the
opportunity to swoop in on a group of college-aged kids and talk them
into shifting down to make room.
She sat at the bar on the side
opposite the hipster kids, letting Rafe take space beside his new found
chums in good manner. The man had ordered a red wine, and Molly looked
(was) a little surprised, but didn't say anything out loud.
With a
beer in hand (she had to drink light enough to drive soon after), Molly
turned the stool some to be faced more toward Rafe than straight
ahead. She looked somewhat perplexed and sniffed a little when he
mentioned the smell in the air.
"I'm missing the copper notes, I suppose. You... ah, come to this bar a lot for that reason?"
A
sip of the beer punctuated the end of the question, and she glanced
about briefly to scope out her surroundings. A little less paranoid
indoors.
Rafe Campion
"First time I've been, actually." Rafe seemed quietly amused by the question. He rolled the stem of his wine glass between his fingers, watching the play of light and shadow on the surface of the glass. The wine itself was a rich, dark red, and had a complex, heady scent. He breathed it in, but didn't seem as though he was in any particular hurry to drink it.
"I meant it as a metaphor. There's life here." He nodded first to the gathering crowd, then to the paintings on the wall. These were not simple landscapes, but a series of more abstract pieces in shades of red and black and orange. Emotion seemed to practically bleed off the canvas. "All this humanity. All of these beating hearts."
He turned his attention back to Molly. "I'd like to hear about your ghosts."
Molly Toombs
Sprawls of the colors of Hell were painted across canvases that hung from the walls all around. Where Rafe saw emotion, Molly saw premonition. She didn't quite like the fact that it seemed as though they were sitting in a bar that was posted not along the Santa Fe stretch, but instead on a cobbled brimstone path someplace fifty or so miles beneath the crust of the Earth. She had chosen not to focus on them when she looked around, but rather do a brief scope of the people in the bar with them. People, the things that moved and spoke and approached, were far more relevant to her state of being. She's been scoping those out before other things for some time now.
When asked about her ghosts, Molly made a face of conflict and quick-on-your-feet thinking both. She wasn't going to tel him precisely about them, he knew that right away. She was contemplating how to translate the story into something more acceptable for the ears of a man she'd just run into.
"That's a really broad question, Rafe," she said, and pulled on a smile that was convincing but didn't completely cover the fact that she was still, and maybe by default, on guard.
"Let's tell a story for it." He seemed to like that. He'd requested it by that precise word. "An old fairy tale, even." She grinned a little, like she found some moderate fun in translating her situation into a Grimm Brothers rendition. "My character in the story, she's on her way from one village to the next, and has to pass through the woods to get there.
"She's a curious thing, though, and that's her flaw. Her friends would tell her 'Girl, you keep your nose straight and eyes forward. It's trouble if you don't.' And when she left, they warned her 'Girl, stay on the path, do not stray. There are things out there that will take you away.' But Girl just wasn't all that good at listening, and not long after she set out on her journey there came a call from the trees.
"'Do you want to know a secret?' the voice called out. And how was the girl to resist a lure like that? 'Yes,' she answered, and the voice bade her to join it. Join it and it would share.
"So the girl walked off the path, into the trees, and found herself lost. The voice was a Cheshire Cat, and it would appear sometimes above in the trees or out ahead to urge her further, but other times it would be gone." She's sipped her beer through the story she told, between punctuation and breath. At last she set her beer down on the counter, a third of it consumed by now, and hooked an elbow on the bar top so she could lean into it some.
"And that's what she's been doing since. There are other voices, out there in the woods, calling her this way and that. Sometimes there's monsters, other times there's mystery. But the path that she came from? It's long since gone."
Rafe Campion
Rafe did like stories. They gave him life where he might otherwise have none. As Molly began to tell hers, he stilled and set his eyes upon her face, listening to her speak with unwavering attention. The light of the bar gave the amber in his irises a warm bourbon glow.
There were many in the city who might kill Molly for what she knew. It was a delicate, dangerous game they were playing - the things they did and did not say.
At the end, Rafe leaned forward and spoke softly near Molly's ear. "Can I tell you a secret? A person can only be lost if they aren't where they wish to be." He pulled back with a sad, wistful smile. "The thing about the truth is... you can't be afraid of it. No matter where it takes you. Secrets are like wolves, that way."
Molly Toombs
When Molly finished her story there was a moment of what was best described as 'bashful'. As soon as she'd finished talking she realized that her attempt at a Grimm Brothers rendition may have been the stupidest thing ever, so she'd paused and stilled and watched Rafe like his reaction would make or break whether she tried that approach again.
The curious man leaned forward to half-whisper close to her ear, and Molly turned her head a little so her ear was better pointed toward Rafe's voice.
Secrets are like wolves, he'd said. Molly turned her head to look at him with raised eyebrows. For a moment it looked like she may protest or reel back some, but ultimately she smirked at him instead.
"Or if they don't know where they wish to be in the first place." Another sip of beer, and then she set the bottle back down on the counter so her hands were free. He'd notice that they had the human habit of thoughtlessly motioning small and simple along with her words. "I'm not afraid of the truth, though. Secrets are like currency, so I'm only afraid of it in the way that those who might become too rich should fear currency-- what it'll do to your perspective and sense of humanity."
With a shake of her head, Molly hooked an elbow on the bar counter and leaned against it. "My bigger concern is the wolves that carry the secrets."
Rafe Campion
Molly added her own thoughts on the nature of secrets and wolves, and this time Rafe did not disagree. He glanced at one of the paintings on the wall, then tipped his head lightly in Molly's direction in silent acquiescence. He understood perhaps even better than she did what reasons a mortal might have to fear those kinds of wolves. And yet... here they were. A girl and a wolf having a perfectly cordial conversation over drinks. And maybe this time around, that conversation really was all that the wolf was looking for, because not once did he bare his fangs and reveal himself for what he was.
Perhaps another night.
The man seated beside Rafe glanced over and eyed the full wine glass. He was young and latino, with dark-rimmed glasses and a hipster sense of fashion. When he spoke, he leaned in a little, pushing forward on his elbows as he stretched across the bar. "Hey, which wine did you get? That one smells amazing."
Rafe looked at him and smiled, then slowly pushed the glass across the counter. "It's a 2012 Sineann. You can have some if you like."
The man raised his eyebrows. "You sure?"
"Absolutely." Rafe's smile was captivating in that moment, pretty and bright and full of unabashed interest. And he watched the man take a sip of the wine that he himself had yet to partake in, then turned back to Molly with a bit of that smile lingering softly on his lips.
"I wish you luck in finding your path through the woods. Wherever it may take you."
He slipped a bit of cash onto the bar to pay for the drinks, then slid down from his seat. The man beside him tried to offer the wine back, but Rafe shook his head. "Keep it." Then he nodded a final goodbye to Molly and made his way back out onto the street, where he soon disappeared into the flow of the crowd.
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